Half Face Blades Cardiac Spike Novels & Stories

He activated the spiritual energy within him, gathering it on his Thunder Blade. The Thunder Blade gleamed with a cold light, and a crimson hue appeared on the blade. "Crazy Blade Strike!" A sharp and fierce blood-red blade light cut through the air, flashing through the moonlit woods. Just as the blade light was about to touch Sebastian's body, a semi-transparent shield appeared in front of him. Clang! When the blade light struck the shield, the shield dissipated, and the blade light was also neutralized. Sebastian was unharmed, showing no signs of damage.

To defend his quick attack, Edgar swung his double-edged blade in an ice pick grip. The double edge blade was designed to enhance the tip of the knife. This bevel gives the blade an ability to pierce and break deeply into its subject. It's usually used for skinning animals; thus, isn't it the best weapon to beat a beast like a prime slayer hidden Alpha.

Not wanting to show the ghastly gash and the pain that emanates from it, I only but grunt on grind on my teeth. Then I spin to my left to face the man again. He only but laughs in an awful cackle at me. Then in… One… Two… Three… I step that one required step forward and drive the blade straight through his chest. The moment that the blade makes an impact and pierces into his skin, he grabs onto it with both hands. The blade drives through the skin of his palms and leaves a gaping wound from where blood is streaming from. And as the blood comes trickling down his chest where the blade is making a smooth entrance, I drive it deeper and deeper, crashing right through his bones and making that m

She is killing him right in front of you, and you are helping her carry the blades! He is flatlining because the silver is constricting his left ventricle! Valerie yelled, her voice expanding with a terrifying, dominant intensity that made the lower ranking riders visibly flinch. She grabbed a heavy, serrated surgical bone saw from the newly opened corporate crate, the metal blade instantly catching the harsh glare of the propane lanterns. Grim backed away into the corner, raising his hands. Thorne is right. The human technology is blasphemy. We should let the pack laws handle his passing.

The thick, jagged spikes violently ripped completely through his heavily blistered lower lip, aggressively tearing a massive, deep, horrific gash completely down to his violently bruised, actively bleeding chin. He violently collapsed entirely backward onto the sharp, freezing gravel, actively spitting the thick, dirty root completely out of his raw, actively bleeding mouth. He aggressively choked on a massive, terrifying stream of hot, dark blood and acidic bile, his severely crushed, heavily bruised chest violently heaving with every single, rattling breath. His entire, once-handsome face was a completely unrecognizable, actively bleeding mask of raw, violently shredded flesh.

No witnesses. Vesper went rigid. I felt her gaze snap toward me, sharp with shock and worry. I said nothing. My hand moved to the compartment between our seats and pulled out the tactical blade. The steel was matte black, the handle ridged with smooth, ergonomic grooves designed for a perfect grip. She blanched. The color drained from her face in the dim dashboard glow, her gaze snapping to the weapon. “What are you going to do? Why are you stopping?” I leaned over, my hand returning to her thighs. She pressed her legs together, her muscles tight with resistance, a pathetic, instinctive barricade.

I shouted. I didn’t even see it coming. A hard fist slammed into my face, sending me staggering backward. Pain exploded across my jaw, my head snapping to the side as I struggled to keep my balance. “What the—” I turned, gripping my face, my eyes burning with shock and anger. Blade. He stood there, his chest rising and falling, his fists clenched so tightly his knuckles had gone white. His eyes… I had never seen them like this before. There was no calm in them.

“You’re okay. It was only a dream. Nothing’s here.” My chest heaved, sharp twinges darting along my sternum where the transplant scar sat. Every breath felt shaky and I swallowed hard, my throat raw. “So—so it wasn’t… real?” They exchanged a quick look, the kind nurses give each other when they don’t want the patient to panic more. The older one scribbled something on a chart. “What was real is your heart can’t take sudden surges like that. If your rhythm spikes like that again, especially after your discharge, it could lead to a heart attack. So you have to keep calm, Bianca.”