Haunting Dagger Novels & Stories

one of the witches ask and Olivia smirk. "A dagger made from the blood of Dracula himself, the dagger is called the blood dagger. It's capable of killing Dracula himself," she said and the witches all started murmuring. "Silence," she thundered and they all kept shut. "The dagger is buried somewhere in this city, if we can find it we will wipe all sucker out," she said. A young witch by name Rosella started convulsing and her eyes turned white.

The thing barely hesitated—it charged Haunter with a reckless speed that made no tactical sense, claws slashing through the air like a blade with no aim. He dodged low, raking his arm up with a sickle-shaped blade he conjured mid-step. It howled—high and broken—but didn’t stop. It should’ve stopped. “Cursed,” I said sharply. “It’s not just rogue—it’s infected.” “Looks like spell rot,” Haunter growled, grabbing its scruff mid-lunge and twisting it midair. I didn’t wait. I surged forward, jamming my dagger straight through its exposed ribs.

"Let blood soak earth. Sigils activate." She handed Hilda a wicked-looking dagger. The blade curved slightly, the metal so dark it seemed to absorb light. Runes were etched along the hilt. Hilda took the dagger, her face expressionless as she examined it.

It was a pathetic and undeniable craven existence but it was how they were winning the war. Dave let out a sigh. "No. He used a HG blade." I nodded. A brilliant man named Henry Gomez spent his life developing a UV spiked, but essentially silver based liquid that could be applied to any metallic object, leaving a coat of active poison that would kill both shade and host upon entering the their shared body. Something in perfectly balanced formula temporarily imprisoned the shade and as long as the wounds you inflicted on the human were mortal, the shade shared the same fate. The HG liquid had become as precious to us as light bulbs. It was hard to come by at the best of times, especially out h

There was no doubt that it was indeed crafted by the Gods. "It's time," she announced, her gaze sweeping over each of their faces before falling back on Lucian’s. "There is something I need to tell you about that dagger," Lucian began. "There's a reason we kept it locked away in a vault and told the world that its existence was nothing more than a myth. All it takes is one drop of the mage's blood for it to fulfill its purpose. However, if that dagger is driven through the heart of any supernatural being, it will kill them. And I mean any supernatural, even dragons... and quite possibly, even you."

“ She said and handed the dagger over to Cole. “ What am I supposed to do?" Cole asked confused. " We're all direct descendant of the Lord Storm. Our powers put together would make this dagger powerful enough to kill Dagon. “ Alicent explained. She placed a bowl under Cole's hands and asked him to cut himself with the knife. He obediently slit his right palm with the knife and allowed his blood to drop into the bowl slowly before passing the knife to Archer who did the same before passing it to the others till it got to Bellamy.

Hugging myself, I return to my room and shut the terrace doors. I give myself a moment before walking over to my set of draws. I gather black leggings, a black shirt and a black hoodie and put them on. My boots aren't in their usual spot. I search my wardrobe, check the bathroom, and then the terrace. Finally, I find them under my bed. My dagger glistens from the light, grabbing my attention. I walk over to my display of knives and pick up the dagger Micah gave me. It still has blood on it from where I managed to stab the bastard vampires. I glare, staring at the blood. If I ever see a vampire, I will kill them at first glance. They will regret killing my mate. I will make their lives hell.

He coughs, as he dangles upside down from the chains around his ankles. I stand in front of him, the sound of his cries laced with a sardonic laugh encases me as I yank his upper body up by the roots of his hair, forcing him to meet my deadly glare. "It's always fun and games in the underworld until someone's pathetic soul is slowly getting sucked out of them,” I mutter, releasing him as I take the dagger out of the inside of the heel of my oxford dress shoes. Anastazia gave me the stainless steel dagger with a brown leather handle on the eve of our first wedding anniversary. I've never left the mansion without it as the scripture on it speaks to me on so many levels.

The door closed. Angry? Did I do anything wrong? Suddenly, I felt something in my right hand. I looked down. There was a dagger in my hand. Symbols began carving on the silver blade. And somehow, somewhere, I knew what they meant. “Marfóir Deamhan,” I whispered. The meaning came to me like a memory that was never mine. My voice cracked, as I translated the words. “Demon Slayer.”

I have so many unanswered questions about this mysterious assassin. I spent the next week preparing for the formal event while also gathering what I could about assassins that were known. None of the information told me anything. I got a few well-known female assassin names. The number one was Phantom Reaper, second was Blade of Bracken (named after this city, Bracken’s Rock), and third was simply Death. Not very original, that one. By evening, it’s time for me to attend this despicable gala to network and attempt to secure funding for my next research project. I dress sharply in a black tuxedo, my white dress shirt is crisp, and I wear a neatly knotted black tie. My hair is usually always a