Novel & Cerita Jagged Ghost Blade

Aziz was already in motion, a blur of white and black. He tore through them with vicious grace, snapping necks, slitting throats. He was faster than I could track, each movement precise and lethal. And me—I raised my hellblade with my hands trembling. “Stay close to me, little flower,” Aziz called, his red eyes flashing. “But don’t just stand there. Strike!” A ghoul lunged for me. Its claws scraped my arm as I swung wildly. The blade connected, slicing across its ribs. It shrieked, black goo spilling from its mouth before it collapsed at my feet.

The other men in the van rushed to catch their fallen comrade, when a familiar face popped into existence. Ghost melted from thin-air, his eyes black as night. In his hand was the blood-soaked blade that had gone through the throat of the male that had planned on raping me. He smiled at the others, this deadly, flat thing that had the hairs along the back of my neck rising. I’d never say this aloud, but Ghost was even more frightening than my would-be rapist.

The first clash shattered the silence. Kael moved like a storm breaking loose—fast, precise, relentless. His blade cut through the air with lethal intent, aimed straight for the figure standing between him and Ren. But it never landed. The moment steel should have met flesh— It met shadow. The figure dissolved, their body unraveling into a mass of dark tendrils that twisted away from Kael’s strike like smoke slipping through fingers. The blade passed harmlessly through, leaving nothing but rippling darkness in its wake.

I held my breath as they crashed to the ground together and the crowd erupted. But the tallest ghost wasn’t finished. He got up slowly, a cut bleeding along his jaw. His eyes glowed faintly silver. “Where’s Nyx?” he asked again. “I told you,” she said, breathing hard. “I don’t know.” He smirked. “Then maybe I’ll beat the truth out of you.” Before anyone could move, he swung. She dodged—barely. His blade grazed her side. Her expression didn’t change. She feinted left, then spun, catching him across the knee with her sword’s hilt. He stumbled.

Creed instantly knew that he shouldn't take the hit head-on, though it was a simple punch, that move looked very overbearing; Just before Lazy Soul was about to punch, Creed pulled out his new weapon 'Mayhem Saber' and put his saber in front of his head. "This is my clan Ghost Ravens' famous skill 'Bone Smasher' reinforced with my 'Hell Gauntlet'," Laze Soul grumbled after he saw Creed trying to stop the attack with a mere sword."Now get ready to sacrifice your sword." Creed didn't mind his warning and didn't alter his actions. Even if the weapon broke, this was just a replica of the weapon inside his mind palace. But the moment his gauntlets hit the Saber, a gigantic pulse of a shock wave a

Her wraiths circle, their hollow eyes fixed on Cassia, and my lunar light surges, wings blazing, the blade’s runes flaring in defiance. “No more blood for your lord,” I roar, stepping forward, claws gleaming, my Convergence form a beacon in the dark. “You want the blade, Veyra? It’s yours—through me.” My voice carries Jorah’s resolve, but Cassia’s fading aura is a knife in my heart, her sacrifice—You’re the Hollow’s hope—a vow I can’t break. The lunar-eyed stranger’s vision—The blade needs a heart—haunts me, its meaning a shadow I can’t grasp.

Now, only power spoke. Gloria knelt first, laying a talon-shaped blade across her knees. Its hilt was carved from bone that pulsed faintly in the darkness, like a heartbeat echoing through the ground. The air grew colder around her, coiling like serpents, and her lips moved without sound. The frost crawling along her skin wasn’t entirely natural; it was the blade calling to her, the spirits whispering their obedience.

"Marshal Snow, this is the day you die! The fifth style of the 13 Ghost Blades—Soul Slice!" A black arc of blade energy came slashing toward him. Gideon felt a twinge of regret. He should have brought Aldreda with him. He could have used the Beast Supreme Bone Spur. A couple of good smacks would've scrambled Tristan's insides. But even without the Beast Supreme Bone Spur, he still had a weapon. He had the broken blade he won as champion of the Martial Arts Tournament of the Eight Major Royal Families.

He moved with a speed that was impossible for a human, his movements jerky and wrong, like a puppet being pulled by invisible, rotting strings. The Blade of the Unwritten weighed heavy in my hand. The ten thousand ghosts trapped within the smoke of the sword were screaming. They didn't want to fight him. They recognized the pain in his soul because it was just like theirs. But the Elders were laughing. Their three-headed horror stood at the back of the room, their six eyes glowing with a sickly light as they watched us tear each other apart.