Editing Machina Dei/Writefaggotry (section)

=Attila=
Attila sat down by the river. Bleda was playing at politics again. It irritated Attila, for Bleda was given to error in this arena. No matter; Attila had a greater purpose for this time. The river would bless the tribe. Attila knew little of shamanism, but he knew more than Bleda, and one of them had to do it. Attila tossed the strip of horseflesh into the river. He said the words that Rugila had taught him before his death. The river spirit would come. Then, on sudden impulse, Attila stood, and cut his wrist, letting blood fall into the river. Stupid. Why had he done that; that was the wrong thing to do. Then a blade arose from the water, curved and cruel. It was followed by a sinuous black tentacle with a single eye. The sword and tentacle writhed forward to Attila.
"Augh," Attila stepped away from the thing. A mouth formed about its midsection.
"Please... your world burns me... Give me shelter in your form! I'll bring you power in battle like no other man..."
The thing was like no river spirit, but victory in battle was what Attila had prayed for.
"Very well."
The thing slithered forward, and with great sped it leaped into the Hun's body. It was gone for a moment, and then the curved blade sprung outward from Attila's flesh, forming in his hand.
Attila heard that voice once more in his mind,
"I shall henceforth be... the Sword... of Attila."

That was centuries ago. Attila had more of the spirits within him now. All the warriors had at leas one. The sword remained at Attila's hand - what was left of it. The arm had lengthened, becoming whip-like. The hand no longer had fingers, but was fused to the blade. And yet, it was the most human part of the body. The Blade still talked to Attila, of course. It was his greatest companion. And Attila was the Greatest being. The Romans would fall before his might. Soon.