Blade Skill Online Novels & Stories

“You’re nothing but a slut who crawled into my bed for money—worth less than braille to me.” Nich’s voice was flat, cold, and utterly void of emotion, every word a sharp blade straight to my heart. “N… Nich!” I clung to him from behind, desperate to believe he didn’t mean it—only for him to pry my arms away and shove me aside roughly. “You’re a whore… the most disgusting woman I’ve ever laid eyes on.” The slap cracked against my cheek, hard and stinging. Alongside it, he tossed a cheque—half a million pesos—right at my feet. “Get out of my life. Don’t ever let me see your face again.” A bitter, broken laugh bubbled up my throat. I tore the cheque into tiny pieces without a second thought. Tears streamed down my face, but I forced a sharp, unyielding smile. “Fine. I’m leaving. Keep your money. You think as a big-shot CEO you can buy anything you want? You’re wrong. My dignity isn’t for sale—not to a fool, and certainly not to a man as blind and stupid as you.” “From this moment on… we never knew each other.” Every beat of my heart felt like it was being pierced by a thousand needles. I once hoped there was goodness even among the wealthy—but I was wrong. Today I learned the cruel truth: for people like him, money is the only law, and wealth is the only justice that matters.

"Strip." Alpha Callister's voice cut through the room like a blade, sending a shiver down Eileen’s spine. She wished he hadn't returned from his meeting... wished he would leave her in peace. But peace was never meant for her. He used her for his amusement, a prisoner in his grasp, and she didn’t know if she’d ever escape. "I won't say it again. Strip," he commanded again, his voice filled with venom. "Isn't this what you wanted? You drugged me so I’d sleep with you, hoping to change your miserable status. Now you're the Luna of this pack, and all you can do is kneel and worship the ground I walk on." "I…" The words stuck in her throat. She wanted to tell him she never drugged him. But he would never believe her. "Your father tried to steal my birthright and we killed him along with your mother," Callister sneered. "And you? You made sure I took you so you'd be important again." Hatred burned deep in Eileen’s chest. She would make the Haemont family pay for what they did to her parents. Stripping her of her identity wasn’t enough. Now, as his wife and his Luna, Callister stripped away her dignity every night. But she endured. Because one day, she would be strong enough. One day, she would avenge her parents' death.

I was born a liar. That was the label my mother gave me. In the Dark Moon Pack, every pup carries a Lunar Mark on their wrist. Green means truth. Red means liar. My twin sister Maya slashed Mommy's ceremonial dress with a blade and blamed the pack hounds. Her wrist stayed soft and green. My mark went crimson when I said I was cold. "Mommy, I'm telling the truth. Please believe me." Elena would crouch down, look me in the eye, and say the same thing every time. "The Goddess's mark is absolute, Selena. Your own heart betrays you." She never touched me. She just looked at my wrist with disgust. No matter how honest I tried to be, my heart would race when I was scared. And every time my pulse spiked, the mark turned red. I lied when I said I was hungry. I lied when I said I loved her. I lied when I cried. After enough years, I stopped fighting back. I started to believe her. Maybe I really was broken. Maybe I was just born wrong. The night I died, I wrote one last line in my Penance Journal. "Mommy, help me. It hurts. Please — just believe me once." She never saw it. She had already locked the door and walked away. I'm sorry, Mommy. I died still trying to get it right. In my next life — will you hold me?

When I was seven, Victor Medici took me off the streets of Brooklyn. From that moment on, I became a blade hidden in the shadows of the Medici family. The Medici family was one of the five major mafia families in New York City, and Victor was the family’s Don. By fifteen, I had learned how to handle a gun and a knife. I could carry out the family’s “clean-up” orders with precision. By eighteen, I led a team that wiped out three weapons hubs belonging to the rival Rina mafia family, securing the East Side territory for Victor. At twenty-one, during a hearing, I took the fall for Victor’s crimes. In the end, I was sentenced to three years in prison. The day I got out, he took me straight to Las Vegas to get married. With his own hands, he slipped a ruby ring onto my finger—a symbol of the Donna. Under the witness’s gaze, he kissed me, his voice almost reverent. “Rachel, I love you. You’re my only weakness.” Then, he pulled out a stamped and signed contract from his suit pocket. “This is my wedding gift to you. If I ever betray you, my power, my status, and my wealth will be transferred into your name, and I’ll walk away with nothing.” After a pause, he gave a sly smile and added, “But that day will never come. Because I’ll always love you.” I took the contract, so happy that I felt like I might cry, but that happiness only lasted two years.

Four years after my death, the true heiress won the Best Actress award, but her sex tape was once again spread like wildfire. My Best Actor boyfriend, Nicholas Jennings, kicked open the rented house where I used to live, hoping to make me clarify once again that it was me in the video, but all he saw was a complete mess. The landlord happened to pass by and, upon his inquiry, scolded him, "You’re talking about Astrid Rhode? She died four years ago! A man saw the sex tape posted online and came here to have some fun with her, but she would rather die than comply. In a fit of rage, he killed her." Nicholas did not believe it at all. He kicked our couple's mugs. "Astrid made you say that, didn't she? She stole Maddie's life just because she looked like her. Did she think that helping Maddie once would atone for her sins? Tell her that none of the children in her orphanage will live if I don't see her clarification video in two days!" He strode away, and I shook my head with a wry smile. The orphanage had long since been reduced to ashes in the fire, and the children had already passed on to their next lives. I had made a deal with Death, wanting to come back and see him one last time. However, now, it seemed that the deal was better left undone.

