Blades Of Mercy Novels & Stories

He was the wealthy, arrogant playboy girls would swoon around, and also the Blade family's eldest son. "Ezekiel?” A smirk tugged at the corner of his lips. “Ezekiel Blade,” he said. "Why are you without your glasses, freckle face?” He always mentioned his last name like he was nothing without it. But I knew that he loved the name so much as it meant people would fear him. I rolled my eyes, pulling my hand away from his grip. “Still a bully, huh? Besides, I don't wear glasses anymore, and I'm definitely not freckle face. It's Lydia Winters,” I said, mimicking his words.

Julian hit me hard. My vision darkened, followed by searing pain, before a wave of heat surged through my nose and trickled down my face. My vision blurred completely. I could only sense him standing up, returning a while later to wipe my nose with a tissue. His movements were rough. I was too drowsy to keep my eyes open, but when my head was turned to the side, I caught a glimpse of his panic-stricken expression and a large bloodstain on his shirt.

Blades etched with cryptic symbols glow softly when enemies near. ‎Stats: ‎- Damage: Quick, stealthy stabs (low damage, high crit chance) ‎- Range: Close combat (bonus in tight spaces) A spark pain tore through my chest. “Come on, so I don't even deserve a decent weapon? I lost everything and this damn game can't even offer me a fighting chance." I mumbled to myself my vision blurred with rage. “Screw this sick Demon games."

He laughed as he passed a fallen log, unaware of the fury inching closer to his bloodline. My pulse steadied. I remembered my mother's voice. "Mercy is not weakness. It is a choice." I made mine. No mercy. Jason's signal came , a sharp birdcall. The archers dropped before they could string. Steel met bone as his team ripped through the flank. Screams followed , short, brutal. I leapt down the embankment as Deron's horse reared, startled. My blade was already drawn. He turned just in time to see me.

"Show me mercy." "Now, there is just one thing you need to know about me," I shrugged off my jacket, and he looked at me with absolute panic. "The only mercy I would show you is to make sure you don't scream when you see the devil because you already got acquainted with one on this side." I rolled my sleeve and opened my tool kit. He started trashing against his bounds, screaming when his eyes landed on the rows and rows of different curvy wicked-looking blades. "I know nothing, trust me." He promised.

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.

Elyria offered the weapon. "...is the First Blade." Ariana accepted it carefully. The moment her fingers closed around the hilt, countless memories rushed through her mind. Battles, coronations, sacrifices, vctories, defeats. Generations of rulers wielding the same blade. Tears gathered in her eyes. "I can feel them." "They have accepted you." The blade burst into brilliant silver light. At the same instant... A deafening crack echoed from outside the Temple. Elyria's smile disappeared.

He stood rooted in the dirt, his human skin pale against the dark mountain, his hand sliding into his belt to draw a single, serrated blade of shimmering silver-mercury. The first wave of wolves hit the gate like a landslide of muscle and teeth. Richard moved. He didn't just fight; he flickered, his body shifting at speeds that defied the eye. He parried a snapping jaw, a lunging claw, and a massive, crushing shoulder-thrust all within the span of a single heartbeat. The mercury blade hummed as it sliced through the air, carving arcs of liquid metal that repelled the Alphas with the force of a battering ram.

Belief. I had given all three. The scars lived on my skin. My mind held the names of those who died in divine silence. My faith had fractured under what I had seen—but I stayed. And tonight, I would give more. I stepped onto the dais and lifted the ceremonial dagger—the Black Blade. Not forged metal, but obsidian fused with the bones of priestesses who had died mid-prophecy, minds split by divine madness. It could cut through flesh… and fate. I drew it across my palm again, deeper than before. My blood struck the altar and hissed.

The blade scraped across the heavy line, but the line held firm. ​My lungs gave out. My lips parted, and the last pocket of air trapped in my chest burst into a cloud of bubbles. Salt water rushed into my throat, burning like liquid fire. My eyes rolled back, my consciousness fraying into thin, fragile threads. ​Through the haze of my dying senses, I felt the figure shift frantically. He grabbed the rope with his bare hand, digging his fingers beneath the taut nylon to create space, and rammed the serrated edge of the blade directly against the core of the line.