Dark Souls 3 Onyx Blade Novels & Stories

They’ve forgotten wolves chew through their own paws when cornered. One of the guards offers him the ceremonial blade from earlier—standard steel, worn hilt engraved with pack sigils. The priest barely glances at it. He lifts a hand and dismisses it like a king waving off a servant. He’s brought his own. It’s more of an obsidian and bone material. The handle is wrapped in something that might’ve once been human skin. The edge shimmers with old runes that seem to move or laugh. It’s the kind of blade you don’t just flay with, but you feed. He sets the blade on a silver tray beside me, then uncorks a glass vial filled with something thick and green—wolfsbane oil. It smells like death soaked in

The impact sent him crashing to the ground of the cage. The crowd cheered crazily, screams erupted all around me. "BLADE!" "BLADE!" "BLADE!" I pulled out my custom-made blade gleamed with a savage hunger under the bright arena lights. The polished steel bore the name "Capone," etched into the metal like a proclamation of death. Its edge was as sharp as a serpent's fang. It looked eager to cut, having tasted the blood of many before. The handle, wrapped in black leather, felt like a coiled snake in my grip, ready to strike with deadly accuracy. This blade wasn't just a weapon; it was a merciless instrument of brutality, a symbol of my unrelenting power in this world.

The blade alone was as long as a full-grown man, and rings of metal hung along its spine, clanking loudly with every movement. The edge gleamed with terrifying sharpness, and strange patterns rippled across it, flashing with bursts of eerie light. Andrew raised an eyebrow slightly, surprised by the quality of Othniel's brutal weapon. It was clearly no ordinary blade, but a high-grade weapon reinforced by special power. Nyx warned him, "Be careful. This was a ritual forged weapon, and its quality was not much worse than a Cathedral holy sword."

A droplet of blood fell from her fingertip and landed on it. In that instant, the Soul-Summoning Plaque transformed into a blade invisible to the human eye. Nyx, standing nearby, gasped as if under sudden pressure, and across the realms, spirits—both on the mortal realm and Netherrealm—shuddered in response. The sword's unseen ripples echoed through the earth. Even the high officials of the Netherrealm covered their ears, exchanging shocked glances. Clearly, this was no ordinary tool. Indeed, a blade capable of severing fortune was no common artifact. The Netherrealm didn't just feel its presence—it reached the heights of Mount Dracotigris, where even seasoned cultivators paused in awareness

Like the moment before a held breath finally releases. Kael lowered his blade slowly. The silver edge still glowed, responding to something beyond the threshold. He could feel it pulling at him, not aggressively, but insistently. Like a hand reaching out in the dark. "Don't move," Aion warned. "I'm not moving." "Your blade is." Kael looked down. The silver sword was trembling in his grip. Not violently. Almost gently. As if it recognized something on the other side. Rhydian stepped closer, golden blade drawn. "Mine too."

"Now take this!" With a resounding cry, the Oculus Blade erupted in a burst of divine hues. The 3,000 laws etched upon it absorbed the surrounding power of heaven and earth, coalescing into a golden sword rain that cleaved through the encroaching darkness.

I leaned back against my seat, "It's not easy to take down two powerful men at a go all by yourself." "This person came prepared Orian." Nexus leaned over, "And this person is powerful. A murder carried out with a 3-bladed knife, you know what that means." What it meant was that even I was a suspect as well as Nexus and all the high-ranking officials not excluding members of the council. Three blades knife is meant to destroy and cause serious damage, a weapon only possessed by people like us and they were to be used only in the case of war.

Lucien frowned as he looked at his sword. “I actually struck it.” Nyx stared at the glowing runes covering the blade. “So that’s why…” Lucien turned toward her. “Why what?” “That sword was never forged merely to fight vampires.” Before she could explain further, the runes across the obsidian blade flared brighter than ever before. Ancient symbols spread along its edge, symbols that neither Lucien nor the High Priestess had ever seen despite centuries of studying the royal relic. Master Orion stepped closer, his eyes widening with recognition.

It was a geometric distortion in the steam, a ripple the human eye wasn't built to track. A Syndicate Ghost. Optical camouflage was expensive, nearly invisible to the Argus system, and utterly silent. The 'Third Heartbeat' in my gut kicked—a violent, thrumming resonance that synced with Damian’s pulse. Three. I reached into my hair, fingers locking onto the cold titanium hilt of the Phantom Blade. Two. I pushed the burning pressure in my chest down into my arm, through the metal, and into the oxygen itself. One. I didn't run. I simply stopped being where I was and arrived where I needed to be.

They're veteran Supremes—powerful and seasoned. "Even if I step into Supreme Realm right now, I'd still be far behind Yohan and Pope of Light. And you dare say you fought them?" "You should get out more and not hide in your little corner. Your vision is too narrow. Have you ever heard of 'young blood rises fast'? You're past your prime," Gideon teased. "You're seeking death!" Tristan roared. Then, he pulled a black curved blade from his robes. "Marshal Snow, this is the day you die! The fifth style of the 13 Ghost Blades—Soul Slice!"