"How certain are you that Lariel's blade won't kill us for being demon-spawned mongrels?" Wenduag snaps.

"It won't."

"Who is Lariel, and why is adding another sword to the mess supposed to help?"

"...Is getting confused about who is and isn't a demon normal?"

"Not usually, but..." Seelah winces. "Prelate Hulrun has been known to... be... overzealous. About whether someone is a threat to his city."

"He only wants to protect people, but... he hurts others, to do it." Ember rubs her burn scars half-consciously.

"Grand. Alright, about where was it supposed to be? Does it smell like anything?"

"Anyone who smelled it is long dead," Lann apologizes. "But it was supposedly interred with him, and I have a suspicion about where he was buried –"

He leads them to a large chamber containing some crudely carved impressions of winged humanoids. "I think there's something in here that conceals his tomb. A secret switch, or something? It's one of our oldest landmarks, and I think there's a reason our ancestors spent their time on it."

Well, hunting for secret switches is perfectly normal pokemon enrichment. 

She calls out the rest of her pokemon. "Okay guys! We're looking for a secret switch, or latch, or something like that. Also this is apparently a tomb, so if there's a corpse, please be respectful." 

"Chika!"

Sniff sniff. WHOAH these guys smell even weirder than Ember.

There's a metallic smell under this pile of rubble! It also smells a little like a Flying-type, and a lot like the sun.

Dana has never actually smelled the sun itself but "metal, flying type, other weird stuff" seems significant enough to paw at Lucy's leg about. 

Lucy gets out her halligan bar again. 

Underneath the rubble: yeah, that's a really fancy sword. The blade is shining silver, etched with delicate golden runes. The hilt unfurls like a pair of white-gold eagle's wings, with a perfect opal set between them.

For something made to kill, it's beautiful.

It is beautiful. It's not like you can't use sharp objects for perfectly reasonable things, like cutting through brush or slicing bread or carving decorative soaps. She reaches down to pick it up. 

As she touches it, there's a flash of light, and she feels.

The sword is... confused. That's what it is. It doesn't understand what's happening, who this is. She's an azata, a worthy ally in the fight for good. She's a demon, a vile thing to be purged. She's a dedicated trainer, someone who chose the path of helping others in a world that hardly needs it. She's a squeamish child, too fearful to do what is needed. She's a rightful wielder, a graverobbing thief, a civilian, a victim.

The sword doesn't know what to do. It's not an angel - it's all that's left of one. It wants to do the right thing. It doesn't know what's right. It knows what's good, but that's different. There's a thousand good things you could do every second, and only some of them are right. It's desperate to do what needs to be done. It's been down here for a hundred years, unable to do anything - they sealed it away, that's not what you do with a sword. It wants to help. But so much is happening, so suddenly, and it doesn't know how to help or who to help or what to help with.

All of this rushes through her in the first moments she's touching it. It's pulled in so many different directions that it's paralyzed. If she lends it her own guidance, it would believe her, whatever she said, just so that it doesn't rip itself apart.

--She wants to save people. She wants to protect them, wants to put a giant barrier between fighting sides until everyone has calmed down and stopped trying to do violence--and if that won't work, she wants to try something else instead--also apparently you can raise the dead here and she really wants that. 

The sword thinks it can work with that.

It's no longer in her hand, but in her heart. She could pull it out again, if she likes; it'll light her way, energize people, radiate hope in the dark. It can also cut things, like brush or bread or decorative soaps.

It won't cut people anymore. Not even demons. That part of its existence is over.

She gasps and falls to her knees. 

And then she pulls the sword out again. 

Wow, this is really confusing. But, like, in a good way. 

And there are new shapes to try, which is neat!

"Ditto."

Wenduag yelps in shock, and scuttles away from the pokemon wearing her face! That's her face!

Lann is busy beholding the angel's sword in Lucy's hands.

"...it's beautiful."