Dracula Blade Novels & Stories

Shame this was evening happening to me. Unfortunatly, Damon moved to stand beside Ethan. “These are Twisted Blade push daggers. A tri-edge blade that spirals. Also known as a cyclone blade. They insure maximum damage with little effort. When used correctly, it will increase our killing effectiveness by 10%. Your opposite will bleed out before their wolf will be able to heal them.”

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.

“Now tell us where Lucious is. We need to end this. We need justice for everyone he’s hurt — including you.” “So I was working with him…” Blade whispered. “The man who killed my mom and my mate…” His voice shattered. Julius stepped forward. “He manipulated you. That’s what he does.” Blade let out a hollow laugh. “He promised me something,” he said. “What?” I asked. Blade stared at the floor for a long moment, then spoke in a flat, empty voice. “He promised me an antidote. He said he would save Doris and make her mine.”

I let out a breath I had not realized I was holding. But if he was not here for that, what did he come here for? “I want you to get a blade for me” he continued, overlooking the balcony and the stables below from a distance with his eyes. When I still remained silent, he carried on “the vendor must not know you’re from the castle or have any connections with us. All you’re permitted to say is that you need an enchanted blade for protection. There’s a chance he would bring out the specific blade I seek with the rest of his collection. You would purchase the blade and return to the castle. If the blade is not among the pile he displays to you, press further and if he does not give in, purchase

He told him. "Ohh now it makes sense. Enzo must have put me under a spell that I forgot everything. Saint put me asleep. And in the morning when I was scared, Zee calmed me down. And wait, Max can read minds. Oh no. Am dead. Oh god". He held his head and Stephen laughed. "And what power do you have"? "Well as a vampire we have the power of lightning speed. But Blaze is different. Being Alpha, Blaze has the power to heal. Himself and others too. Even if someone has a fatal wound, Blaze can heal it quickly". He explained and Callum felt his eyes can’t be wide anymore.

A blade must be honed. Honed, it must be drawn. Drawn, it must taste blood. I am Lucian. I am The Blade. STERLING That bastard had gone mad! I’d never seen a fight so twisted, so unnervingly spectacular—and never a werewolf or lycan so drenched in bloodlust and violence. No… not just a werewolf or lycan. He was the most reckless, most merciless creature I’d ever laid eyes on. One hand. The son of a bitch fought from start to finish with only one hand—slaughtering every single dark spawn the magic circle had spat out.

I need it to. With a swift, precise motion, I drive the blade into the young lycan’s throat. The warm blood bursts forth in a pulsing stream, flowing through the grooves carved into the stone of the table. The marks flare with a vibrant red glow, the entire hall illuminated by the macabre light. The ground begins to tremble, a distant whisper—or perhaps a wail—seems to echo from the unseen depths. For a moment, my heart races in anticipation. Have I finally done it? Will the Entity deign to respond?

He broke the latch open with his boot and dragged it into the aisle. Damian pulled out a combat blade wrapped in an oilcloth, unsheathed it with care, and then pricked the edge into his palm until blood welled up. No hiss. No wince. Just an old rite: Drăghici steel drank from its master before it hunted. The red smeared along the spine of the blade like war paint as he whispered something low and guttural in Romanian, an oath of vengeance passed down from his grandfather's grandfather. One of three personal flight attendants paused mid-step, catching sight of the ritual. Her mouth opened, then snapped shut. She lowered her gaze and backed away in silence. From the cockpit, one of the older c

Her hands fumbled in the corner, the sound of zippers and clattering makeup spilling onto the floor. “I—I can’t find it!” she stammered. The shadow creature twisted under me, throwing its weight. My grip slipped, claws raking down my ribs. Pain flared white and hot. “You’ll find it now,” I snapped, forcing its head against the rug. “Or she dies!” That jolted her. Pelin scrambled to her bag, yanking the red crescent blade free. It glowed faintly, the markings along its edge pulsing like embers.