Book and Blade: Book One of the Hand of Perdition by Erik Lynd

but then he caught Christopher's eye and hesitated at the fire he saw.
    "What the hell?" Low Voice said.
    "Exactly," Christopher said.
    Christopher pulled his arms away from the arms of the chair. The ropes held but the wood splintered and fell apart as though it was made of balsa wood. He stood up and the ropes and broken wood fell away from him. The anger burned through him, and he could feel the power begging to be set free. They had torn off his shirt and when he looked down at his body, he could see power emanating from him as though he burned with mystical fire. He decided that this would not do. He couldn't be running around half naked.
    Not knowing exactly how, he reached out to the shadows in the far corner of the room and pulled them to him. The shadows swarmed him instantly and coalesced into clothes of black and gray and a hooded jacket covering his head. Like the Librarian's robes, the jacket swirled with shades of black.
    Low Voice stepped back, eyes wide with panic. High Voice recovered faster and pulled out his gun.
    Christopher felt the impact of the bullet in his stomach. He was knocked back and stumbled. But unlike his other gunshot wound, which he noticed no longer seemed to matter, he could feel his body repairing the hole almost instantly. Again, the pain was nothing compared to the pain he carried within.
    He felt something calling out for him, and he saw the pocket knife on the ground by the bed. On instinct he snatched it up. It almost leaped into his hand, eager and, he could tell, thirsty.
    It shifted in his hand, lengthening and erupting in a mixture of black and red flames. The flames did not harm Christopher, in fact, they seemed to give off almost no heat. The knife had become a sword in his hand. He had hoped it would be something more modern, maybe a gun, but it was what he had to work with.
    Two more rounds hit him in the shoulder and thigh, spinning him slightly.
    He realized the bullets would not kill him, at least not quickly, but they could fire at him faster than he could heal and that would slow him. So whatever these new gifts were, he was not exactly bulletproof. He had to act.
    Low Voice had his gun out despite the terror on his face. Before he could fire, however, Christopher swept the Weapon up, slicing through the man’s thick forearm without resistance.
    Low Voice screamed a very high pitched scream. Christopher reversed the direction of the sword and sliced Low Voice through the torso diagonally.
    Again there was no resistance, and the Weapon's flames spread over his entire body. His scream ended in a gurgle as both parts of his body hit the ground. But then there was a new sound. A weak, pitiful warbling scream.
    Low Voice's aura now strung from the sword to his body like cheese from a hot slice of pizza. This was where the sound was coming from. The sound of a soul being pulled out of its body.
    With a sickening wet sound, Low Voice’s soul pulled away from his body and was absorbed into the Weapon.
    High Voice had realized his gun was of little use and ran out the bedroom door. Christopher looked around quickly and found the Book on the floor next to the bed. He slipped it into the interior pocket of his shadow jacket.
    With a short run he jumped through the window, shattering glass and wooden frame all around him. He wasn't sure he could fly, but something told him that the thirty-foot drop would no longer hurt him.
    He had more strength than he had thought, and the momentum of his jump carried him well past the sidewalk. He landed on his feet in the center of the street. He was alone on the street for the moment. No cars were around. For now, the neighbors were inside, but that would change soon. Bursting out of a third story window made a lot of noise.
    Christopher sniffed the air. He could smell something, something rancid yet sweet. He realized he had smelled it up in his room. Yes, it had been the scent coming off of High Voice. It was the smell of his soul.
    He