Blood-red runes smoulder with hellfire heat, eldritch and arcane symbols twisting and writhing like caged beasts. Molten light pours from the blade, a cacophony of flaming colours pulsating to a deep, unseen beat. The air around it shimmers, trying to run from the smoking heat. Living fire, possessed with evil intent, drips from the tip of the wide spined sword, a deep groove running down its spine. The Evil Eye sits crouched on the hilt, slitted pupil moving erratically, madly.

The saber is alive with boundless rage, blood and flame bound in shackles of brass. Possessing a wicked razor sharpness no object of the mortal realm can even slow, like the scythe of Death itself. Capable of cutting an ethereal flame in twain, or cleaving a soul from its body. It seems to radiate evil, as if a demon is entombed within the metal and fire of the artifact. One wonders if this sword is wielded…or it wields.

This is the Blade of Hatred.

Blinding white light matches the volcanic glow emanating from the Hellblade. Burning with clean force, a miniature sun. Energy flickers and crackles along the length of the curved blade. The hilt is a basketwork of shining gold, the pure light glinting off it, sparkling fragments twirling into the darkness. It shines with strength, and surest purity.

It rivals its pair in sharpness, capable of hewing the head of a demon from its shoulders without the slightest resistance. This sword too, feels alive. But not possessed, instead…confident. Filled with life, not hate.

This is the Blade of Hope.