Demon Slayer Blacksmith Mask Novels & Stories

The darkness that covers the Newark town will soon be demolished. Damon Salvatore was held captive by the leadership of Alexis Demetri, the demon slayer with the help of Thamer Reid, the Cambion who lived on Earth as a human. They trapped him inside a silver net they made through Felix Reid's sources. He gave all his shares to build a wide net made it silver. He planned it all while he's keeping him company.

He hadn’t fully understood what that meant until now. Everywhere he looked, the ultra-elite were shedding their daytime restraint. In a shadowed corner near the main salon bar, a statuesque redhead in a feathered gold mask had her back pressed against the wall while a man in a black-on-black suit—Ken recognized him as a prominent hedge fund manager—kissed her throat with open-mouthed hunger. His hand moved under her long dress, fingers working skillfully as she bit her lip to stifle a moan. No one around them batted an eye. This was the Hamptons after dark. At this hidden mask party, the rules dissolved with the champagne.

I stood immediately, lowering my head with the obedience he expected even though hatred pressed against my ribs. “Oracle.” The masked man rested one gloved hand on the carved arm of his chair. His robes were dark red, almost black beneath the silver light, and the mask covering his face had no mouth, only two narrow openings where pale eyes watched me without warmth. “You understand why you have been called here?” “Yes.” “You are certain you can handle Dax Blackthorne when he returns?” I raised my head. “I know him better than anyone in this room.” My mother shifted slightly beside me, but I ignored her.

A barrier of silver light burst from their hands, encircling our group just as part of the temple roof collapsed. The impact reverberated through the mountain. Dust filled the air. When it finally settled, I turned toward the entrance. A figure stood there. Tall. Still. Clad in black armor engraved with glowing violet runes. Unlike the Shadow Dragon's servants, this being radiated no malice. Only emptiness. Where its face should have been was a smooth obsidian mask, marked by a single glowing white eye. Even Aurel took a step back. "It can't be..."

Following all the lines of his body up from his hand makes it obvious how lean his waist is compared to the broadness of his shoulders, but it only adds to the dangerous look he gives off. The charity event requires masks, and when Brixton pulls out his, it's an intricate black metal design resembling half of a wolf’s face, as if the other half has been torn off, with teeth bared that look as sharp as I imagine they are when he shifts… if he shifts.

After that, Ethelbert had to drink more wine and keep going even though the heat made it feel like his throat was being torn apart over and over again. In an effort to maintain his alert state and take in his surroundings, Ethelbert retreated to the far corner of the room and leaned against the wall there. Suddenly, his eyes were drawn to the windy balcony on the second floor, where he appeared to see a face he had seen before. Ethelbert experienced a sudden increase in his level of awareness. He rubbed his eyes and made an effort to look more closely in order to ensure that he hadn't made a mistake. His attention was drawn to a picture of a woman who was dressed in a long dress made of blac

I wanted to rip the mask off, to let him see the monster and the woman, and to lose myself in the heat of his embrace. But as his fingers moved toward the silk ribbons at the back of my head, a cold splash of reality hit me. I am a murderer, I reminded myself. I am an impostor in a dead girl's palace. He is a man of the South, a man of secrets. If I let him see me—truly see me—I would lose the only armor I had left. The power of my eyes was my greatest weapon, but my mask was my greatest shield. Just as his fingers brushed the knot of the ribbon, I grabbed his wrist. My grip was unnaturally strong, fueled by the desperation of a cornered animal.

I hated soft men. I gritted my teeth behind the mask and stretched out my hand, signaling for some weapon to dispatch him. The guard standing on the left handed me a machete. It was a sharp and lovely weapon. The hilt was wrapped with black leather and had the famous mask Kings in signal of the Japanese mask. The body of the blade was silver, as I had requested. "Please, you make this too easy for me. You don't have much working for you," I whispered to the man who still didn't get the memo that he should shut up. His insistent prayers were getting me annoyed, and I wasn't prepared to live through another second of it.

She mustered up her last ounce of strength and began to try to wiggle free again while she pleaded. “Please…” She saw then the shadow was a man wearing head to toe black armor his face was concealed by a black mask. He leaned over her and she thought it would be the end for her. The monks had somehow summoned this demon when they were trying to retrieve the jewel from within her she thought. She watched him pull out a knife. She grew still.

“Our local blacksmith is a very mysterious Slayer, full of surprises, but a good fellow. He isn’t from around here but everybody adores him just the same. Oh, and have I mentioned he’s blind?” “Blind?!” Temujin and Aki echoed. “Oh yes, that’s right. Completely, I’m afraid. I wouldn’t challenge him to a spar though on account of that, for he can put any able-bodied Slayer to shame. Also, he very much prefers a simple and private life.” “Oh, I’ve heard of this blacksmith,” Sasha jumped in. “He’s the one who makes most of the blue Slayer suits by cooking the tree-drops in a stove. Somehow he knows how to combine fire and wind techniques.”