Backhand Blade Build Novels & Stories

"I'll be right here. If it goes wrong, I'll step in before anyone gets hurt. But I don't think it will." I took the wooden blade offered to me, my palms already damp despite the cold morning air, and settled into the stance Silas had drilled into me over eight months at the cabin, weight balanced, blade angled low, eyes moving between all three opponents instead of fixing on any single one. Bram gave me a small, reassuring nod before the drill began, the kind of gesture that told me he, at least, expected me to hold my own.

Marco nodded and stepped back into the hallway, closing the door behind him. I stripped out of my training clothes and pulled on black jeans, a dark long-sleeved shirt, and boots with reinforced toes. Then I opened the hidden panel in the back of my closet and surveyed my collection. Blades. Always blades. I strapped a knife to my right thigh, another to my left ankle. Two more went into sheaths at the small of my back, hidden beneath my shirt. A small dagger slipped into my boot, and finally, I secured my favorite blade—a seven-inch Italian stiletto with a bone handle—to my forearm beneath a leather cuff.

she said. He adjusted her grip from beside her — not from behind, not surrounding, but lateral, which kept her sightlines clear and her instinct to flinch from activating. He moved her index finger a centimeter along the grip and repositioned her thumb and the difference in the blade's balance was immediate. "Oh," she said, before she could stop it. "Yes," he said. He stepped back to his original position. "The weight distributes through the grip, not the wrist. When you hold it from the wrist you're fighting the blade instead of directing it."

he asked, his voice dropping into a quiet, raspy whisper that sounded entirely hollow. "It's just a tactical blade, Thorne," I replied, my voice modulator throwing back the mechanical rasp, though my hands were secretly trembling behind my back. I quickly slid the weapon into its sheath, hiding it from his sight. "A custom piece I had commissioned through an underground contact. It’s uniquely weighted for low-light execution." Malakai stopped three feet from me. He didn't try to grab me this time. He just stared at the space where the blade had been, his chest rising and falling heavily.

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.

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.

The blade was white but with red vein-like patterns running alongside the blade and there were several magic circles etched into the blade, each only a centimeter in diameter. The blade was still 5ft long; they kept the Red Fang as close to the original as possible only changing the blade and the hilt, even the sheath was still the body of the red dragon snake. Saxon was silent. He channeled his mana into the 3 energy cores, forming three separate imprints simultaneously. He then smoothly cut his thumb with the blade and dropped 3 drops of his blood on the cores and watched as they were absorbed and merged with his imprint. "The connection is so strong and seamless, the blade feels like but

BLADE 3. Pain. It was all I felt when I shot my eyes opened. I felt so sore and tired. The memories of how Lorenzo plunged deeper into me last night filled my mind. He was so cruel to me. I didn't find any enjoyment in it at all. I tried lifting my hands and I was happy It was back to functioning. My tit hurts too as a result of the sucking he did last night.