Enchanted Justice Blade Novels & Stories

BLADE 3. Pain. It was all I felt when I shot my eyes opened. I felt so sore and tired. The memories of how Lorenzo plunged deeper into me last night filled my mind. He was so cruel to me. I didn't find any enjoyment in it at all. I tried lifting my hands and I was happy It was back to functioning. My tit hurts too as a result of the sucking he did last night.

“Aww, you think threatening me makes you a mighty giga chad, do you? I’ve been a member of the lawless underground society for more than ten years, and no one has ever dared wave a threat in my face! Are you happy that you’re the first? Now, come receive your reward!” Phantomknife unsheathed his snowy, shiny blades and pointed their tips at Javier. Cold glints bounced off their surface, making for a terrifying entrance, but little else happened, as Phantomknife never got to hit Javier with them. He felt a sharp pinch on his wrist and saw Javier’s silhouette get blurry. The next time his eyes focused, his shiny blades had changed hands. Javier was the one aiming the pointy bits at him now.

His eyes widened in disbelief as he staggered back, and I was on him in an instant, hovering over his crumpling form. I pressed my hand over his mouth, and yanked the blade free, blood blooming like a dark flower on his shirt, and in the same fluid motion, I sliced his throat, silencing him forever. As the life drained from him, I felt a surge of triumph. This was a ritual that demanded precision, and I would not let anything— or anyone— disrupt my plans. Elara would have her blade. She would remember this night, and it would be etched into her mind like this crimson stain on my hands. Elara

Isabella finally said softly. Amara turned to her. “That’s normal,” she replied. A pause. “Justice doesn’t always feel like celebration. Sometimes it just feels like… silence after a long storm.” Isabella nodded slightly. Her fingers tightened around the cup. “I thought I would feel lighter,” she whispered. “But I just feel… tired.” Amara looked at her carefully. “You’re not supposed to feel fixed in one day,” she said gently. “You’re supposed to feel free enough to start again.” That word—start—lingered in the air.

Jack growled. "These fingers are just the right size. I need them for a special necklace that's supposed to bring luck. So, I'm taking this one," Yvonne said, holding up a finger. I was shaking all over, unsure if it was because of anger or fear. I scrambled over to Yvonne. "Give my daughter's fingers back!" Yvonne jumped when she saw me crawling over. She kicked me in the face and hid in Jack's arms. Jack frowned down at me. "It's been hours. It's too late to fix her fingers now. What's the point of giving them to Yvonne?

I gasped. Lunar Eclipse was more of a pack of mercenaries. No one knew the real names of the pack members, as they all had some sort of code name. The Alpha of the pack was known as Shadowstrike. Shadowstrike was considered the ultimate warrior, with skills that a normal werewolf didn’t possess. He could strike his opponents down with a single blow, but it wasn’t just because he was strong. There was a rumor that he could expel some sort of energy in his attacks that could knock someone down without ever touching them.

Not even Scarlett. A new wave of determination surged into me like a tidal wave. For me to finally give justice to my father for how he was murdered in cold blood, I'd do anything and everything to have the last laugh. Wiping the tears on my face, the sides of my lips lifted in a smirk. "This is the point where Diego comes in."

She knew Draven would try to hinder her journey, so she was ready for it. As the first wave of birds dived toward her, she swiftly drew her blade and struck with precision. The silver gleamed as it sliced through the air, meeting its mark with deadly accuracy. Each strike was fluid and controlled, her movements were a practiced dance of survival. The enchanted blade cut through the dark magic infusing the birds, causing them to burst into clouds of black smoke as they perished.

The Moonstone blade glows brighter on contact, the gold light intensifying, and the black energy disperses on impact like smoke in wind. "The blade absorbs dark magic," Moira states, moving steadily forward. "You should know that. You've been afraid of it for years." "I'm not afraid of anything." "You're afraid of this." Moira drives the blade forward, not at Melvanie but at the floor between them, carving a sweeping arc of gold light that forces Melvanie backward. "You're afraid of justice. Of accountability. Of the fact that everything you've built can be undone by two words from a girl you underestimated."

But as my eyes adjusted to the spinning crowd, I caught a glimpse of movement over Alaric’s shoulder. A waiter in a crisp white jacket was weaving through the dancers. He wasn't carrying a tray of champagne. His hand was buried inside his vest, and as he drew closer to Alaric's exposed back, the pale moonlight from the grand windows caught the edge of a long, jagged blade. The steel glowed with a faint, sickly purple light—an enchanted weapon. Cursed steel. Alaric was looking at me, his back completely turned to the threat. There was no time to yell. There was no time to pull him away. The assassin lunged forward, the glowing blade aiming straight for the space between Alaric’s shoulder blad