Elden Ring Black Blade Kindred Novels & Stories

At its center stood a raised dais of obsidian and bone, and upon it, a blade. It floated above the altar, suspended in a web of golden runes and chains that shivered with old magic. Its hilt was carved from spinal bone, its blade black as void, veins of red pulsing through it like a living thing. The room felt alive. And angry. Dirus bowed low before it, not in reverence, but in wariness. "There it is," he whispered. "The Godrender." I stepped closer, the pressure in my chest increasing with every heartbeat. The closer I got, the more my wolf fought it, ears pinned, teeth bared inside me.

A blade walking in flesh. Elara completed their triad, gliding at Logan's right. Where her brothers carried the weight of warriors, she carried the air of a storm held just at bay. Her hair was long, waves of dark gold that shimmered like dusk-light, and her eyes had deepened into pools of liquid gold. Her smile was rarer now, but when it came, it was like lightning in shadow. Link watched them ahead of him and felt the wrongness of it lodge deeper in his heart. They should've been children a little while longer.

​The Shadow’s Edge ​Elena moved like a ghost through the shimmering indigo mist. She reached the first ridge of the Liquidator vanguard, her silver blades humming. She didn't strike from the front. She dropped from a high, obsidian branch, her weight amplified by the "Null-Link" to hit the lead Liquidator like a falling star. ​Her blade didn't just cut his armor; it Infected it. The moment the silver steel touched the Directorate’s chrome, a microscopic network of black vines erupted from the wound, clogging the suit’s joints and shorting out its life-support.

Scar Number One roared. Suddenly, the hundreds of people from the Black Ax Organization rushed forth. In Linda's eyes, as a Rank 5 Surpasser, the group of people was filled with weaklings. Her hand appeared with a Green Emerald Sword, and she swung it. Swoosh! Then, a horrifying ray appeared, and the scene immediately became too cruel to watch. The passersby took in cold breaths. Only then did they realize that Linda was a member of Sword Ancestry.

Azrael wields the Blade in grace, power and glory. The Blade’s gold hilt with black crystals, the luminous, silvery and steely blade with details of diamonds and golden runes looks incredibly stunning in Azrael’s hands, “After a thousand year, I think the oldest Damned title would be passed right down tonight.” she stated. Her voice is remarkably thrilling.

Lyra spun on her heel, her eyes narrowing as a figure stepped out from behind one of the glowing aerocrystal pillars. Seline walked into the dim light. Her midnight silk gown was torn and scorched from the previous battle, and a dark bruise marred her pale jawline, but her face was twisted into a cruel, triumphant sneer. In her right hand, Seline held a strange, ancient weapon. It was a slender, jagged curved blade forged from a dull, pitch-black metal that seemed to swallow the light around it. The blade gave off no heat, no elemental energy, and no sound, but the moment Lyra laid eyes on it, the golden pulse of her mate bond in her chest flared with a sudden, icy pang of warning.

His complexion is smooth and coppery and he is without a single scar. I tense up as he approaches me. "So, you are my granddaughters' mate. To think a dragon slayer would be what she got stuck with," his brassy voice rings out. I pull back in surprise. How did he know I was a dragon slayer? "Tell me your name," Lochness demands lowly. "I'm Flavius, Flavius Black," I stumble out. I feel Ellie's hand grasp my own. I relax at her comforting touch.

I thought for a split second and realized what Adam meant. I took a breath and closed my eyes, I clenched my fists then straightened my fingers, releasing all my emotions there, the energy that was inside me. Then I feel it. My weapon was already out of my fingers, just like what my Mother’s had. I opened my eyes and looked up, where I was sure the statue of Nos was up there. Right before my eyes. “I am Cyllina Ivybow, daughter of Deruna Ivybow, Dryad of the Elden Wood. My friends and I came here to bring the witch who will pay for her sins in this holy place. Let us in!!”

The Phantom Blade was too light for something designed to end a life. It sat in Damian’s palm, a sliver of polished titanium that seemed to pull the nursery’s amber light into its edge. Damian didn’t look like a man whose estate was currently being dismantled by orbital strikes. He looked like a man who had finally solved a tedious riddle. He rotated the needle between his thumb and forefinger, his movements slow, deliberate, and terrifyingly steady. "The lion’s head engraving," he murmured.

They cheer and weep and call me saint and savior and bride. I stare straight ahead. The roses look like splashes of blood against the snow. At the northern gate waits a second cage-wagon, larger, drawn by eight black horses that steam and stamp. The bars are carved with runes that hurt to look at. Eldorian emissaries stand beside it (tall, pale, armor like liquid night, eyes glowing faint violet). Their skin is marked with moving runes that crawl like living tattoos. One steps forward (female, wings like fractured glass folded against her back).