Just like they’d thought, something was definitely off with these swords. In the world of Eora, ever since ancient times, it was a known fact that spirits could only be killed with spiritual energy. And humans, a short-lived species who could not harness those same powers as naturally, had fallen behind in skill. At the time, only shamans were known to be able to defend the human race against evil spirits by using their rare abilities to harness the spiritual cores inside themselves into mystifying power. And in order to refine that power, one such skilled shaman by the legendary name of Joy Spiritking founded the first human weapon any human could learn to use that gave them the power to vanquish evil spirits all on their own, and which finally gave humanity the ability to fight back and defend themselves from evil once and for all.

The reason why everyone could use these spiritual swords, and not just the few shamans that existed, was because in truth, everyone was in possession of a spiritual core. The only difference between a shaman and a regular human was that the shamans had the ability to manipulate it. But with the sacred ritual invented by the historically acclaimed Joy Spiritking, a human could put their spiritual core into that of a sword forged from their own blood and life force, giving the humans the ability to control spiritual energy through the swords they commanded. You could only ever make one sword in your life, and it could never be destroyed unless the wielder was killed first. And it gave the human race power that had been unimaginable back then.

But looking at these swords now… no, there was definitely something off about them. The first thing Neomyra had noticed last time they were here was that they were all forged with the same person’s blood and life force. To have had the ability to make so many, even if that meant they were all incomplete and unusable except for the first one that had been forged, meant that whoever had created them had an exceptional amount of spiritual energy and was no doubt a shaman. Shamans could fight just fine without swords, even if the sword method would still be easier for them, so that in and of itself only continued to befuddle Neomyra further.

Who on earth would be stupid enough to do this? Was it that Spiritking’s direct descendant, Joyce? None of these faulty swords were the first one he must have made, meaning that his true blade was elsewhere, so why had he forged all of these others to begin with? He’d already put his core into the first one, so these blades were just filled with empty essence and not the life force needed to command them! Their power would go haywire and out of control if ever used, and it was very likely the wielder's life would be in danger if they tried. So just what did that human think he was doing making so many of these? There had to be more than ten! Even if he was a shaman, which was the only real explanation as to how he was still alive right now, it would have no doubt shortened his lifespan exponentially regardless. Bah, stupid humans… did they not understand how that worked?

Mmm, but… all of these swords did still kind of smell like what they were looking for. They all had that same familiar essence tugging at the young spirit’s soul, like the many swords were trying to lead them somewhere. Though it was beyond even Neomyra why useless, fractured spirit swords would be of any use to them. But, well, maybe they could use one of them as a tracker to lead them straight to their target… yup, worth a shot. So despite the fact that they knew Joy Spiritking would be immediately aware they were in here once they touched one of his swords, since faulty or not, they were still made with his leftover spirituality, Neomyra manipulated their body to grow in size while their top half morphed and shifted into that of a pale-faced with human with shaggy blond hair before they grabbed the blade in its scabbard and yanked it off the shelf.

“Hehe, this is mine now,” they giggled, though at that very moment, the human who had suspected them of breaking in all along slammed the door open with the most furious of growls.

“You filthy cat, don’t think I haven’t caught you now—!” Joyce Spiritking, the direct descendant of the legendary shaman Joy Spiritking, made sure to announce with all his might as he opened the doors to this sealed room, a seal that was supposed to only be bypassed by those of the Spiritking bloodline or spirits who possessed the life attribute, with only one of those having ever been known to exist, and which was now a god presumed to be dead. Though when Joyce slammed open those doors, his golden eyes blaring while his neatly thin brown bangs flew across his face with his aggressive movements, that damn cat June liked to talk to and that all his servants had spotted running around here too many times to count had completely disappeared! “Ugh, didn’t I tell you to apprehend that winged feline next time you saw it?!” he snapped at June in his frustration, his childhood friend and employed bartender at his family’s restaurant frantically raising his hands to show his innocence.  

“C’mon dude, it’s just a curious little kitty! I even asked how old it was and they’re very young for a spirit, they probably just don’t understand how some things work…” June waved his hands in front of his face profusely, though that did nothing to lighten Joyce’s scowl. “Man, trust me, I already tested their maliciousness levels on our spirit radar and they came back at zero! You know it’s illegal for us to go after spirits that aren’t classified as evil!”

“That doesn’t change the fact that it’s a trespasser.”

“Well it’s not like it’s stolen anything, dude! This isn’t where we keep the real important artifacts anyway… and it’s just a kitten, I’m sure it only wanted to take a little lookie loo…”

“Actually, it looks like that cat stole one of your swords, Joyce,” his older cousin, Isabelle Spiritking, decided to helpfully chime in, her three loyal spirit bonds that were each the size of a human finger flitting around in a flurry above her head as they all pointed to the empty casing where one of his faulty swords should have been. Isabelle was busy checking for more spiritual fragments that could be used to track it down, her delicate fingers traced over the places atop the desk she sensed Neomyra had been, her long brown hair wafting down to her waist with all its blond highlights. But her words gave him more than enough of a reason to turn back to June, glaring at his old friend like he was about to suck his soul out of his body with just the look alone, the poor lad nearly screaming in protest.

“Now, now hold on here, Joyce…! So it ended up being a little thief, that’s not my fault! I didn’t know, I swear it…! And that doesn’t change the fact it wasn’t malicious and that it’s just a baby, so I think we should try to gently guide it instead of… y’know…”

“Tsk,” was Joyce’s only response once June got the hint and helplessly trailed off, the weak head of the Spiritking family shoving past his friend to get back to managing his restaurant, which should have been nothing but a side job for him had his life gone the way he’d wanted. “Whatever. I wasn’t able to use the sword anyway. Let the stupid cat have it. Who knows, maybe it can get more use out of it than me.”