Blades Urban Dictionary Novels & Stories

The obsidian blade goes through the grey Harvester’s plate as though the plate is warm wax, and the cut does not slow at the armor the way every law of the physical world says it should, because the engine is at full and full means the blade carries my entire frequency into the steel ahead of the edge, and the steel forgets, for one impossible instant, how to be solid.

“I did my research and I found out that werewolves say ‘mate’ when they find their mates.” I held my breath for a minute, but chuckled, trying to not sound nervous. “So what?” “I’m Blade’s mate.” At that, my jaw dropped. “Wait, what. What the hell does that mean?” I chuckled nervously. “Yes. Blade is a werewolf. He said we were mates.” “I think you’re overthinking it.” I snickered, waving a hand over my face.

“Then we make our own ground. If you walk into their den, you do not walk alone.” She met his eyes, and for a moment the noise of the tavern faded. “And if they have already sharpened the knives?” Lucian’s smile was grim. “Then let them learn you are not the prey they thought.” ⸻ Far across the city, in the shadow of the council chambers, another meeting stirred. Not the grand obsidian hall, but a narrow cellar lit by a single sputtering lamp. The Blades had arrived.

" Clang! As his fingers pluck the strings, the zither resounded! Five consecutive waves of sound blades, like a scythe of death, carved out five straight paths in the air, firmly locking onto Caleb and the others' necks and appearing to sever their heads! In that brief moment of less than a thousandth of a second... Twang! A snapping sound! The five sound blades disintegrated simultaneously in front of Caleb and the others, bursting into waves of air ripples and blowing their hair wildly without leaving a scratch on them.

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.

He smiled while they screamed and thrashed in agony, a glint in his eyes. Blake didn’t give up and continued the torture for hours while the few warriors that joined us kept running out to bring coffee and food. If torture were an art, Blake was an exceptionally creative artist. I had never even thought to imagine all the different ways a body could be disfigured. And as if he was a professor, Blake patiently lectured us on the benefits of each knife he was using. He showed off his clip point—good for quick, deep puncture and withdrawal. Then his drop point—good for skinning. Finally, his needlepoint—perfect for thrusting. All things I'd have been perfectly content never knowing.

"They're special made, extremely lightweight blades meant for speed more than anything else. They're not going to pierce through any heavy armor, but if you know where to strike, they'll still do far better than any knife." I was honestly stunned for a moment as I just looked up at him. Since when did he give me things? Especially something like this. Was he feeling okay? "Thank you... I really appreciate it," I whispered, a little more than dumbfounded as I quickly glanced over the blades. They were nothing fancy, but he was right, they were extremely lightweight. Normally, I wouldn't even be able to lift a normal sword, but I could carry both of these no problem.

Need to remember we are on the same side. He grinned that sharp way and bumped my shoulder. Smart move Captain. But do not think this fixes everything. They still split on us. A veteran wandered over already buzzing. Evan this place is perfect. Lake. Fire pit. No coaches watching. Exactly what we needed. You throwing this to shut up the mole talk? Yeah something like that I answered. Drink up. Laugh. We are Blades tonight. No sides. Just us. The young winger joined us fast. Best party all year Cap. Kade you gonna show us some of that Russian drinking style later?

Her black hair was braided straight down and reached the curve of her back. "You know staring is rude." Illiad said putting her knife down and turning to look at him. "Tell me, love, what's on your mind?" She asked and Weaver let out a sigh, "Alex is worried about us being attacked by rouges, I don't blame him but we haven't seen a single rouge since we've gotten here."

She had devoured two portions of pasta and grilled chicken while talking to me like it was nothing. “You don’t have a brain to sacrifice,” I muttered. She gasped playfully. “Betrayal.” “Tragedy.” She narrowed her eyes at me, then smiled slightly. “You’re a little less… zombie-like now.” “High praise.” I shrugged leaning into my seat. “Don’t get used to it.” We disposed of our dishes and walked back together, the night air cooler now settling around us. The residential area of the workshop was quiet. Conversations had dropped into low murmurs with lights flickering on and off in windows like small, contained worlds.