Finishing the bottle was easy. I had never met a bottle I couldn''t finish.


    “Another.”


    The bartender looked at me skeptically, but I showed no signs of actually being drunk. I wasn''t loud, and I certainly wasn''t drawing attention to myself. The drink slid down the bar and the ice clinked against the glass as my hand clutched the liquid salvation. It touched my lips and for a moment, I felt bliss. The second sip left the glass empty.


    “Another.”


    I had been sitting here for a few hours. The grimey little dive would run out of booze before they threatened to kick me out. I was a paying customer, and had made an effort to pace myself, until now.


    “Another.”


    I wasn’t supposed to be here until nine, but I had figured I’d get some ‘me’ time in first, try to sate my thirst; fill the void. Finishing the bottles was easy. Dealing with what was at the bottom, now that was the hard part. I kept count of how long it had been...


    “Ten years, three months, two weeks, one day, four hours…” I mumbled under my breath.


    “Pardon me?” The bartender asked.


    “Another.” I replied.


    He appeared almost sympathetic. Maybe it had been pity. Probably. He looked like he didn''t want to be here any more than I did. But we met like this every night for quite a while. I had grown familiar with the young man''s solemn face and deep voice. I appreciated that he never asked me any personal questions, but remained open to listening had I needed to vent.


    It was clear by looking at me, that I didn''t belong. I stood out like a Halloween display at Christmas. Most of those around me wore leather jackets with patches or plaid work jackets. I was well dressed and well kept. I often wore darker toned dress clothes and fancy shoes. But we all shared one thing in common.


    Rock bottom.


    I could feel their eyes on me. It could feel their eyes too. I wanted it to stop. It wants them to try something, anything to get a violent reaction. My Artifact caused my vision to go red, and I took a deep, steadying breath


    “Another.” This time it sounded like a plea.


    “Sir, I think you’ve had enough.” The bartender wasn''t angry, but there was a sterness in his voice. He wasn''t wrong either.


    “Another, please?" I tried.


    “One more and then you’re cut.” He said with not a even a hint of maliciousness. He sounded almost sad. I spent a lot of time like that. Sad.


    “Thank you.”


    He nodded and moved to the other end of the bar. I wouldn''t see that last drink for a bit. The last sip of my current drink stopped the red flashes, but I could still feel It looming. My burden.


    Tyrfing


    The Order had put this burden on my shoulders when I was barely an adult and I never stopped paying the price for it. Even after I had left, ten years, three months, two weeks, one day ago…


    Anders had said he would meet me here at nine but it was going on ten. I was tempted to leave. I had no idea why I had even bothered to meet up with him in the first place. Once upon a time, we had been good friends, like brothers really. But since I had left the Order, we hadn''t spoken much. Barely ever.


    My new drink came around and I sipped it gently. I would have to make this one last.


    I can feel Tyrfing shudder. It tried to push and pull in my mind, begging to be released. It was a battle that I constantly faced. I looked to the door for Anders or for escape.


    As a familiar face with greasy hair waltzed through the door, I knew my chance for escape was gone. He looked around the place and cringed. When his eyes settled on me, his gaze softened and he shot me with finger guns. It was hard not to roll my eyes.


    “It’s good to see you my friend.” I saw him offering his hand to shake out of the corner of my eye and I finished my drink instead.


    “Right, well, straight to business then.” Anders climbed onto a bartool and straightened out his tacky grey suit.


    “I never said we were in business.” I wasn''t in the mood to play games. Tyrfing wasn''t either. Our emotions synchronized and I froze. I could feel the sword fueling my negative emotions and I held onto the railing of the bar like it was a rollercoaster. Anders saw my discomfort.


    “I would not have asked you to meet me here if it wasn’t important.” He moved to put his hand on my shoulder but thought better of it.


    “I need you to come back.” He said matter-of-factly.


    “No.” I replied with finality.Enjoying the story? Show your support by reading it on the official site.


    “Chase, the Council thinks you''ve been away for far too long. They''ve given you more time to greive then they had ever intended."


    “Who are they to tell me when I''m done greiving? Am I just supposed to wake up one morning and pretend all of this didn’t happen?" I could feel the rage building up inside me fast. Perhaps too fast. "The Order just wants the Artifact back and they know they can''t get it without me."


    “You know that’s not true. Besides, you know they could seperate you from that thing if they wanted to, but nobody wants that.” He looked down into his lap and sighed. “I don’t want that.”


    “They are welcome to try. So are you. Would you be able to hold the lives of everyone in this room on your conscience? What if it spilled out into the streets? How many more innocent lives have to die because of this damned sword?” I found myself overheating.


    Tyrfing was unlike most other Artifacts; It had sentience. It had emotions, desires, but mostly it felt rage. It had a constant need to destroy. When I had been bonded to the cursed sword, it had ruined my life. It made every single mission I had done with the Order of Vigilance more difficult than it had ever needed to be.


    “I’m not here to fight you Chase. I’m here to ask you to come back to the Order." He sighed again and all his bravado was gone. "There aren’t a lot of us left.”


    This was the Anders I knew. The man I used to spend hours training with. Talking with.


    “There was never a lot of us to begin with. Even fewer when I left.” I took another deep breath and tried to smile.


