The Blade rang in his hand, deep down into his bones, thrilling up and down his spine, drilling into his darkest places, the places where Dean pushed his rage at what he’d done, what he’d suffered, the horrible double-edged choices he’d been forced to make that no one could shoulder but himself. That rage fed the Blade, and the Blade fed the rage, and the circuit ran like fire into Dean, through him, through them, weaving them together, forging them into a unit, a murderous catastrophe.
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Terrifyingly perfect!