Crimson Blade Novels & Stories

The sight of his blood, so freely given for her, ignited a cold, consuming rage within her. Kael’s breath hitched, a ragged sound, but he didn’t stop moving. His face was a mask of pain, but his eyes burned with a fierce, protective fire. With a guttural snarl, he twisted, wrenching the blade from the Crimson attacker’s hand with a sickening crunch of bone. Before the operative could recover, Kael slammed the man’s head against a nearby tree with brutal, bone-shattering finality. The body dropped, lifeless, a dark stain against the burning earth.

I asked, barely above a whisper. He hesitated, his eyes darting to the timer. I could see his throat move as he swallowed hard. “Answer me,” I said, louder this time. He sighed shakily. “Yes… it’s bad. It’s a Crimson Ultra Charge, my lady. Military grade. One of the deadliest kinds.” My blood ran cold.. “Get me out of here,” I snapped, my voice rising. Blake ran a hand through his hair, scanning the straps and wires. “We have to stay calm…”

"I thought maybe you only came because you wanted to kill the Vampire chick, and I was just lucky I hadn't gotten all my juices drained before you showed up." I smiled to myself. He did have a point. Sometimes, I wondered what drove me more, my hatred for Vampires, or my desire to save humans. "So I get it -- you're the Blade around here, aren't you?" He asked, extending a hand, and I shook it. "I'm Ryder. Ryder Keets." He added. I nodded, but did not tell him my own name, and I guess he knew better than to ask.

And now, here I was, walking down an aisle lined with chrome and roses, heading straight into the lion’s den with a knife strapped to my thigh and revenge curled tightly inside my gut like a fist. The rev of bikes outside rumbled like a heartbeat. The compound stank of oil, leather, cigar smoke, and secrets. Tulle and flowers drooped over Harley frames like some sick joke. The scent of gasoline clung to everything. I couldn’t breathe without tasting rage. “Remember what they did to her,” my father, Vincent “Venom” Kane, president of the Crimson Fangs, growled beside me. His grip on my arm was tight, grounding. “Remember why you are here.”

Like a thread thrown across a chasm. He’ll notice I’m gone, she told herself fiercely. They’ll look. My father will tear the world apart. The figure returned, moving into the moonlight again. They held the vial of blood in one hand and something else in the other—a small knife, its blade catching orange light. Regina’s breath caught again, fear roaring back. “No,” she said, voice stronger now. “No—don’t—” The figure crouched near her, knife held loosely, almost casual.

Blood darkens his fur. He doesn’t make a sound. The cut doesn’t slow him. I duck under a snapping jaw and roll, coming up on one knee with my second blade already up. I strike again. Deeper. Cleaner. This is familiar. The burn in my arms. The narrowing of my vision. The way the rest of the world drops out when my body remembers what it’s for.

After that night, Sebastian seemed to have disappeared from the city. There and then, rumors trickled in that he had fled to the lawless borderlands, trying to hook up with some dangerous arms dealers, dreaming of a violent comeback. Soon enough, word got around that he had been double-crossed in a deal, took a bullet to save a shipment, and ended up with a shattered leg. Lucky to be alive, but then a cripple.

Then humanity needed to change with it. At first, Husen worked alongside them willingly. He believed they were searching for a cure. For months they studied ancient blood samples preserved beneath the station. The samples behaved unlike anything known. They regenerated damaged tissue. They repaired cells. They adapted to foreign organisms instead of rejecting them. The researchers named it...Crimson Blood. Husen warned them repeatedly. "We don't understand it." Their answer never changed. "We'll never understand it if we're afraid to touch it."

The vaulted, shadowed ceiling high above us seemed to violently shatter. The Emperor's elite, personal executioners, the Crimson Guard, rained like armored rain. They wore heavy articulated armor made of obsidian laced with glowing crimson runes and wore featureless iron masks on their faces. They did not have blood-magic whips, but they had huge, jagged broad swords that were built to cut a Lycan in half. "Form the perimeter!" Kaelen roared, and his midnight black tailored suit tore at its seams, as his divine starlight violently erupted.

I forced myself to say. "It doesn't matter, Reis. As a matter of fact, she's on my side now, and she's going to help me execute my plan. And there's nothing you can do about it." He smirked and leaned back in his chair before snapping his fingers. Some men approached with a tray. Resting on it was a blade emitting a glowing green light. "Let me introduce you to the Blade of Poison," Cillian began. "I'm sure you can sense the lethal energy radiating from this blade. We've spent years designing it to kill usurpers like yourself."