Backhand Blade Ash Of War Novels & Stories

Rufus spat, bitterness cutting through his fear. Asher’s laughter rang out. dark, deep, and unsettling. He turned slowly toward Rufus, eyes gleaming. “A god?” he echoed. “Perhaps. And tell me… does that trouble you?” He stepped closer. Rufus retreated again, his heels scraping against the stone. Suddenly... A blade burst through Asher’s back, the steel tip emerging from his chest. He flinched, just slightly. Then he turned his head. Rian stood behind him, breathing hard, both hands gripping the sword’s hilt.

Runes ran along the hilt—half flame, half crescent—and the metal pulsed like it was alive. Racheal stepped closer. The blade sang to her blood. “You feel it, don’t you?” Myra whispered. “It was made for you.” Racheal reached out, fingers hovering over the hilt. “What is it?” Myra exhaled slowly. “It’s called Ashweaver. A soulbound blade. Forged at the end of the Flame Wars by a rogue godsmith. It can kill a vessel of divine blood… but only if wielded by one who shares that blood.”

“You'd make for a worthy right-hand man otherwise.” “Even if I wasn't loyal to the King, I'd never work for a coward like you,” Vaughan said, his eyes narrowing at Asher. He had returned the claymore to its holster on his back and had now unsheathed his smaller blade. The two circled one another slowly as the fighting continued around them. It was a tense moment as the two judged the other's movement.

Ash’s POV The roar of the clubhouse hit me before I even turned off my engine. Laughter, shouts and the sound of bottles clinking rent the air and for a moment, I wonder how they could easily fall back into their normal lives less than twelve hours after an attack. It was chaos the way I remembered it, but somehow louder and more… non challant. Inside, the air was thick with smoke and sweat. A few brothers cheered when they saw me, others nodded, their eyes sharp, reading me like they weren’t sure what version of Ash had come back.

Few were. Another mercenary came from my left, blade flashing silver in the torchlight. I ducked low, caught his wrist, and twisted until the snap echoed across the trees. His sword clattered uselessly to the ground before I drove my claws up under his jaw, hot blood spilling over my hand. My wolf howled its approval, but it wasn’t enough. The fury wasn’t burned out; it only spread, clawing deeper into me.

Blood coated my hands, hot and sticky. It whimpered. Then fell still. Another turned toward me. My arms ached. My side screamed. But I raised my dagger anyway. I was going to die here. I knew it. Then I heard it… A howl. Low. Commanding. Not rogue. Pack. In the distance. Backup. The rogue paused. So did the others. Asher surged upward with a roar, covered in blood, and slashed clean through the last wolf standing over him. Its body fell in two.

A human, at least. I wring my palms, they felt sandy. I opened my palms, looking into them. They were covered in ash. My arms. My fucking body. “Oh no.” I tried rubbing it off, scrubbing them off with the back of my wrist. It was as though they were glued to my skin. I'm scrubbing them off more. More. I want to rip the top of my skin off. Tears welled from deep inside and coursed down my cheeks. Hot tears.

“That qualifies as a weapon.” I laughed, shaking my head. This entire thing was becoming too funny to not laugh. “Next time, aim better,” Victoria said to Lana. “You should be able to knock his brain out.” Julia gasped. “There will not be a next time!” she looked horrified, and I completely understood her. I had to step in or there'd be another war. “There shouldn’t have been a first time.” Silence ensued, before Victoria spoke. “Fair,” Nothing more.

The white Nodachi slipped from his fingers, dissolving into harmless digital ash before it even hit the obsidian floor. Dax twisted the blade, his amber eyes locked onto the flickering magenta optics of the warlord. "Game over," Dax whispered. He ripped the knife free. The Shogun of the Ashen Sky collapsed backward. The liquid-chrome armor lost its cohesion, rippling and dissolving into a pool of inert, heavy metal on the polished mirror floor. The glowing magenta optics dimmed, sparked, and died. The silence that followed was absolute. Dax stood over the puddle of chrome, his chest heaving, his Phase-Knife powering down with a soft hiss.

I shouted. I stepped out from behind Rowan. The obsidian blade in my hand felt different now. It wasn't just a heavy piece of stone. It was light, almost weightless, and it thrummed with the soft, white light of the girl I had seen in the warehouse. It was the **Blade of the Unsaid**. Every word I had swallowed, every dream I had put aside for the sake of survival, every "I love you" that had been lost in the roar of battle—it was all there, feeding the light. Vane pivoted, his liquid form spinning like a drill. He ignored Rowan and came for me. He was fast—too fast for a human to track. He was a blur of silver and shadow.