All Black The Necrosword Novels & Stories

he pointed a fat finger directly at Leesa, “seems to have powers inside her as well, though I cannot sort them out.” Leesa was surprised. None of the black waziri could sense her magic, but the Necromancer clearly could. “A formidable team indeed,” the Necromancer continued, addressing Dominic again. “But it shall avail you not.” He waved his hand over the black pool. Seven ribbons of black magic similar to the ones that had animated the zombies rose from its depths and streaked toward each person in Dominic’s company.

A female police officer shouted: “Could it be that he is Albert, the famous criminal psychologist detective who has solved many difficult cases. I still have his book The Punisher here. The book is about the tough murders he has solved, including his analysis of the psychology of criminals in detail. I didn't expect him to be so young and handsome." Albert entered the room, meeting his eyes was a very strange atmosphere. In the dim light of the white room, a middle-aged man was lying at the far end of the room; in the center of his chest were numerous stab wounds. He lay in a pool of blood with his eyes wide open, and inside those eyes were fear and despair. The most striking thing is still

Zedekiel stepped forward, unbothered by the filth beneath his black boots. He raised his hand, and the necromancer’s battered body lifted from the ground, levitating in the air as if strung up by invisible threads. The necromancer let out a wretched cry, his body convulsing in agony. His limbs dangled uselessly, his blackened skin cracking open as fresh blood seeped from his wounds.

Chapter 123 – The Black Star’s Void The black star loomed in the nexus’s starfield, its presence not a light but an absence, a void that swallowed the surrounding constellations, casting the path ahead in utter darkness. Jessica led her companions forward, her golden glow a frail ember against the hollowness in her chest, now a pulsing wound after claiming the nexus’s origin from Aethra. The black star offered no whisper, no chime—only a silence so profound it felt like a scream, pulling at her soul with an inevitability that chilled her to the core. Each step was heavy, the obsidian path beneath them smooth and cold, reflecting nothing, as if the nexus itself feared to look upon this star.

I said, stepping forward, shadows coiling around my feet, “you’ll be the second sacrifice in the flames of it.” Ashton’s blades spun in his hands, and the moment Nicolas snapped his fingers, the floor ruptured. A black crack raced outward like a split in reality, and from it came dozens...no, hundreds of minions. Witches with bleeding eyes, wolf-like beasts with armor fused to their bones, shadows that moved without form, and soulbound soldiers bound in chains of their own magic. “Go!” Nicolas roared, eyes locked on me. “Rip them apart!”

The silver circlet that had belonged to my mother rested on my dresser, polished to a gleam. As the sun began to sink toward the horizon, painting the sky in shades of gold and crimson, I knew the time had come. Tonight, Seraphina Blackthorne would finally take her rightful place. And if the Northern Alliance wanted a fight, they were about to discover exactly what they were up against. I thought I should take a few minutes to centre myself by doing a small amount of tai chi. I placed my earbuds in my ears and began playing my music.

“And you. Tell me again what we know.” He cleared his throat, flipping through the files. “La Rosa Nera is a ghost. No name. No photos. No fingerprints. Nico transacted with her, yes, but we traced the payment. Crypto. Washed clean in under thirty seconds.” “Who else?” I asked. “Any other bosses?” “No one,” Malcolm said. “She’s never shown her face to any other family. Only Nico.” I exhaled harshly, jaw clenched. “She’s picking him. Him.” My voice dripped with disgust. “Of all the roaches in this city.”

He wanted to go after her but he thought it best to let her ease into the discovery. Grey finally had the sword in his hands, he ripped the paper wrap off completely revealing smooth, thin, Blackstone blade with a clean cut single edge sharp enough to tear through air. The opposite side of the blade blunt but jagged sure to pull out flesh with a stab. It was horrid and elegant, a faint glow as It reacted to his touch when he wrapped his hands around the handle. "Nice sword, you cosplay?" Ten asked walking into the sitting area. Clad in a black armless hoodie revealing slender muscular arms over black leggings and comfy looking sneakers.

Nikos replied, his voice devoid of emotion. "Nikos, you can't—" "I have no choice," Nikos said, his voice dropping to a whisper. "I am the anchor, Aris. And the anchor is dragging us all into the abyss." The vault door blew inward, clouds of dust and debris filling the room. Through the smoke, figures armored in black steel emerged, their weapons glowing with the tell-tale blue of ion charges. Victor Kalos stood in the center, his face a mask of cold, aristocratic cruelty.

Beros was still in Nyxar's clutches, my heart beat wildly. I turned back, ready to ask another question when I saw him begin to make signs with his fingers as they emitted black smoke. Black magic. What was he doing? Before I could put a hand out to stop him, I heard the sound of the sword slicing through him, I looked at Solas' sword, it dripped black blood. And those eyes, those silver eyes, they no longer shone silver, they were black, the black of an abyss.