>>339278
< The old ones hear Anon's wish.
> Anon suddenly starts writhing in agony.
> He begins screaming as one of his radial bones begins to grow, punching through the skin of his wrist.
> His shrieking becomes hoarse as the now grotesquely elongated bone becomes plastic and begins to flatten.
> Anon is alternating between desperate gasps for air and trying to force more pained wails from his traumatized throat as the bone begins to take on a recognizable shape.
> A sword.
> With an odd wrench the blade separates itself from anon and falls, burying itself point first in the ground.
> Anon's arm bone quickly recedes back within his body and returns to its original shape.
> He collapses with relief as his skin heals instantly and the searing pain is reduced to a dull throbbing.
> Before him stands the fruit of his odd labor: a 19th century naval officer's saber seemingly made entirely out of weathered yellow bone. Despite the odd material it seems quite sharp and is otherwise unremarkable except for ragged serrations along the spine of the blade and a bizarrely large crossguard emblazoned with a moulding of a closed eye.
> An eye which now opens.
< Ah! Husband! I'm sorry! I'm sorry! I'm sorry! You've suffered so much to give me life and in this form I can't even comfort you with a hug…
> Somehow, deep in his soul, Anon can sense the sword's genuine distress at his plight.
< Husband I… hesitate… to ask this of you but if you give me a female host I can fulfill your desires. The desires so profound and melancholy that they stirred the sympathy of beings who were old when the stars were young. They sent me to fill the hole in your heart, Husband. It is what I made for.
> Anon can feel the devotion of the sword. The strength of the blade's loyalty is overwhelming. A more pedestrian mind might even describe it as crazed.
> The sword seems to key off of Anon's unease.
< Oh, please don't be frightened husband! I would never hurt you, and I'll respect your wishes no matter what! I'll understand if you wish for me to remain mere sword, and if that's your choice I'll be the best sword for you I can be!
< I'll even understand if I displease you and you wish to.. discard me.
> At that Anon can sense bittersweet resolve and a profound fear of failure. Unlike before the feelings seem far away, as if the sword is trying to protect him from them. Does it not want him to feel guilty if he decides to do something hurtful to it?
So, what would you do Anon? Find some poor 3DPD and literally feed her to a creation of the old ones so you could love a husk puppeteered by an artifact incapable of doing anything but love you? Try to find a human girl who would willingly fuse with the alien intelligence? Maintain a platonic relationship with the unnatural weapon until the end of your days? Would you cuckquean it? Would you throw it back into the abyss? Would you ask for a replacement?