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The spear gleamed with an ethereal, almost holy radiance. Its shaft was pure white, yet within its core swirled faint nebulae of trapped ghostly lights that shifted gently like distant stars. The blade itself was long and elegant, tapering to a needle-like point capable of piercing through concepts themselves. A faint, whispering chorus of ancient noble spirits seemed to echo whenever it moved through the air. Blank spun it once with practiced ease, and the air itself screamed in response.
"This is my White Maiden," he declared calmly, though his eyes burned with focused killing intent. "And you are the first foe in centuries to force me to draw it. Consider yourself honored before you perish."
"GRRRRAAAAAHHH!!!"
