Battling Blades Review Novels & Stories

Dominic hammered his fists into Jarek’s chest, but Jarek’s skin was hard as tempered steel. It was a brutal, ugly fight. There was no grace, no supernatural agility. It was the sound of skin bruising and bone cracking against stone. "Dominic, get away from him!" I shouted, scrambling to my feet. I saw the way Jarek’s arm was shifting—the flesh literally receding to reveal a long, serrated blade made of cold, surgical carbon. Dominic didn't see it. He was too focused on the kill. "Dominic, look out!"

The impact sent him crashing to the ground of the cage. The crowd cheered crazily, screams erupted all around me. "BLADE!" "BLADE!" "BLADE!" I pulled out my custom-made blade gleamed with a savage hunger under the bright arena lights. The polished steel bore the name "Capone," etched into the metal like a proclamation of death. Its edge was as sharp as a serpent's fang. It looked eager to cut, having tasted the blood of many before. The handle, wrapped in black leather, felt like a coiled snake in my grip, ready to strike with deadly accuracy. This blade wasn't just a weapon; it was a merciless instrument of brutality, a symbol of my unrelenting power in this world.

He was always so pleased by her speed and ruthlessness in dispatching his elder children, that he doted on her during class. She was unrivaled in hand-to-hand, quicker and more sure-footed than her siblings. She was deadly with small blades as well, and kept one tucked in her boot at all times, just in case any of Killian's cronies took the young Lord at his word and tried to have her quietly dispatched. Not that she ever represented a true threat to either Killian or Reena, she was just as much her mother's daughter as her father's, and it was likely she would be a prey shifter rather than a predator.

My stomach knotted. “What do you mean?” I asked, my voice barely steady. Andre’s grin widened. “You’ll see.” He clapped his hands, and two warriors dragged out a crate from the armory. The sound of metal rattled inside. My chest tightened when I saw what they pulled free. Blades. Not training staff. Not wooden poles. Blades sharp enough to kill. Andre picked one up, running a finger along its edge before tossing it at my feet. The clang rang through the silence.

What kind of rotating blade could be so powerful? Kiran was skeptical. Yet, all these masters had died. Could it be... Clang, clang, clang! In the moment Kiran was deep in thought, the three flying blades had already emitted crisp sounds. Kiran snapped back to reality, looking directly at Lord Red Cloud, "They should be called 'Splintering Spinning Blades,' not just spinning blades." What? Lord Red Cloud was taken aback, clearly not expecting this. Kiran raised his left hand, and a forceful strike hit all three blades precisely.

The massive creature bore down on Lyra, its jagged claws slashing through the air with terrifying precision. She barely managed to twist out of the way, her blades flashing in an arc that scraped against its dark armor, producing a sound like nails on steel. The force of its counterstrike sent a tremor up her arms as she parried, her grip faltering for a moment before she regained control.

The familiar weight settled into his grip like an old companion. For a moment he stood perfectly still, letting the quiet settle around him. Then he began. The blade moved through the air in slow, controlled arcs. Steel cut through the morning mist. Again. Again. Again. Each motion was deliberate. Measured. His breathing fell naturally into rhythm with the movement of the sword. Training had always been the only place where Adrian’s mind truly quieted. The past faded. The memories of the borderlands, the hunts, the bloodshed—they all blurred into the background.

" Liam pulled out the knife I'd found on the balcony and slowly stalked toward me. I backed away and splashed him with paint. "Don't come any closer! I'll destroy your paintings if you take another step!" Sure enough, he stopped. His eyes turned frosty as he snarled, "I'll destroy you if you touch my paintings." Despite his words, I knew he wouldn't let me off the hook even if I didn't do anything. I threw a bucket full of paraffin oil at him before grabbing a lighter from the drawer. I lit it and threw it at him.

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.

"You were built to fight a human. You were not built to fight a firewall." The Mirror didn't lunge; it flowed. Its arm elongated, the liquid metal hardening into a serrated obsidian blade in mid-air. Alexander parried, the collision of high-frequency steel and programmable matter sending a shower of violet sparks across the lift’s interior. The battle was a masterclass in efficiency because they shared the same tactical foundation. Every strike was anticipated, and every feint countered before it could begin, as they moved in a blur of silver and blue with their bodies clashing in the rhythmic precision of a ticking clock.