Second Base...actually second story but meh

And the second story (more like precursor to something but whatever) i promised.
This is getting closer to my style but the next one will really show case the best right now.

Hundred Soul Blade:

Once long ago, a blacksmith forged a blade, this particular blade laid dormant within the smithy of small town for years. The blade was regarded as an unremarkable piece of weaponry. That was until the small village was attacked by ruthless bandits sweeping the land. The bandits were ruthless as they ravaged the country raping and pillaging all in their path. One boy, after witnessing the murder of his father and the raping of his mother, ran to the building and unsheathed the weapon ready to defend any townsman still alive. However, for the boy it was too late. Only a few straggling bandits remained to slaughter the last few wounded persons, leaving the bandits and the poor boy as the last hearts still beating in the town. Crying loudly to storming skies, the boy knelt in the pooling blood beneath his feet and beseeched the very god who he stopped believing in. He begged and pleaded with god to grant him the strength to avenge his friends and family. The bandits laughed as they approached the boy wielding a sword twice his size. Their blades and pikes ready to slay the last resident of the rural town.

The first blade came down across the boy’s neck only to be stopped centimetres before his spine. A radiant form erupted from the boy knocking all the surrounding brutes on their backs and pushing them towards more solid structures. Their bodies pinned to walls and stacked corpses as an unforeseeable force held them in place. The boy’s eyes glowed pure white, burning the flesh of the bandits he laid his gaze upon. An ethereal form extended from the boy’s limbs until his own body was just the core to the phantasmal being. Each bandit lied helpless while their flesh boiled and their bodies shred piece by piece with every swing of the phantoms iridescent blade. The shadow’s of the recently slain, their souls, assumed life as the vessels choked on their last breath`s and after the last man was slaughtered, the souls vanished within the blade, receding the phantom back into the boy. Sprawled in the dirt panting, the boy was unable to witness the slow progression of his townsman, who had surely died, stand from the soiled earth. Some shone a vibrant white while others looked just as they did before, no wounds, no blood stains, and no memories of their deaths. Once the last child stood from a sure death, a voice entered into the boys mind. It started by praising the boy’s bravery and resolve and explained that it was due to these two virtues the blade was awoken from its slumber. The voice called the blade, Dirge. Dirge’s purpose was to reunite a soul with its lifeless vessel. In order to do so the blade must feast on a truly wicked soul, one soul for another. Dirge would record the souls of whom he witnessed perishing and he deemed worthy of rebirth, however, the number was limited. The blade could only bind a hundred souls. These souls would be bound through the power of the wielder and would be their burden to bear.

Through the next several weeks, the boy realized exactly what he had done. One family of the village was reborn, while the others stayed close to the boy. The family adopted the boy, unable to view the souls that followed him daily. They lived happily and prospered for years, remaining diligent even after the confusion of their townsmen`s deaths. Until one day, the boy decided to search the land for the town’s attackers. His adopted family pleaded with him that the task was impossible, that his idea to revive the town’s people was one of insanity. Though while living together the boy slowly gained strength that would be inconceivable for his age, he grew out of his clothes within weeks and looked near twice his age by the end of only two years past the original incident. Incapable of stopping the boy, now man, the family bid him farewell and watched as he walked past the hills for the horizon.

The man never returned to the village. After years of searching and killing he avenged every soul he carried with him. Slowly, the souls who walked with him disappeared, finding their empty vessels and, what the man hoped, continued life as if they never died. His adopted family, now believers after witnessing many rebirths, constantly tried describing the boy`s story to every revived townsman. The non-believers saw the tale as a wild legend until they themselves observed the waking of the dead. The bard of the town wrote his tale and was tasked with spreading the news to surrounding lands in hope of the man, once boy, hearing the tale and returning home into open arms of his thankful followers. The story spread further than any of the town members could ever imagine and in the end, the only thing to return to the village was the word that many now too believed in his legend. The legend of Vabiel and the Funeral March.