The Fleshspikes

He had three in his hand.

The rain poured down outside the walls of the small, squat tower perched on a lonely hill. He stood right before him; the man he had been chasing for so, so long. His face was familiar to him, for a face seen by the Son of Sets would not, could not be forgotten before his death was confirmed. He called himself the Storm King, but the Son knew his true name, and for solely that reason, the Storm King would not live to see the light of the following morning.

The steel of the small barbed spikes in his hand was icy cold, but seemed to thrum, vibrant, alive with anticipation of their next kill. The Storm King wielded a heavy, two-handed sword, and his was armored to the brim. Only his face was visible behind his full plate armor, and despite showing an unfaltering grin, the Son could see the fear behind the eyes of his prey. The armored giant held his sword pointed directly at the Son as he spoke.

'You... You singlehandedly killed every single one of my guards.'

The Son greeted his words only with a dull stare, and the Storm King looked deeply into his lifeless gray eyes as he tried again.

'You wish to challenge me? Fight me? There are none who can fight me up straight but the Warlord Sets, and you are not him. Then who are you? Who are you to challenge the great Storm King of the Giants?'

The Son remained silent for a few moments, not breaking the stare into his opponents eyes. The spikes were thirsty, he knew. Not moving at all, he spoke.

'Storm King. Gareth Umberlag. I am not here to fight you -'

Lightning struck, and the Son knew his time had come.

'- I am here to kill you.'

Thunder crashed loudly as the Son flashed his hand, sending one of the three bolts in his hand flying towards the giant, who was momentarily distracted by the boom of thunder. It struck him precisely between the plates of his right arm, his sword arm. Half a second later the giant rushed forwards, charging with a mighty roar at the small man in front of him. Before his sword could touch skin, the Son pulled the string that was attached to the bolt and ruined the giants only chance at hitting him. The Son dodged his blow smoothly and appeared behind the Storm King, taking the second spike and throwing it into the back of his lower leg.

As the giant whirled around to fight him, the Son knew he had won. The spikes would not let go of the flesh, just like he would not let go of his prey. The spike embedded in his leg brought the mighty Storm King down to his knees with a quick pull. The third bolt, attached to a thin string just like the other two, embedded itself in the skull of the giant. The large sword fell to the ground as the life left the body of the Storm King, leaving him sagging inside his armor, still sitting on his knees. The Son waited for a few seconds, until the three Fleshspikes let go of the now dead giant, and pulled them back into his hands. They, and he, had been appeased.

The Fleshspikes, sometimes called Doom Claws or Teeth of Death, are a set of mystical weapons which were originally used by the Son of Sets but have been passed on through many assassins. The weapon is a small spike, similar to a shuriken, made of solid iron, which is attached to an extremely thin mithral chain. The spike is extremely sharp, and can pierce through almost anything using its innate magical power, but what makes the weapon strong is the fact that when it pierces a living creature, it does not let go until all life has left that creature. This enables the user to strike an arm or a leg and then disrupt his opponents attacks by pulling the strings. The blade also stays if struck in non-living material, such as stone or wood. True masters of the Doom Claws use this to their maximum potential by attaching the spike to walls and ceilings and using them to manoeuvre themselves into beneficial positions.

The tale of the creation of the Fleshspikes is not known to most mortal creatures, as it includes the Old Gods, no longer present upon these planes of existance. The god of Slaughter and Carnage, Rigorath, had always been a mortal enemy of Valurion, the god of Justice and Righteousnous, and their armies clashed eternally upon the fields of War. However, Valurions armies had the upper hand. They were slowly driving back the armies of Rigorath, who was desperately trying to find a way to strike back at his foe. But as Valurion stood before his Church of Blood, he knew he had no chance to win the war any longer. Drawing his blade, he decided to face the God of Justice once and for all.

Valurion was more powerful then he could anticipate. His shining mace could not be easily parried by Rigoraths sword, and he could not get a good strike past the large shield. Valurions mace slammed down on the side of Rigoraths spiked head, and the god of Carnage fell to the ground. When he spat, he realised a few of his iron teeth had fallen out. The shining god standing above him was laughing, and he lifted his mace to deliver the killing blow. Rigorath turned suddenly, throwing his spiked teeth that were knocked out at the heart of the god above him. Valurion fell back, writhing in the agony of the teeth embedded in his body. Swiftly his men lead him back to their home, though they were disheartened by the sight of their crippled god. As the news that Valurion had fallen spread, the men of light were pushed back once more, and the battle between darkness and light continued.

Back in the church of light, Valurion removed the iron teeth from his chest and decided to make sure they could never be used for evil again. He attached a thin chain of unbreakable mithril to each of the teeth, and then commanded one of his trusted men to bring them to a safe place. Nobody knows what happened to the teeth after that. The only thing that is known is that the next person to be seen using them was the Son of Sets, and that there is still someone out there who wields these deadly, indestructible weapons.