    “Even fewer now.” He seemed genuinely sad. We had only been a handful before I had left. I had heard that the others on our team had left shortly after I did. The events of that day ten years ago splintered us.


    “How many are left?” I asked, trying to care.


    “Honestly, it’s just me. They have me recruiting them young now. Its harder to get adults to believe in what we do. There is one boy, Erik. Do you remember Erik, Magnus''s son?" He tried to connect with me, but the past was the wrong way to do it.


    "I don''t want to talk about the past Anders." I told him, taking another small sip of my last drink.


    Anders turned to face me. This time I met his gaze. I must have been hard to look at because I saw him wince.


    “I don’t know how many times I have to apologize." He said suddenly. His tone becomes sharp and indignant and I realize I have lost the Anders from before. "They made me the Master of the Toronto Branch and I have to do what''s best for the Order. I need you to listen to me."


    Sorry wasn''t good enough. It never had been. I felt the glass shatter in my hand and we both looked down in shock.


    "You guys need to leave." The bartender said gently. He could tell there was tension and didn''t want to upset anyone further. I nodded and pulled a wad of bills from my pocket. I got up from my seat and nearly fell over. Anders reached out for me, but I swatted him away.


    The dull colors of the little dive bar rushed away as I exited. The bright street lights and evening traffic were blinding. Across the street there was a little park that seemed dark enough for me to get away. I could sense Anders following along behind me. I didn''t care anymore. I could feel the sword pulsing with rage, mixing with my own emotions.


    “I’m supposed to bring you back if you won’t come willingly.” Anders said, once we were alone in the park.


    “You’re welcome to try, old friend. It won''t end well for either of us." I found my voice escaped me as a growl.


    I heard the metallic cry of Excalibur leaving its sheath. He had summomed his Artifact with the intent to fight me.


    I remembered how he''d beamed with pride when he was bonded to his family heirloom. They had told us that during the Bonding Ceremony, the Artifact chose us, giving us the name Chosen. But it felt rigged.


    “You know you can’t kill me with that. Excalibur can only be used to kill if the wielder is true of heart and just. Killing me here would only be a betrayal." I sneered at him from under the mess of hair that had fallen in front of my face as I stumbled around drunk.


    I felt the heat on my back as Tyrfing materialized from red smoke. The blade glowed like flame and the dragon shaped hilt shimmered with gold. It''s regal appearance betrayed its true nature.


    “I don’t want to fight you Chase, but I will. Last chance.” Anders held Excalibur out to the side, as non-threateningly as possible.


    “You remember how my sword works, right Anders?" I moved my hand over my shoulder, as if threatening to draw it.


    “I remember the curse of Tyrfing.” Anders eyes were filled with sadness. "Every time the sword is drawn from its sheath, someone must die before it will cease its bloodlust. But you don’t have to draw the sword.”


    His eyes widened as my hand inched closer to the hilt.


    “Every damn time I draw this blade someone dies. And every time I pray to the Gods that it’s me, but you and I both know that’s not how this works. You knew the curse on this Artifact before it was even mine to bear. You knew the curse but didn’t say anything because each time I drew it, an enemy of the Order fell!" I shouted. I could feel Tyrfing urging me to draw it. Pushing me to strike him down where he stood.


    “Please calm down.” Anders was panicking now. I could see the sweat on his forehead in the moonlight.


    “The Order knew the curse too. They didn''t care what it would unleash or who would get hurt in the process. And you just moved up the ranks, ever the willing lapdog. Anders Pendragon the golden boy." I spat.


    “You need to calm down! Gather your thoughts. Don''t let the sword win!” He called out, but it felt distant.


    “And what did I get? The cursed blade Tyfring! Doomed to kill someone upon every draw. And let’s not forget the best part. The wielder is doomed to commit three great evils. Three, Anders!” I continued. He glanced at the three rubies set in the crossguard of the sword. Two glowed with fiery ferocity, while the third was dull and without any shine.


    I could see the muscles in his sword arm tense. He was scared. This wasn''t a fight he wanted.


    “We have no control over what Artifacts the Vault gives us. They choose us. Tyrfing must have chose you for a reason.” Anders said, desperately trying to reason with me.


    My hand gripped the hilt and I was tempted to embrace the fury and pain flowing through me. Tyrfing clawed at my mind, trying to pry control from me. I try my best to hold on. Anders is right, the sword is getting the better of me. But it all hurts so much.


    “I can’t live with myself, Anders! But the damned sword won’t let me die. I killed her. I hacked her apart and she wouldn’t even defend herself! I loved her and I had to watch as this damned thing split her face open. I remember all of it. I have horrible nightmares every night. All I do is live with pain!"


    Every single day for ten years, three months, two weeks, one day...


    “I can help you! We can figure out how to separate you and the sword without killing you. If you come with me, if you help the Order, I promise you I will do everything I can to part you from this curse. You have to believe me Chase."


    I struggled against the sword. It wanted blood and death. It wanted to be free. My knuckles turned white and my palm hurt.


    "He didn’t stop us. He watched you kill her. If he couldn’t have her, then neither could you." Tyrfing whispered in my mind.


    In that moment, I realized I was being manipulated. Anders had been the perfect target for all of my rage. For the swords rage. If looks could kill, Anders Pendragon would have died that night. Tyrfing did not get free. No corpse would rest on my conscience.


    Except hers...