God Slaying Blade Works Novels & Stories

“I have been waiting for warriors like you.” The eyes locked onto us, burning white, and my blood ran cold. Pelin sucked in a sharp breath beside me. “Manolya,” she whispered. “That thing is looking at us.” I didn’t answer. My body moved before my mind caught up. I lunged forward, with my hellblade raised, aiming straight for the statue’s chest. The blade passed through it. No resistance. No impact. Just a sickening drag through thick air, like slicing smoke soaked in magic. The force nearly pulled me off balance.

As he passed beneath her guard, he casually flicked his right wrist. SHHHHK. The glowing, monomolecular blade sliced cleanly through the thick, calcified armor plating on Nero’s right thigh as if it were warm butter. Nero shrieked in pain, her massive momentum carrying her forward as her leg gave out. She crashed heavily into the dirt, her hydraulic claw gouging a deep trench in the stone as she fell. "Nero!" Silas yelled. The old Angler didn't hesitate. He leveled his heavy harpoon gun and fired point-blank at the Executioner’s back. The explosive Spire-glass bolt streaked through the air with lethal precision.

I need my sword. Reaching behind my back, I feel the cool, smooth texture of my marking shift beneath my fingers. There’s a brief moment where the ink pulses, almost as if it’s alive, before it solidifies into the hilt of my sword. I draw it out, feeling the familiar weight settle into my hand. The blade hums with energy, a glowing blue that pulses in time with my heartbeat. This sword is mine, a part of me, born of my blood and soul. Athena’s gift, forged from my very essence.

Watching his flanks collapse, his squad get picked apart, with the calm patience of a man who'd already factored in these losses. Because I was exactly where he wanted me. "There you are," he said. He was tall in person. Taller than Valtherion. Lean, angular, with the economy of movement that spoke of decades of combat. Gray at the temples. Pale eyes that reflected the moonlight like mirrors. A long silver blade in each hand, not ornamental. Working weapons. The edges hummed with something that made my shadow bloodline recoil. Anti-bloodline steel. Forged specifically to cut through ancient power.

When I woke up again, I found myself lying on the couch at home, still terrified from my experience. Liam came out of the kitchen with a slice of cake, making me jolt in shock. To my surprise, I found that the stab wounds all over my body had disappeared. I wasn't in pain, either. It was as if nothing had ever happened.

"Ah! Someone, come quickly! Get this bloody prop out of here!" Sally's hysterical scream interrupted Quilton just as he was walking toward me. The moment he heard the word "prop", Quilton snapped back to his senses. Sally clung tightly to Quilton's clothes. She looked terrified as she buried herself in his arms. "Holly is too much, preparing gruesome props like this. Quilton, you know I faint at the sight of blood," she whined.

He was the wealthy, arrogant playboy girls would swoon around, and also the Blade family's eldest son. "Ezekiel?” A smirk tugged at the corner of his lips. “Ezekiel Blade,” he said. "Why are you without your glasses, freckle face?” He always mentioned his last name like he was nothing without it. But I knew that he loved the name so much as it meant people would fear him. I rolled my eyes, pulling my hand away from his grip. “Still a bully, huh? Besides, I don't wear glasses anymore, and I'm definitely not freckle face. It's Lydia Winters,” I said, mimicking his words.

She filled them all with mortal dread as she entered her Cyclone Stance and expertly spun around in the middle of them. Her blades followed her as she went, and cut into the terrorists with exacting precision. The Ra’ventrii blade’s razor-thin edges sliced cleanly through their heavy armor and bit deep into the flesh and bone far below. Those around her were almost instantly sliced to ribbons as gouts of blood poured out of their wounds. A few of them made choking sounds as their lives exited their bodies, which began to slowly fall to the ground. It was as though they were gradually realizing just how dead they were.

They were outside the Packhouse. My eyes sharpened when I saw him—Kaelith Bloodraven. Even under the dim, crimson wash of the moon, he stood out with unsettling clarity. The darkness didn’t obscure him; it framed him. His tall frame was steady and grounded, every inch of him exuding a quiet, suffocating authority that made the space around him feel smaller. He wielded the sword as if it were nothing more than a wooden stick, yet the air told a different story. Each swing cut through the silence with a low, sharp hum, precise and controlled, no wasted motion, no hesitation. It wasn’t practice. It was refinement.

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.”