Elden Ring Rivers Of Blood Katana の小説・ストーリー

“The same one that tried to kill me.” I stared at Narvia’s body, then at the dagger still lodged in her ribs. The blade glinted under torchlight, etched faintly with the mark Eliana had just described—a raven clutching a flame. I rose to my feet, my voice low and steady. “No more games. Whoever’s behind this dies next.” Eliana didn’t answer. Her eyes were locked on the floor—on the faint scorch marks spreading from Narvia’s body like wings.

Lysandra asks as we run. "Somewhere they'll never think to look." "Where?" "You'll see." We reach the border just as the first hints of dawn touch the sky. A figure waits there. Cloaked. Hidden. "You're late," the figure says. "We're here." I step forward. "Do you have it?" The figure produces a small vial. Dark liquid swirls inside. "Essence of nightshade. Mixed with wolfsbane. Enough to kill even an Alpha." I take the vial carefully. "And the location?"

--- The Blood That Remembers Greta laid out three bowls: Moon water Salt Bloodroot ash The air thickened. “Your birthright isn’t just power,” Greta said to Lillieth. “It’s memory. The ember your mother hid carries history.” Lillieth’s breath tightened. “Show me.” Greta nodded. “Give me your hands.” Draven stiffened. “If she gets hurt—” “She won’t,” Greta snapped. “But she has to see.” Lillieth placed her hands palms up over the bowls.

“I vow to starve what should starve. I vow to keep my hands out of fires that other people need to stand close to. I vow to stand between her life and the thing that thinks it owns it, even when that thing is the story that brought us this far.” Lunaris set the knife between their wrists. “Blood,” she said, not unkind. Ryder smiled, tired. “Always the same currency.” Sienna smiled, too, smaller. “At least it spends.” They turned their wrists. The knife moved, a cool kiss, a hot line. Blood welled, tidy, dark with a fine thread of silver in Sienna’s that belonged to no human mother. It ran onto the stone and did not drip from the edges. It soaked in. The altar drank like a thing that had been

I frown, instinctively step back, don't want her scent on me. Elena's smile turns strange. A small silver dagger suddenly appears in her hand. She grabs my hand, drags the blade viciously across her own arm. Blood gushes out immediately. "Rhea, don't kill me!" "Help! Asher! Rhea's trying to kill me with a silver knife!" "It hurts!" Elena screams, collapses to the floor, clutching her arm. Blood flows freely. The silver's burn makes her face go white. Alpha Asher runs out of his study. Sees this scene. His wolf nearly tears free.

A relic gleamed in her grip—a dagger wrought from moonstone and obsidian, its blade etched with runes that glowed like living fire. Elias’s eyes widened. “That’s—” “The Crescent Fang,” Rhea finished. “Forged by the council. A blade made to kill what should never have been born.” Her gaze locked on Serena, and for the first time, Rhea’s face softened with sorrow. “Forgive me.” --- The attack came like lightning. Rhea moved faster than any wolf Serena had ever seen, the blade slicing across the altar. Serena barely leapt back in time, but the dagger still grazed her arm. Pain exploded, burning like molten silver, searing into her veins.

Dragon fire erupted from his hands, striking one assassin and throwing the other into the mist. Elara dropped from her horse, landing lightly on the ground. Silver-violet flames ignited from her palms. She spun, blasting two more attackers as they leaped from the shadows. The energy flowed smoothly, guided by the shadow-thread within her. For a moment, it felt intoxicating, powerful, seductive, dangerous. A third assassin came from behind, blades aimed at Kael. Elara turned just in time, slamming her palm against the stone ground. A wave of energy erupted, throwing the attacker backward. Kael recovered, raising his sword with a grunt of acknowledgment.

he paused, letting the implication hang “—claim you, your body will sing for it. Even if your mind screams no.” Elara thought of Liam’s hospital bed, the way his fingers had clawed at his own skin, begging for release. “I can endure pain.” “Can you endure longing?” He closed the folder with a snap. “Blood seal. No signatures. No take-backs.” He drew a dagger from his belt, its blade etched with glowing runes that pulsed like a heartbeat. “Hold out your hand.” Her palm shook as she stretched it toward him. The blade pricked her thumb, and a bead of blood welled up—crimson, human, fragile. He sliced his own thumb, then pressed his wound to hers.

It shimmered faintly in the firelight, as if hungry. With a practiced motion, Elara sliced her palm. The pain was sharp, clean. Blood welled up, dark and strange—not red like human blood, not golden like the Lycan kin, but deep garnet, as though shadow and flame had been fused into liquid. She let it drip into the ancient bowl at the center of the table—an artifact older than the Keep itself, carved from stone quarried in lands long swallowed by the sea. Kael took the dagger next, cutting without hesitation. His blood was thick and red, the blood of warriors.