The God of War closed his right hand around the Chaos Blade's hilt and lifted it.
Nothing happened.
Simon watched from the ground, one shallow breath catching against the wound in his chest. The god held the sword before him and turned it slightly, examining the black surface with open interest.
"A fine weapon," he murmured. "Even holding it tells me how well it receives energy."
His thumb shifted against the hilt. The blade remained still, neither resisting his grip nor revealing anything more.
"No wonder my chosen's weapon suffered."
The interest in his expression deepened. Then his brows slowly drew together. He turned the sword once more, and something tightened beneath the skin of his wrist.
The god looked down.
His eyes widened, and he abruptly threw the Chaos Blade aside. It struck the road several paces from Simon and skidded through the dust.
"What is this?"
His voice had become cold.