I had just left the hospital after undergoing a dilation and curettage procedure for uterine fibroids. On the bus, I happened to encounter a woman who was crying and claiming she had menstrual cramps and a terrible stomachache, asking me to give up my seat. But I refused. I never expected the woman to be the famous internet influencer, Bella Marsh. While I was completely unprepared, she started a livestream, and the next day, I was violently attacked online and pushed onto the trending searches. Netizens even dug up the record of my procedure at the hospital. “With a uterine wall that thin, it’s obvious she has had so many failed pregnancies.” “No wonder she was so shameless and refused to give up her seat—turns out she’s a despicable woman.” The so-called righteous netizens harassed me until I fell into depression, and even my boyfriend stepped forward to accuse me of being dirty and said he wanted to break up. Unable to endure the blow, I jumped from the rooftop, while the female influencer gained tens of millions of followers and began livestream selling, earning more money than she could count. Only after my death did I learn that the influencer had been my boyfriend’s childhood crush. To boost the popularity of her livestream, she and my boyfriend had deliberately staged the entire scene. When I opened my eyes again, I had returned to the very day Bella asked me to give up my seat.

The floodwaters were about to swallow our home, yet my wife—the captain of the rescue team—took every last member with her to save the man she had always loved. That was when I realized she had been reborn too. In our previous life, the moment she heard I was in danger, she had rushed to save me without hesitation. Because of that, she missed his call. He fell into a depressive episode and took his own life. But before he died, he posted online, accusing me of bullying him throughout our school years—and of stealing the woman he loved. After his death, the internet turned on me. I became the target of relentless harassment. My wife said she didn't blame me. She treated me as she always had. Yet, on what would have been his birthday, she broke both my limbs—and my mother's as well. Then, in front of his grave, she shoved the two of us into a folded bathtub. "If I'd known you bullied Nathan all those years, I would never have married you! You could swim, yet you deliberately called me to save you. It's all your fault—Nathan wouldn't have killed himself otherwise!" I listened to my mother's agonized cries as despair swallowed me whole. And then I died. When I opened my eyes again, I was back on the day of the flood. This time, she could save her beloved. I won't stand in her way.

From the time I could count coins, my parents hammered one lesson home—if a boy did not start saving young, he would never have enough to win himself a wife. They opened a bank account in my name, vowing that money would only ever flow in, never out. And so, every birthday bill and crumpled allowance found a home in that card. I kept funneling every hard-earned paycheck into that same old account even after I moved to the city to chase my own future. At that point, that habit was done more out of reflex than reason. However, I was blindsided by acute kidney failure after years of working myself to the bone. Suddenly, that money was not just savings—it was my lifeline. My dad's voice trembled on the phone. He claimed he had forgotten the password and urged me to just take out an online loan for now. I hauled myself to the bank, my feet still shaky from my dialysis treatment. I clutched my ID, determined to file a loss report and reset the password myself. The teller's words froze me in place. "Sir, this account was emptied six months ago." Panic surged through me. I demanded a full printout of every transaction. The statement of the most recent transfer glared up at me from the paper, stating, "Wedding fund for our precious daughter, Natalia Callahan, plus the down payment for her luxury car."

Harlow Vance has spent twenty four years feeling invisible. Her younger brother is the success story, the one her father brags about, the one who can do no wrong. Desperate to feel something, to feel wanted, she decides to lose her virginity. Not to some boy her age who will fumble and forget her by morning, but to a man. A dominant she has been chatting with online for weeks, someone who calls her a brat and makes her pulse race with every message. She agrees to meet him at Radiant, an exclusive BDSM club in Pittsburgh. She uses a fake name. She plans for one night, nothing more. But when the door opens, it is not a stranger staring down at her. It is Kael Hawthorne. Her father's best friend. Her father's business partner. The man she has been secretly aching for since she was old enough to notice the way his gaze lingered on her a moment too long. Kael should push her away. He should call Julian and tell him his daughter is in a place she does not belong. Instead, he pulls her into the room and shuts the door. But secrets have a way of slithering out. And when Julian walks into Radiant and finds his daughter on her knees for his best friend, everything Harlow has built with Kael threatens to shatter. What do you think will happen? Read to find out!

Liam Dunlap, my girlfriend's junior apprentice, bragged that he could defuse a bomb with one hand. Then he slipped. The timer began to race. Terrified, he dropped his tools and ran. I stepped in at great risk and saved the hostage. For that, I was commended. Liam, on the other hand, was condemned across the internet and faced severe disciplinary action. My girlfriend tried to speak up for him, but I stopped her. "If you defend him now, not only will your promotion be revoked—people online will come after you too." Later, unable to bear the pressure, Liam jumped to his death. Every line of his suicide note blamed my girlfriend for not standing by him. She said nothing. She simply burned the letter in silence. After that, she rose step by step from a frontline officer to a model figure in the police force. On the day I was kidnapped by criminals, she came in person to defuse the bomb strapped to me—using only one hand. She looked coldly at the device on my chest and said, "See? It can be done with one hand. Why did you all have to drive Liam to his death back then? If I had protected him at the time, the one in my position today… should have been him." The bomb detonated. I died on the spot. After I opened my eyes again, I saw her running around desperately for Liam. She didn't know—the hostage was the mayor's son.