The battle concluded with a singularity. The conclusive consumption of every surviving member of the Estrada-Almagro bloodline into a single point of infinity. The density ripped the blessings from those who had them. For the prince, though, the end had different results.

The mass of the black hole pressed everything it consumed into an intricate bladed form, curving and twisting freely and with otherworldly intention.

The object was incredibly dark and had a gritty, almost cast-iron texture that made its oily shimmer look unnatural. Metamorphic rock washing up from a beach’s salty shores. This coarseness was strange in another way, it sullied the sharpness of the sword; an obvious hindrance for a blade presumably made for piercing. The blade of the weapon was thin and straight, made for deft strikes and swordplay at a distance. The guard of the blade, made of the same textured black material, was decorated with black vines sporting thorns and roses. The flowery décor continued down the guard to the grip, which made wielding the weapon painful at best. The sight of this shimmering, nocturnal weapon stood out greatly in the blood and desolation left by the battle that created it.

By far the strangest thing about the blade was its sheer inability to miss. The blade would always make its mark. This is not to say the blade could not be parried, but the blade always struck something and never allowed its wielder to be disarmed. Despite this, none of the movements looked unnatural, and the wielders would describe that the sword felt no different to swing than any other.