Mimicry Sword Novels & Stories

“Sanguis Umbra... arise.” From my back, wings exploded—jagged, glass-like constructs of obsidian laced with crimson veins. The sky flickered with lightning as the blood in my veins answered my call. A hiss escaped my lips as my sword appeared—Crimson Mourning—forged in the underworld and fed with the souls of fallen enemies. The blade thrummed in my hand, alive, hungry. All around us, the wizards unleashed their spells. Lightning, flame, frost—chaotic and furious. But I moved with the grace of a phantom, slicing through the spells as I charged forward.

One of the mirror panels begins to ripple like water, and a hand emerges, followed by an arm, then a shoulder. Aramis steps through the looking glass, but he's transformed, evolved into something that makes my chest tight with recognition and sorrow. His eyes hold the weight of tethered universes, galaxies spinning in his irises like cosmic clockwork, yet his expression remains calm, almost serene. He doesn't speak—perhaps he's learned, as I have, that words are sometimes too small for what needs to be communicated. Instead, he extends toward me a weapon that defies every law of physics I understand: a sword forged from mirror shards and crystallized light, its blade reflecting not images bu

she commanded. "Sovereign... you're bleeding," the boy stammered, his eyes wide. "I’m winning," Sofia snapped. She grabbed his sword and dragged her hand down the length of the blade. The sapphire glow clung to the metal, pulsing with a low, hungry hum. "Now take this and strike. Don't aim for the heart. Aim for the reflection. If you touch them with this, they break." The boy took the sword, his face transforming from terror to a desperate hope. He turned toward a Mirror-Phantom that was lunging at him and swung. The moment the sapphire-coated steel touched the silver ghost, the creature exploded into a cloud of dust.

In their hands was an ax with two pointed edges. "Do something to them if you want to bring that human alive." Minos looked at me with a meaningful gaze. I smiled mockingly. "Don't be sorry after this." In an instant I swung my arm, and my black cloak parted as the sword reappeared in my hand. Of course, the sword is silver.

Millions of Nightmares of all classes are gathered in front of a pitch black castle. Above the stairs are thirteen commanders, each wearing a white mask and carrying a Muerte Sword. Muerte Swords or Death Swords are the same as a Dark Crystal Sword that the Crimson Eyed Warriors use. The difference is that they do not dematerialize and they are capable of sucking the soul of their victim. These souls will add to the sword's strength and will pass the knowledge and skills of the victim's soul to its wielder. There are only 13 Muerte Swords in the Nightmare Empire and they are given to 13 compatible wielders.

I remain silent during this process, still not sure what to think about this situation. “Oh, this isn’t good.” Axel exclaims, checking his phone. “I have an alert, the police are looking for a fugitive with telekinetic abilities who may be able to identify a high-risk Abnormal known as a ‘Mimic’.” He looks confused and turns to Myah, “Do you know what a Mimic is?” He asks. She doesn’t show any reaction but simply states; “I can’t think of anything relating to that, CC?” Myah looks towards her sister for a further response,

The hilt of the sword burned his palm unbearably and pricked his fingers. It was not silver, but the energy of the objects fused into the blade spread along the entire length of the sword. Vic hissed in pain and cursed through clenched teeth, but did not let go of his weapon. The very first blow of the modified sword not only repulsed the alien blade, but also slid through the enemy’s weapon with energy lightning and dug into his body. The dead man unclenched his fingers in bewilderment and shook all over. Vic did not wait for what would happen next and cut his body in half, making it impossible to fight.

“I wear the story that it inhabits and it must follow all that I say. It is my weapon, a fearsome blade that can slice through anything in this realm or any other.” Jimmy could see the Anunnaki desperately wanted to resist, but his words went to work on it. It began to flicker and lose its current form, reshaping itself into a blurry, obsidian broadsword in Jimmy’s hands. The hilt of the sword crackled against Jimmy’s palms, shot through with a deadly electrical charge. Mr Isimud applauded with slow deliberation, smiling sardonically. “Excellently played,” he said. “The white knight is armed, but can he deliver the coup de grâce?”

No matter how weak I may be, I am still sure that I will whack them, just like I have been doing to the previous enemy. I squatted down low and raised the sword high-and I let the clone impale itself, falling right through the sword. I watch in awe as the sword strikes home. It penetrates the clone, followed by its painful shriek before it finally dissolves into a tiny orbit. I examined the sword closely, only to discover that it was now glinting golden again. With a dangerous smirk on my lips, I rose to my knees and swung my sword low, slashing off the legs of two other clones as they came swooping on me.

I opened my eyes to find a translucent sword in my hands, a manifestation of my intent. Excitement bubbled within me as I examined the ethereal weapon. The edges sparkled with otherworldly radiance, and I could feel the hum of power emanating from it. It was a surreal sight—a sword made not of steel but of the very fabric of existence. Eager to test my creation, I turned my attention to a punching bag hanging in the corner of the training room. With a swift motion, I swung the celestial sword, its energy slicing through the air like a comet's tail. The blade connected with the punching bag, and to my amazement, it split into two perfect pieces.