Backhand Blade Build Novels & Stories

The first Harvester didn't scream when I took its throat. It couldn't. The vocal processors in its white synthetic shell weren't calibrated for pain, only for the clinical reporting of the harvest. I moved before its magnetic boots even settled on the marble. The Phantom Blade was a sliver of shadow in my grip, less a weapon and more an extension of the Sovereign engine roaring in my chest. It wasn't a lunge; it was a high-density burn that turned my muscles into coiled wire and the air into a haze of static.

The Anatomy of the Thermal-Resonance Blade I began the process with the precision of a surgeon. I laid my obsidian blade—the one that had tasted the blood of the Shadow Alpha—onto the stone table. Using a laser-scalpel from my kit, I carved a hollow channel down the center of the blade, exactly where the 'blood groove' would be. "Leo, Ace... I need you," I called out. The boys stepped forward. They had been training with the Cinder-children, learning how to pull heat from the air without burning their lungs. Ace’s hands were already glowing a deep, volcanic red, while Leo stood as the anchor, his golden aura acting as a containment field.

He moved. Not away, sideways, a motion so fast it wasn't fully visible, and the blade found air where his torso had been a fraction of a second before. I adjusted and drove again and he redirected the arc with one hand, not grabbing the blade, just altering its trajectory, and the force behind the redirect sent me two steps sideways before I caught my footing. I was stronger with the blade than without it. The forged weapon carried its own frequency, something the ritual had built into the steel that amplified what remained of my diminished power when my hands were around the hilt.

I told them about the incident with the blade. As I pulled the blade to show them, my breath hitched. A sickening realization settled over me—the blade had begun to decay, its once-impenetrable metal now chipped where our blood had mingled. The sharp edge had dulled, the intricate engravings that once pulsed with power were now barely visible beneath the damaged metal. It was as if the weapon itself had been tainted, consumed by the impossibility of what had touched it.

At first glance I thought that heavy SOB would be impossible to wield effectively in a sword fight. The blade alone was long (1.5m/5ft), with too much weight in the top third. I was willing to bet the Seven Pillars special operations soldier was thinking the same way, until her two-handed downward hack powered through his overhead parry as if his steel Jian blade was nothing more than a marshmallow stick. The blow sliced off his ear, severed his collarbone and drove the front and back hard plates down below his crotch as she plowed through his ribcage.

“Kevlar threaded with obsidian and moonstone. It won't stop a direct silver bullet, but it’ll slow it down enough for your healing to keep up.” “I’ll take it.” I also picked out a military-grade semi-automatic rifle with a modified long barrel and a scope. “Standard ammunition,” I told him. “I’m hunting humans tonight.” “And that.” I pointed to a retractable silver sword on the wall. The blade gleamed wickedly, etched with pulsing runes. Viktor whistled. “The Nightfang blade. Enchanted silver—cuts through supernatural flesh like butter. Twelve thousand.” “Sold.” I walked out with a duffel bag full of gear. If Tulcero wanted a war, I’d give them one they’d never forget.

But it's a feint and we both know it, calculated to draw a reaction from me. Testing me... My speed... My reactions... Younger than me... How much by? Ten years? His knife... Blade maybe eight inches. Well cared for. Well used... Left-handed... ... Thinks that gives him an advantage. Most practice against right-handers. I've done both. He stabs out. Hard. Fast. Teeth bared. Pupils pricked. I jerk back and he follows through, but I grab him by the arm. We grapple. His blade to my throat. My hand locked to his wrist.

The blade was a few feet beneath the earth. Many people have come around as they wanted to see what the Legendary Weapon was that the He Family the heroes were trying to recover so hard. The blade was in blood red and was covered with strange patterns. The width of the blade was about a foot long, its length was at least 5 feet long, and its depth was about 2 feet half. It seemed to weigh about at least 100 or 150 kilograms. It would be a rare Legendary Weapon for the people who study martial arts. However, it is not suitable for those immortal cultivators who are better with sword riding. The sword itself would be too heavy for a normal cultivator to lift, not to mention swinging it at enem

Considerably more than himself. "W... what can I do you for, Father?" the words rumbled out of the older man. Valerik reached behind him to the back of his black cassock, now faded to brown from the torment of the weather it had come to experience over the years. He found the opening with practiced ease. He drew from it a blade as wide as his palm and the length of his hand if placed thrice upon itself from tip to wrist. The blade had a certain curve to it like a scimitar's, but its curve was less pronounced. Where the thickness of a scimitar's blade was thin, it's blade was slightly thicker but its edge no less sharp.

The speed of his swing also caused the previously wedged log on his axe to slip and ricochet off the pillar it hit behind. Ok, that might not be the best attempt, but now, Zen confirmed that ‘Bladeless’ worked on anything. In fact, the combo points did not appear to have a limit for the time being because Zen simply wasn’t skilled enough to test its limitations. For now, he looked over to the pile of firewood that required chopping. The axe might be dull, but it certainly was better at cutting wood than the wooden sword. Zen might be able to return the wooden sword to Ben without destroying it this time. His only concern was how long it would take for him to finish chopping all five hundred