“I’m going back to the Graveyard of Swords.”

The announcement from her guest made the Moon Princess’s brows furrow, giving him a glare that had cowed demon princes and brought elder dragons up short.

But unlike those creatures, the person before her didn’t flinch in the slightest, meeting her gaze directly despite them being in the center of her realm, where she was strongest.

The show of defiance was enough to make the pale hounds on either side of her throne – Perigee and Apogee – issue soft growls, magic gathering around them. But the Moon Princess quieted them both with a look, and the two obediently lowered their heads.

Once they’d settled down, she turned her full attention back to her guest.

“If you leave now, you’ll forfeit your payment.”

“Keep it,” he answered immediately. “Even if that sword is as powerful as you say, it’s not worth this.”

The Moon Princess narrowed her eyes at that, not in outrage but in concern. The Butcher’s Blade was an exceptionally powerful weapon, enchanted by the daemon lord Cicatrix eons ago. Sharp enough to cleave through diamonds like a normal sword could through snowballs, and so resilient that ordinary steel would have shattered against its blade, the sword was also capable of being wielded remotely, enchanted so that anyone could control it with their mind rather than needing to physically manipulate it.

But what made the sword truly powerful was that each time it struck a foe, it became deadlier to the one it had wounded.

A successful strike, no matter how shallow or where on the body it landed, would make the next such hit not only that much more likely to land – regardless of the enemy’s armor, technique, magic items, or any other form of protection – but also that much more injurious. Cuts would grow beyond the length of the blade, slicing deeper than it had penetrated, to the point where simply touching the tip to an enemy’s flesh would flense them into bloody ribbons.

It was a terrifying power, but one that thankfully had a potent limit: it would reset itself whenever it struck a different foe.

The result was that, while the Butcher’s Blade theoretically had no limit to how strong it could be when used against a single enemy, it was of little use in large-scale battles. Even in a one-on-one fight, it wasn’t unknown for an intelligent foe would see through the sword’s power and summon backup to act as cannon fodder in order to nullify the Blade’s deadliness.

Indeed, it was just such a tactic which had led to Cicatrix’s downfall.

But the Moon Princess had been betting that wouldn’t matter to a warrior from the Graveyard of Swords, that enigmatic demiplane where precisely one hundred disciples of an unknown master trained to better themselves. Quite the opposite, she had been certain that – with their preference for dueling to determine their rankings – the Butcher’s Blade would have proven irresistible to them. Certainly, she had no use for it; while the blade had no daemonic aura about it, its reputation as a weapon of cowards and tormentors made it unpalatable to her, and by extension her faithful.

But the warriors in the Graveyard couldn’t have cared less about her religion, or the weapon’s reputation, she knew. All they cared about was honing their skills and finding powerful swords. That was why she’d felt sure that the promise of the Butcher’s Blade would be enough to cut a deal with at least one of them.

And she’d been right...at least, until now.

“Has Silhouette’s training been going that badly, Brelloth?” sighed the goddess. “I had thought that he’d prove an eager student.”

“Eagerness is not a substitute for talent,” answered Brelloth. “And that stallion has none.”

The words were uttered with neither passion nor prejudice, and in that regard they matched their speaker perfectly.

Brelloth was a nephilim, a being born of the union between an empyreal and a fiend. An unlikely result of opposing numinous forces, his appearance had the best qualities of both, possessing the fair features of his celestial side as well as black ram’s horns and glowing red eyes from his netherworld parent. His armor was composed of an understated grey material that most mortals would have been unable to identify, but which the Moon Princess knew was glaucite, an alloy of iron with adamantine, sometimes known as “false mithral” despite being just as strong and supple as the real thing. More than that, it was heavily enchanted, carrying potent inlays of protective magic that would have awed Luminace herself.

But as impressive as it was, Brelloth’s armor paled in comparisons to his swords.

