All Black Necrosword Novels & Stories

The target's daily routine continued for three days, so for the next four days, Azrael will continue the assassination of his target. The day has come when Azrael will carry out his mission. Azrael had already prepared his guns and knife. Azrael placed the Coharie Arms MP-10 Using a duffle bag, and his pistols were in his pistol holster. He has already left his condo unit. He left all his feelings as he left his home. He knew this mission would not be easy so he needed to be more self-confident. He drove in his black Camaro.

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Dante sneered, pulling a long, elegant sword from a sheath at his waist. The blade was made of dark black metal, pulsing with the same sickly green light as the hunting hounds. "This city belongs to the Council, Calista. Your father died because he forgot his place. Now it is your turn." He lunged again, the black sword sliced through the gray fog with a high-pitched whistle. I did not try to block the sword with my small knife. I used my doctor's brain, watching his feet. Just as the blade came down toward my neck, I dropped flat onto my stomach and let the black steel cut through the empty air above my hair.

"We have Alpha Neon of the Tiger clan with us, seeking justice for his father's death. According to Caroline's testimony and corroborating evidence, Alpha Kai of Blackmoon was proven innocent, and Gordon has been identified as the guilty party who killed Alpha Nesser." "Are we not still lacking the evidence necessary to convict Gordon?" Alpha Nathan of the West challenges Council Head Ather. "I recall Caroline mentioning that it was Alpha Francis who plotted to kill Alpha Nesser with his beta, but without any solid evidence to substantiate that claim." Ather nods in agreement.

Usually, I’m good at going from being myself to being the cold-hearted assassin everyone knows and fears, but this entire Grigoras mess has made me deviate from my normal routine in more ways than one and let’s be honest, Alec has definitely messed with my head and my vagina, though one I enjoyed more than the other. Right now I need to take the last few weeks and lock them away in the back of my mind and focus on being Blackheart. From the moment I step off this plane, I will be cold, emotionless, fearless, and capable of anything. Death is my bitch and she’s not coming for me this year.

Her wings splay out, exposing her vulnerable chest. I partially shift, claws ripping from my fingers, and stab them deep into her heart. She dies. Messily. Screaming. I hear the same death wail from the others—only three left now. Looks like Nate and Rowen handled theirs. Black goo covers my hands. I grimace. I’m going to have to boil this off later. Then I spot Lamashtu #3 reaching for my other sword. “Oh, hell no.” She grabs it—and throws it. Far. Great.

she said, tightening her grip on the sword, her breath ragged. Drakoen smile. He proceeded to release dark shadows from his hand, summoning a weapon forged in the abyss. A black medium sword. Black smoke was emitting from it and the unbearable stench of rotting flesh and blood. Mercedes didn't let that bother her. She had to stay focused on her enemy, not let him get the chance to strike her. Mercedes narrowed her eyes at Drakoen, clasping her sword with both hands.

Guards in black armor stood around the golden black coffin with dagger-axes in their hands, guarding the slumber of the master in the coffin. Four golden god statues stood in four directions of the coffin. At the top of the golden black coffin was a sword hanging in the air. It appeared as though it had fallen from the heavens! It was Caelum Sword! The body of the sword was pure black, and the hilt was the head of a black dragon, roaring fiercely!

Unsurprisingly, this was the Klondike portion within the sloppy swordsman taking effect. As if to specifically verify Chase's conclusion, four tentacles extended from the sloppy swordsman's back, each gripping a long sword at its tip. The swords were black and white. The black swords radiated sinister energy that could easily be overlooked while the white swords brimmed with an evil aura, creating an eerie sensation.

Others shift in their seats, nerves frayed by what's missing. Ahead and slightly left of the raised platform, that is where we stand. Not hidden, not overlooked - seen clearly. Stiff as stone, Noah fills the tall chair, his frame tense, each angle saying how badly he wants a sword instead of silence. Black clothes him head to toe, nothing soft about it. Only break in the dark: a silver clasp fastened at his neck, shaped like the Wingknight beast, hammered fresh by hands from the northlands. He does not seem humble here. More like victory made still, seated against its will.