Cyberpunk Mantis Blades Build Novels & Stories

Their optical sensors shattered instantly, their synthetic bodies flying across the room and crashing into the digital-jukebox in a shower of sparks and synthetic coolant. "He's not using a data-port!" a terrified patron screamed from under a table. "He's fighting offline!" The remaining two Disciples activated their Mantis-Blades—glowing, high-frequency energy swords that extended from their forearms. They lunged at Caleb in perfect, synchronized mechanical synchronization.

"Don't look here, and it will be a swift death. I promise!" He wanted to end the bug as fast as possible because they can call their horde with a screech. They mostly traveled in groups, but this one seemed to be an exception. After coming close, Creed stabbed the dagger in its neck with full force. The mantis' head got decapitated before the mantis could even scream. [Purple-Mantis Killed] [Gained Saturation Point +0.1] [Gained Soul Crystal +1 ] A red glow enveloped his body and then disappeared the next moment, which made him refreshed.

“Shut up.” He held up both hands. “Just carrying the vibes.” A tiny, reluctant laugh escaped me. For the first time since morning, it felt like we had a chance. A real one. I walked to the whiteboard on the wall and uncapped a marker. “Alright,” I said. “We build from the ground up. No shortcuts. No recycled components.” “Custom frame,” Cassian added. “Lightweight but durable. Something aerodynamic but stable.” “We’ll need new alloys,” Lilith said. She grabbed a marker too and wrote beside mine. “Something that can handle heat, friction, and speed.”

It snapped at her face, its breath smelling of copper and chemical preservatives. She spun to the left, her silver movements fluid and weightless. She allowed the wolf’s momentum to carry it past her, but as it did, she drove her silver blade upward, targeting the unarmored gap beneath its foreleg. The silver energy coating the blade sliced through the tough hide effortlessly. The moment the silver entered the creature’s bloodstream, the violet light in its eyes vanished, replaced by a flash of blinding white light as the internal cybernetics short-circuited. The wolf crashed into the central console, sparking violently before collapsing.

I watched from the gallery as the smiths dipped a long-sword into a vat of liquid violet energy—the refined byproduct of the shadow-tendrils we had harvested from the fissure. "It’s holding the charge, Luna," the lead blacksmith, a massive man with shoulders like boulders, reported, wiping sweat from his forehead. "The star-silver lattice is dense enough to contain the feedback, but it’s fragile. If a soldier strikes a heavy null-iron shield, the blade might shatter."

Natalia snarled. She vaulted over the security railing of the upper observation platform, her boots clicking loudly against the iron gantry. She sprinted down the narrow walkway, her condensed silver light-blade manifesting in her hand with a sharp, crystalline ring. The blade was shorter now, flickering from her sheer physical exhaustion, but the edge was sharper than ever, humming with the desperation of a cornered wolf. From the shadows of the concrete columns, four massive automated iron sentinels stepped into her path, their quad-barrel ballistas already loaded and aimed.

Elena screamed. She didn't wait. She ignited her silver blades, the molecular edges whistling as she carved a horizontal arc toward Cyrus’s back. The Liquidator didn't turn. He leaned back, his body bending at an angle that would have snapped a human spine, the silver blades passing an inch from his nose. With his free hand, he tapped a command on his wrist-com.

—automated husks of armor fueled by residual mana—were still programmed for one task: termination. Four Sentinels, towering seven-foot constructs of blackened steel, detached themselves from the walls. They didn't breathe, and they didn't hesitate. The first swung a massive flail that pulverized the stone where Victor’s head had been a millisecond prior. Victor slid between the construct’s legs, his movement a fluid, desperate grace born of a hundred and eighty chapters of survival. He didn't aim for the chest plate. He aimed for the "Joint-Core," the glowing blue crystal at the back of the knee.

So did the other girl. “Max release,” Kent commanded, I slightly turned my head to see the dog, whose back I was riding a few moments ago, reassembled as a man. He was skinny, short, and looked tired. His eyes were dull, but kind. His hair was dirty red and shaggy but not in a purposeful way like Kent's. He looked quite messy. The rags Kent had ordered—loose brown pants and an even looser white blouse—didn’t help Max any. “Take her to her room. Lock her in there till we can figure something out.”

Spiked Cestus [B] x2 Ragnarok Armaments Heavy Repeater SM [B] — Mad Monk’s Charlatan had a sleek frame, but was heavily armored. Similar to Kali’s Rakshasa, his arms had an extra layer of armor. On top of that, his arms terminated in thick and wide spikes that were clearly designed to severely dent armor rather than penetrate it.