The larger of the pair was strapped over his back, and although it was almost as long as his body, she’d seen him wield the thing with one hand. But more impressive than that was what he’d done with it, the blade having a special power that was like none other that she’d ever seen:

It suppressed all magic that it came into contact with.

Against its touch, any spell – no matter how powerful – was immediately shut down, and the powers of any magic item were similarly disrupted until it ceased contact with it.

In the hands of a neophyte warrior, such a blade would have made them a severe threat even against an archmage. And Brelloth was no neophyte, able to effortlessly bat even the fastest of incoming spells out of the air with that sword, using it equally well for offense and defense against spellcasters.

And that was the lesser of Brelloth’s weapons.

Far stronger was the short sword that he kept on his hip.

That sword, when the name of its target was spoken by the wielder, would appear along the length of the blade. When so attuned, every successful strike it made against the named creature had the potential to be fatal, releasing a pulse of destructive energy that would immediately attempt to break the bonds between each and every particle that made up their body, reducing them to so much dust.

Of course, such a power had its own limitations, the greatest of which was that the wielder needed to know the name of their enemy. More than that, it had to be their true name; if it was an alias or a nickname, instead of the name they thought of themselves by, the sword’s power was useless against them. But that protection didn’t extend to automatons or other creatures without a sense of self; such foes only needed to be identified by what they were, rather than who, and the sword’s power would work on them.

And similar to the Butcher’s Blade, Brelloth’s short sword could only hold one name at a time. Nor could that name be changed if the wielder was unable to speak, or wasn’t holding the weapon. Likewise, a foe of sufficient strength could potentially resist the sword’s lethal power even when it had been imbued with their name...though in that case, multiple blows were likely to do what a single one couldn’t.

With those weapons – along with his own battle prowess – the Moon Princess knew that Brelloth was a force to be reckoned with.

But it wasn’t his weapons that made him so deadly, nor his armor, nor the magical abilities she knew he commanded.

Rather, it was because – although he was neither a god nor a titan – Brelloth commanded battle prowess of sufficient force that he could stand against both in combat.

So much so that, although she felt certain that he wouldn’t be able to defeat her here in her realm, the Moon Princess knew that if she were to face him right now with her full might, it would likely prove to be a hard-won victory for her, despite his being a mortal.

There was a name, she knew, for a mortal existence that could hold its own against aristeia or divinity despite having – or rather, because they had – neither of them:

Paragon.

That term wasn’t exclusive to those beings who trained at the Graveyard of Swords, but as far as she was aware they were the largest gathering of them in the cosmos.

And yet Brelloth was still only a minor member of that particular group, as proclaimed by the number on his cloak:

Eighty-one.

With enough power that he had the potential to be a threat to her in her own realm despite being in the bottom fifth of his own organization, the Moon Princess hadn’t complained when Brelloth had been the one to come take her up on the offer she’d made: that she’d give the Butcher’s Blade to anyone who could make Silhouette into a paragon.

Except now he was apparently reneging on the deal.

“If he has no talent, then you just need to cultivate it in him,” she insisted. “Paragons are like warriors are they not? Made rather than born? Simply forge him-”

“Not all materials take to being forged,” cut in Brelloth, his voice flat. “If something is too brittle or too rigid or simply too weak, then it can’t be built up into something stronger.”

“And yet he has grown more powerful,” retorted the Moon Princess, raising her wings to gesture overhead. Above her, the image of the full moon that decorated the ceiling of her throne room turned transparent, showing where Silhouette was training.

“LEX LEGIS!” he bellowed, his eyes wide and his lips pulled back in a rictus snarl as he hovered above a spectral facsimile of the titan in question. Butterfly wings flapping, the white spots on the black material shimmered as they flew off of his new appendages, the orbs zipping around him as they moved into place before him, forming a pattern.

“Zodiac, Sign of the Warrior, Fifth Star!” he roared as the points of light in front of him flared brighter, each of the beginning to flash different colors.

“Cepheid Variable!”

No sooner had he yelled the words than the multicolored points of light shot out numerous beams of multiple colors, all of them arcing down toward the translucent image of Lex Legis.

