Excalibur Sword Tattoo Novels & Stories

His keen eyes scrutinized the body, tracing the intricate patterns of tattoos etched into the attacker's skin. "This is no ordinary assailant," Elder Broja began, his voice low and gravely. "These tattoos, they speak of allegiance to a specific pack. Each mark represents a vow, a bond, a commitment to their cause." I exchanged a troubled glance with Lyra, sensing the gravity of the situation deepen with each passing moment. "What do these tattoos signify?" I inquired, my voice tinged with apprehension. Elder Broja's gaze bore into mine, his expression grim. "These symbols are ancient, passed down through generations. They denote allegiance to the Eclipse Pack, a ruthless faction known for th

Nikolai is a god among men, and I am fortunate to be embraced by his presence. Nikolai’s tattoos are sexy, and I find myself unable to resist tracing them with my finger. The stars inked on both his shoulders catch my attention, making me curious about their meaning. However, it’s the eagle tattooed on his chest that truly captivates me. The majestic bird exudes power and strength, its wings spread wide as if poised for flight. The intricate details of the tattoo come alive on his skin, and I can’t help but admire its beauty. The eagle symbolizes freedom, and in that moment, I feel as if I am soaring alongside it.

Sniffling, I raised my tattooed hand to the nail and pressed hard on it, swiping down quickly as a hiss escaped my lips. “I’m nothing but a failed Knight.” Staring down at my bloody hand, I sobbed as I looked at the fresh scar that cut through the blade of the sword. This was a universal symbol for a dishonorable failed Knight: A broken sword.

I walked through its doors, down a seemingly endless aisle lined with the royal advisors, the guard—including Jordan—and the royal family, who stood closest to the reverend at the steps. I stopped at the base of the steps while the reverend recited ancient words. Then I knelt as he descended to me, continuing the incantation until the needle touched my skin. It was just like any other tattoo—the sting of a needle striking again and again into the flesh of my neck. I already knew what it would be: I had seen the crest many times before. A black shield edged in crimson, crowned with silver and obsidian points shaped like crescents. At its heart, a silver moon cradled a black wolf with its head

He scoffed, taking off his trousers, and I looked away. A wave of dread washed over me, not sure what to expect next. Fear rose in my chest as I curled my fingers into the bedspread. By the time I looked back up, he was fully undressed, but he had his back facing me. I felt a drool escape my lip as my eyes traveled over his body—broad shoulders, his muscular back adorned with a large crest tattoo, identical to his brother's, except he was larger, taking up the entire top left side of his back. The tattoo depicted a shield with two swords crossed above it. Two lions stood on their hind legs, pulling the shield from both sides. Below the shield, a banner displays the name "Dontrell." The desig

“Your tattoos are beautiful.” I look at the tattoo of a skull surrounded by black flames. My whole right arm is decorated with tattoos from shoulder to wrist. My skin prickles with every caress of her fingers, but I don’t stop her from touching me. The tattoo sleeve has several tribal symbols, and there are a seal trident and a frogman tattoo on my shoulder. Each tattoo represents something in my life. The skull represents my status as an Assassin, and the cross is a play on my name. Her finger moves down the line of my intricate cross, then to the inside of my rib cage, where I have an inscription. Qui velit, ut vivat in aeternum.

The sword and pen still hover above me, steady, waiting. In the polished blade’s reflection, I catch my own face—ruined with tears, bruised, broken—but my eyes are still green. Not corrupted. Not black. Still me. But something on my back itches, burns, reshapes. I feel it before I see it—a tattoo forming, alive with magic, stretching across my shoulders and down my spine. A phoenix. Wings spread wide, head thrown back, flames curling around its body like a crown. Ashes to flame. Darkness to light.

Caleb's eyes flashed like a sword's age while his aura intensified with a rumble. He glanced at his black greatsword which was inscribed with the words Dharmic Cutter! Sil Crawford had given it to him when he left Calebton, and Sil told him to wield it only after the Guardian couldn't be wielded anymore. And just before, Shar's Rain of Swords shattered the Guardian, so he took out the Dharmic Cutter! "This really suits me, Elder Sil… You really know me best!" Caleb growled under his breath and slashed forward!

‘What’s wrong with me this time? ‘Yeah right, besides that how that thing pulled me here? Anyway, I need to take it down soon. That devil must be really strong’ ’Okay, I will do this quickly so I can return to Aahva and go home.’ Abelard’s mainstay sword comes out of its scabbard. The scabbard is pitch black without any decoration, the hilt was carved with a unique horizontal engraving shaped like interlocking letters. There is a red jewel between the hilt of the sword and the sword. At the edges of the blade, it is very sharp and bluish silver, while the middle is gold and, when exposed to the moonlight, can emit a sparkling light.

The silver-gold tattoos on his chest and arms flared with the intensity of a dying sun, generating a localized, spatial-warping shield of pure, kinetic chaos. "Keep typing, Queen," Caleb smirked over his shoulder, his molten gold eyes burning with the thrill of defying another god. "I'll hold the sky." Scarlett didn't look up. Her fingers danced across the glowing, holographic terminal she had forced the ancient console to project. Her cosmic gold eyes were locked onto the cascading lines of the orbital weapon's telemetry data. "Just give me ten seconds, King of the North," Scarlett murmured, her starlight brush weaving intricate lines of Origin Code into the terminal.