Draziel's POV
The sun was always mild in the underworld, but this afternoon, it beat down a bit hard on my bare back. The heat stung a bit. The strong, golden rays of the sun lit up the whole training ground around me, chasing back the shadows of the columns and decks into the hallways.
I grunted as I sliced my palm with my sword. Thick red blood pooled over the cut, staining my palm red and stinging the air with a strong coppery smell.
I sniffed it, raising my head slowly, inhaling the smell of my own blood. Then I folded my palm, letting the blood drop just as I wanted it onto the column of my sword, as the scroll had prescribed.
According to the scroll, this was the last of the ritual needed to bond myself to my sword as my anchor and guide to time travel. Now, all that remained was to practice the techniques in the scroll.
