In that strange and cavernous chamber, the only sound to occupy its space was the steady footsteps of the two assassins. They echoed like a war drum before the battle.
Conrad took measured steps toward the girl, on his left hand he was brandishing a weapon he had just forged from an old, rusted pipe he had picked up on the ground.
It took the shape of a jagged longsword. The hilt was coiled with woven leather to give easier gripping ability. The lade itself was uneven in texture but it was sharp, unnaturally so since he had forged it from condensed fragments of tungsten alloy and repurposed steel.
They were practically the toughest and heaviest metal he knew and how to put them together into a fine piece of artwork of a sword was the difficult part.
The sword on his left grip wasn't his best work, but it was capable of getting the job done. This was fine. After all, even as he held it, there was no bloodlust in his eyes. The same was true for her icy blue eyes.