But the faux-titan didn’t wait to meet them, instead waving a claw and conjuring a shield overhead, against which the lights struck without penetrating. Even as he did that, the spectral titan was already casting another spell, conjuring numerous spears of ice which were immediately flung toward Silhouette-

“Zodiac, Sign of the Veil, Third Star!” This time, the spots on his wings seemed to dissolve after they popped out, turning into a mist that rapidly obscured Silhouette from view. “Substellar Composition!”

No sooner had the words left his mouth than the ice spears entered the mist, striking it from every direction.

But a moment later, Silhouette came streaking out, looking none the worse for wear as he let out another battle cry. “Zodiac, Sign of the Traveler, Fourth-”

“This is pointless,” cut in Brelloth, seemingly bored with the display. “None of what he’s using is his power.”

“The same could be said of your swords,” replied the Moon Princess, letting the image fade. “But the fact remains that he has made rapid progress with the powers I’ve granted him. Surely the potential for him to become a paragon is there?”

“And I’m telling you, it’s not. That pony, no matter what magic or blessings or weapons you give him, is broken inside. All of his obsessions – revenge on that Lex person, marrying that Luna mare, even his faith in you – are just distractions, ways of keeping his attention off of whatever it is he’s running from in his heart. If he can’t muster up the inner strength necessary to confront himself, then he’s not going to be able to make the jump to being a paragon.”

“And yet I need him to,” insisted the Moon Princess. “He’s the only pony in my service who comes from that other world, and with the Night Mare imprisoned and her champion barred from returning there, I have a chance to extend my own influence to the ponies there. But capitalizing on that chance requires sending a champion of my own, one with power enough to draw others to him.”

“Then just make him a titan,” shrugged Brelloth. “Or raise him up to being a demigod.”

“There are political issues with both of those options,” replied the goddess darkly. “He has to become a paragon, or nothing at all.”

“I recommend the latter. Either way, it’s not my problem. You can keep the sword; I’m out.”

Perigee and Apogee growled again as Brelloth turned and started walking about without receiving the Moon Princess’s permission to leave, but she silenced them again, watching as the warrior made his way toward the exit.

Just when he was about to leave, she called out to him. “What if there was another way?”

Brelloth didn’t so much as glance back at her. “There isn’t.”

“I have an idea I’d like you to listen to. Tell me whether or not it can work, and the Butcher’s Blade is yours, whatever your answer.”

Right on the threshold of the exit, Brelloth stopped. “I want the sword up front.”

“Done.”

Waving a wing, the Moon Princess made the sword appear in front of the nephilim, who immediately snatched it up and looked it over at length before finally nodding as he glanced back at the goddess. “Talk.”

It took her only a few moments to outline what she was thinking, and to her satisfaction Brelloth raised a brow before putting one hand to his chin, a thoughtful expression crossing his face.

Paragons were, according to the most popular theory among planar sages and gods of knowledge, the universe’s attempt to reassert itself in the face of godly manipulation and titan defiance. They served as anchor points for reality, proving resistant to being redefined or destroyed by titanic or divine will. But while it was possible for paragons to be created spontaneously – even if no one, not even the gods, had yet managed to figure out how that could happen – it was known that an existing paragon could attempt to raise another mortal up to their level.

It was also known that few such attempts succeeded.

But what the Moon Princess had suggested put an entirely different spin on the process.

“That...could work,” Brelloth admitted after a long period of silence. “It could go horribly wrong, but it might not.”

“Then you’re willing to try it out on Silhouette?”

Brelloth glanced at the Butcher’s Blade again. “Why not? Worse comes to worst, I’ll have a chance to put this thing to the test.”

The Moon Princess smiled.

“I’ll have him brought here right now, then. We’ll begin immediately.”

Author's Note

The Moon Princess reveals her plan for Silhouette at last!

Will her attempt to have him become a paragon succeed? What idea did she suggest to Brelloth?