Novel & Cerita Backhand Blade Ash Of War

Despite everything, Ryder moved towards us, his eyes shining with a crazy light. “You won't win,” he said angrily, dark shadows moving around his hands. “I've waited too long, giving up too much. I will not be denied my destiny!” With a gesture, Ryder summoned a horde of shadowy creatures. They poured from the darkness between the trees, a nightmarish army of claws and teeth and glowing red eyes. “Asher!” I called out, seeing the creatures converge on him. “I've got this,” he shouted back, producing a wicked-looking blade from somewhere in his gear. “You two focus on Ryder!”

Henry is not awarded with a recess this time as he’s tripped onto the ground where he falls onto his back. Ash snatches Henry by the hair, and a knee dug into Henry’s chest. “I didn’t take you for an idiot, relying on the weapon that will always turn against you,” Asher says and takes the handle of the knife to place the blade on Henry’s cheek. “You must have heard the tales about me, right?” He continues, dragging the knife upward in a thin, carmine slice. “‘Ash never ventures below the neck’, ‘Ash always starts with the teeth’…‘Ash has a thing for the eyes,’” he says, the blade cutting a path up to the temple, halting next to Henry’s left eye.

Every step sent sharp pain through his ribs, but he gritted his teeth and focused on Liora’s determined face, he wouldn’t fall behind. A huge crimson-furred wolf, the one from the ridge, the soldier burst from the trees ahead, blocking their path. It stood on its hind legs, intelligent, hateful eyes locking on Liora. Ash didn’t slow down; instead, he slammed into the beast, his knife flashing silver. The wolf roared and swiped a clawed paw that tore through leather and flesh. Ash grunted from the pain but drove his knife deep into its shoulder. “Ash!” Liora cried out.

she gasps, blade flashing. “Once I peel off from your back,” I shout over the clash, “we push to the front. We stop this war together.” My voice is a spear; it cuts through the cacophony. She nods without hesitation. “Now!” we scream as one and fling ourselves forward—yells tearing from our throats like hunting howls.

Mae’s power pulsed, uncontrolled, filling every corner of the ship with its glow. But the reprieve was short. The champion’s void-heart pulsed once, and the horde surged forward again, faster, hungrier, their claws slamming against the ramp with deafening force. “Hold the line!” Ashar roared, his blade igniting brighter, flames spreading across the deck as he carved through three at once.

Evelyn pulled the Blood Sword from the wound in her chest, her blood flowing out, clinging to the blade like a living flame. Lucien raised his hand. The black sky rolled, from which the silhouettes of the Seraphim, the artificial entities he had assimilated, flew down like broken-winged angels. Each step they took left a trail of red fire, burning everything in their path. The final battle of Valenfort began.

He was looking at me, his gray eyes dark with a possessive, terrifying clarity. "Sleep, my blade," he whispered. The sound was so low it was almost a vibration in the air. "The Director wants a harvest. Marcus wants a specimen. But they don't understand the geography of this war." He ran the edge of the blade along the sharpening stone, the sound a rhythmic hiss in the silence. "They see a surrogate. I see the only weapon sharp enough to cut the Moore legacy out of the world's throat." He leaned over me, his face inches from mine, his scent of woodsmoke and expensive steel filling my senses. He touched my forehead, his hand cool against my fading fever.

Blood darkens his fur. He doesn’t make a sound. The cut doesn’t slow him. I duck under a snapping jaw and roll, coming up on one knee with my second blade already up. I strike again. Deeper. Cleaner. This is familiar. The burn in my arms. The narrowing of my vision. The way the rest of the world drops out when my body remembers what it’s for.

Moonlight spilled through the floor-to-ceiling windows, stretching across the marble floor. I knelt on the balcony, applying a special herbal balm to the skin beneath my ribs—to the scars left by silver weapons thirteen years ago. They still ached. The scars always ached under the full moon, a cruel reminder of a past I fought to forget. "You're still using that balm." I didn't turn around. Kaelen's footsteps were loud on the cold marble. "I thought you'd forgotten that pain," he said. The anger was gone from his voice, replaced by something I couldn't quite place.

Blade’s POV I woke up groaning in pain as the first thing I felt was a twinge in the lower part of my back. Then the next bundle of pain came right after from my forehead and when I reached out to it, I felt a bandage around my head. The door opened and although my sight was quite blurry, I could still make out the image of Camila. She had a good scent and was in a different outfit which was a good sign that things were getting better.