The blade was the last thing the god gave up.
It was now dull, cracked along its length and shorter by half, because I was no longer letting the god heal around its own wounds for the blade to feed on.
Although the blade was solid, its composition was odd, having the properties of both liquid and solid, so that it appeared to be made of flowing blood while still being solid enough to cut through my Adamantium flesh.
When the blade cut into anything, that thing would bleed, and the blade would feed on the blood to grow, but I had made sure to deny the god the chance to use it. I could sense its confusion. Inscription did not exist in this era, and the gods here could not understand it, and I used this to my advantage.
When the serpent swung the blade at me the swing was slow, and I met it with a single stroke that cut through part of it, and a piece the size of a tower broke away and fell to the glass and became blood again.
