Romans & histoires Cyberpunk Blades

I said. Meridia and I turned around to see undead inklings walking towards us “Fragmenters, undead remnants of Shattered Inkopolis” I said as I grab a fused weapon of the X-Blade from Kingdom Hearts and Dawnbreaker from Elder Scrolls B: Skyrim known as the Blade of Dawn. I look at Meridia holding her beacon filled with her light “let’s deal with these Fragmenters first before we continue” I said.

The twin blade glittered beautifully in the light. Rick was a ticking time bomb and it was best to be prepared. I lifted the crescent shaped blades up and inspected them. Their edges looked really sharp and they were light in my hands. I wasn't joking about wanting to peel off his flesh strip by strip but that could wait, at least until he makes his move. Silver is really pretty.

As long as he survived the upcoming thunder tribulation, the Oculus Blade would be ranked top among all immortal weapons! Severin was incredibly excited by that thought. He took a deep breath, suppressed the joy in his heart, and stared intensely at the figure of the sword embryo floating in front of him. The original crimson Oculus Blade that carried the divine flames and bore the rules of fire had taken on a copper hue, with six golden filament-like lines swirling around it like dragons. It emitted a piercingly cold and terrifying sword intent.

“Aww, you think threatening me makes you a mighty giga chad, do you? I’ve been a member of the lawless underground society for more than ten years, and no one has ever dared wave a threat in my face! Are you happy that you’re the first? Now, come receive your reward!” Phantomknife unsheathed his snowy, shiny blades and pointed their tips at Javier. Cold glints bounced off their surface, making for a terrifying entrance, but little else happened, as Phantomknife never got to hit Javier with them. He felt a sharp pinch on his wrist and saw Javier’s silhouette get blurry. The next time his eyes focused, his shiny blades had changed hands. Javier was the one aiming the pointy bits at him now.

BLADE 3. Pain. It was all I felt when I shot my eyes opened. I felt so sore and tired. The memories of how Lorenzo plunged deeper into me last night filled my mind. He was so cruel to me. I didn't find any enjoyment in it at all. I tried lifting my hands and I was happy It was back to functioning. My tit hurts too as a result of the sucking he did last night.

Just me, silence, and a truth I couldn’t outrun. The blade was where I’d left it. Carefully hidden beneath a false floor tile and shrouded with cloth enchanted to dampen aura bleed. It wasn’t a standard weapon. This one had been gifted to me after the hybrid trials. Blood-forged. Custom-coded to react to the specific fingerprint of my aura signature. One of the only things that still felt real when the rest of my memories seemed to come and go like smoke.

I stepped into the circle. The geas flared, cold fire lancing up my arm from the brand, but I had learned to ride it, to channel through the pain, to make the Council's leash into my own whip. My blade was obsidian, a weapon of edges and absence, the kind that drank light and returned shadow. It felt right in my hand, the weight of something that had no allegiance to any narrative but my own.

Reyes ducked, the blade cleanly slicing through the thick durasteel support pillar behind her as if it were made of warm butter. She countered, driving her scavenged combat knife toward the Striker's neck joint. CLANG. The harmonic blade flicked up, entirely severing the thick iron blade of Reyes’s knife. "They're too fast!" Reyes grunted, falling backward as the Striker delivered a devastating, hydro-pressurized kick to her chest plate, sending her sliding across the smart-glass floor. The Striker didn't pursue her. Its featureless, black-visored head snapped toward the plush synthetic couches. It had identified the highest-value targets: the unconscious, glowing Code-Born kids.

No one present—not the three bewildered thugs, nor the whimpering leader, Blade—had clearly seen the move. Skylar Vance’s hand, small and delicate, looked utterly frail, yet it had crushed the muscle and bone of Blade’s thick forearm with casual ease. The sound of splintering bone was relentless, a horrifying, staccato crack-crack-crack that merged sickeningly with Blade’s uncontrollable, animalistic shrieks. Under the weak, sputtering light bulb, the scene was an absolute nightmare.

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.