Blade Of Northarch Novels & Stories

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.

“No.” The flame presses harder, trying to crush my will to dust. I move forward anyway. I will not kill her. Not for prophecy. Not for gods. The fire bows. --- I step from the altar’s heart, smoke curling from my skin. In my hand — a bone blade, heavier than steel, runes crawling its length. One word pulses with light: Nyxara. The beast lowers its head. “Then you are bound to her, in life and ruin. Carry that blade well… for the gods will call it blasphemy.”

his hand returned with a knife of his own from where Sethlzaar could not see, "this is a knife." The weapon was big, its blade longer than any Sethlzaar had set his eyes on. The Northman brandished it in style. He twirled it deftly in his grip and pinned it to the table where it stayed embedded with a thud that caused the single cup on the table to bounce at the impact, spilling its contents. Where the man's knife was for stabbing, the Northman had produced something that could gut a bull in one blow.

Every step Lena took felt heavier, as if unseen hands were pressing down on her shoulders. Cassian and Dorian followed in silence, their expressions grim. Even they didn’t know what this trial entailed. At last, they reached a chamber unlike the others. At the center stood an altar—carved from obsidian, veins of molten gold running through it like lifeblood. Floating above it was a dagger, its blade forged from a material Lena didn’t recognize, its edges glowing with an eerie silver light. Idris moved to stand beside the altar. “This is the Blade of Ancients,” he said. “Forged in the fire of the first Trueborn. It does not spill blood—it takes something far deeper.”

Driven by the fervor of his burning essence and blood, the Chaos Flag's fiery radiance flickered for a fleeting moment before waning. Seizing the opportune moment, Severin maneuvered the Oculus Blade's sword beam and sliced it through the flag's defenses, nearly severing the Ancestora's arm in a single stroke.

The Omni-Caliburn now reunited with its master and creator, Kent could feel the blade's thoughts. He placed the crossguard of the blade close to his lips whispering. "Thank you, Vestroia." The blade's fangs vibrated rapidly creating a high-pitched sound barrier that nearly damaged the ears of the knights inside the armory out of the sheer joy it felt of being praised like a father to a child. With the blade in hand, the knights now march upon the city with Arrow, cannon, and fire reigning down upon them filling the skies in darkness. Aisha's mages were able to dispel the dark clouds above them.

There were wisps of smoke rising from his armor, and Randey wondered how badly he was injured. “Vile Beast!” shouted the Blade Master. He raised his blade and charged once more. Randey slipped out of the door as the Knight ran forward, hurrying in a crouch. He moved away from the barn, looking carefully for any sign of the figure he’d seen. He caught sight of it again, and he moved as quietly as he could to get behind it. From what he could tell, the individual’s attention was on the fight. No doubt waiting to unleash other mystical attacks upon the Grenyaar. Randey slipped behind a broken water barrel, looking past it at the figure beyond. They still had not turned in his direction. Pushing

The woods to the north—our blind spot—shook with rebel footsteps and the sharp whistle of wind-magic slicing bark and tents. And me? Still soaked from the river. Still warm from that kiss and that orgasm. Still dangerously charged with too many emotions and way too much lightning. I spun toward the chaos, robe half-draped, curls sticking to my cheek, eyes glowing. Alaric had already grabbed his blade. Naked no more—he’d slipped on only his trousers, but not a shirt, of course. Because apparently, battle-hardened generals didn’t believe in upper-body coverage. “Stay close,” he ordered, low and lethal.

She twisted his arm back toward his own chest, her fingers digging into the pressure points until his grip faltered. "The North," Madison hissed, her face inches from his, "belongs to me." She shoved. The humming blue blade didn't hit her. It drove straight through the soft tissue under Marcus’s chin, erupting out the back of his neck in a spray of steam and blackening blood. Marcus didn't even have time to scream. The liquid silver did its job. It turned his throat to ash from the inside out. He collapsed, his eyes wide and vacant, the glowing daggers flickering out as he hit the dirt.

Though it was more likely that Sei was trying to get back at them by using Rojean and he just thinks it was fucking absurd to have someone who had nothing to do with them get involved. That was it. He didn’t like getting innocent people involved. His counselling did him a good job on getting a little bit of his humanity back because he really didn’t care before if anyone did cross paths with them. Perhaps… it was something else he just wasn’t aware of? “Yeah,” Nicholas nodded his head to break the silence. “It would be a little obvious to act too hasty and early. We go at the perfect time. Where we don’t get blamed.” “Hm,” James nodded his head. “We shouldn’t hesitate if we find out they’re