Blood Blade Dance Novels & Stories

i cursed under my breath. The next thing I saw was one of the blade flying towards me with a chain attached to its handle.Then time slowed to a snails pace. While the blade was flying towards me at slow motion i took some seconds to acess the blade.The blade was pure black in colour and it had uneven edges with the middle part of the blade having some indiscernible inscriptions sparkling orange color sparks.The chains on the handle of the blade seem to be connected to his wrist like Spiderman's web.And i don't know how he did that.I side stepped the blade only to find the other flying towards where i was.It was at this point that i knew that it wasn't just some child's play.This guy was real

Something haunted. Our blades danced again. She slashed at my left shoulder. I dodged. She pivoted a low sweep at my legs. I jumped. I swung, high and heavy. She blocked it, but I saw the strain in her arms. Her blade grazed my side. Pain exploded across my ribs. I growled and retaliated with a brutal slash. She ducked, but not fast enough because I caught her arm. Blood spurted. She hissed. Staggered.

Fingers, hands, arms, core, legs, feet, toes. With a focused breath, she took a single step of her dance. This launched her out of his path and sprung her forward with explosive power. At the exact same moment, she drew out her blade, sliced through his neck, and won her duel in a single, smooth motion. All anyone had seen was a blur of movement from Eva, and it took them more than a few moments to process what had actually happened. Her opponent’s lifeless body fell to the ground as his head bounced and rolled off to the side. His eyes were eternally frozen with surprise and dread at the same time.

One swift movement and my dagger found his throat. To my right, my mate danced through the fight with deadly precision, her blade a blur of silver in the dim light. She ducked beneath a wild swing, spun, and slashed through her opponent’s leg, sending him to his knees. Without hesitation, she ended him with a final strike to the heart.

Obscenely fatal. Behind me, on the wooden rack are blades and thorns. They're dulled but still they brush against my skin as I dance, and in my back I feel not pain but relief. Few streams of blood drip down my waist and yet again to the ground. I hear him lick his lips. My god, my beautiful god Thanateros approaches.

Shame this was evening happening to me. Unfortunatly, Damon moved to stand beside Ethan. “These are Twisted Blade push daggers. A tri-edge blade that spirals. Also known as a cyclone blade. They insure maximum damage with little effort. When used correctly, it will increase our killing effectiveness by 10%. Your opposite will bleed out before their wolf will be able to heal them.”

BLADE 2. He forced his tongue into my mouth and pinned my two hands roughly on the bed. He doesn't allow me move. I wiggled my body but he ended up hitting my boobs with his palm. The pain sent the wrong sensation down my pussy. It throbbed shamelessly. He stopped kissing me and before I knew it, I landed a slap on his cheek which I regret doing. His demeanor changed instantly. I presume it didn't sit well with him.

They claimed the space. And the world saw. Undeniably. The Event – Shadows at the Edge The grand ballroom of BludHeaven Academy had been transformed for the end-of-semester dance and banquet: crystal chandeliers dimmed to a deep crimson glow, black velvet drapes framing arched windows overlooking the cliffs, long obsidian tables laden with rare steaks, blood-infused cocktails, and human delicacies. Music pulsed low—dark synthwave mixed with classical strings—creating an atmosphere that felt both elegant and predatory.

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 motion didn’t begin in muscle. It began in soul. The first phase was slow, arcing, wide. The blade cut the air not as a slash, but as a brush. She wasn’t attacking—she was writing. Drawing signs into reality, as if every curve were an ancestor, a memory, a moment. Damian recognized the opening steps. He’d learned the form. But Sky didn’t know it. She carried it. And as the rhythm rose, the dance changed. The movements accelerated—not into haste, but into pulse. The sword stopped merely writing and began to cut—no enemy, but the fabric of the world.