Muramasa Blade Marvel の小説・ストーリー

She slowly bring the blade into the light and studied it. To her surprise, the blade turned out well. The blade was a little longer and thin, more sharp and shiny. Though there were rough edges at some parts but the flaws were unnoticeable. The power of life radiating around it felt familiar and comforting. All the worry she felt vanished, replaced by solemn joy and her heart settled to a rhythmic beat. Serra smiled in happiness. "Is it done?" Rena whispered as she gathered herself up, her eyes not leaving the blade.

If I hadn't stopped that attack, I might have died. Analyze! [Meteor Blade] [A blade fashioned from old stars that have fallen from the sky. It is one of the world's most powerful substances.] "Hmmm...interesting." I then took a glance at the sword I was wielding. There was a minor scratch in the middle. It was at this point that the two blades collided. Despite the fact that my blade was an artefact honed with a Unique rank core, this unrefined blade was able to damage it. "Wise, you there?"

Among the assassins, the Blades managed to capture a member of the Pentalium. Then, the Inquisition signals his right-hand man Morgan, who has the armor of the Blades but a unique design to his mask. The mask shows a large grin, which is where the wearer's mouth should be. Morgan and the Blades dragged the bodies of the assassins they intercepted on the road, which they presented to the public.

Two blades in a sheath. John even got goosebumps, and his hands reached for the blades themselves. His blades! Flawless, perfectly balanced, made of a special alloy, the secret of which only the Coven knew. Jon took out each of the blades and ran his hand over them lovingly, as if they were the most precious thing in his life. The blades were somewhat reminiscent of a Japanese sword - a katana, but slightly different from it. The same narrow and ideal, but still with their own secret, which no one is supposed to know about, except for the Hunter himself.

Runes ran along the hilt—half flame, half crescent—and the metal pulsed like it was alive. Racheal stepped closer. The blade sang to her blood. “You feel it, don’t you?” Myra whispered. “It was made for you.” Racheal reached out, fingers hovering over the hilt. “What is it?” Myra exhaled slowly. “It’s called Ashweaver. A soulbound blade. Forged at the end of the Flame Wars by a rogue godsmith. It can kill a vessel of divine blood… but only if wielded by one who shares that blood.”

Valeria hissed, her voice a jagged shard of glass, "then there will be no Luna at all!" She lunged, the dagger in her hand pulsing with a sickly, oily blackness—a blade forged from the soul-metal of the Abyss, designed to kill even a god. "Sera! No!" The voice wasn't a scream; it was a command. Ryan didn't hesitate. He didn't calculate the cost. He moved with the singular, devastating speed of a mate’s devotion. The sound was sickening—a dull *thud* as the cursed blade buried itself to the hilt, not in Seraphina’s back, but in Ryan’s chest.

The steel blade was no longer humming with a blue electrical current; it was coated in a thick, oily black smoke that carried the unmistakable, suffocating clicking sound of the First Soul Eater. Laila brought her left blade up to block the strike, the sapphire fire of her steel meeting the black mist of the naginata with a horrific, screeching sound that sounded like a metal file scraping against her skull. The pressure was immense, the black smoke actively trying to crawl down her silver blade and infect her hand, but the runic lines on her knuckles flared with a bright white heat that burned the mist into a white ash before it could touch her skin. She pivoted on her heel, her right blade

Something dark flashed in her grip. A blade. But not like Kael's. Not like any I'd seen. Black. Too black. It seemed to swallow the light around it. Thin lines of jagged symbols crawled along its surface, pulsing faintly like something alive. My wolf recoiled. Danger. Real danger. "Silver can't kill me," Mira said softly, lifting the blade. "But this – this was forged in my father's blood." Cold slid down my spine. She attacked again. Faster. Sharper. The blade cut through the air with a sound that made my teeth ache.

Kael’s breath caught—sharp and sudden. Amora smiled. That smile didn’t belong on a woman. It belonged on a monster. “You took everything from me,” she whispered. “So I’ll take everything from you.” She grabbed a blade from the table behind her. Slim. Surgical. Glinting under the dim ceiling light. Kael’s stomach turned violently, a sob catching in his throat. “But don’t worry,” she added with sickening calm, “I’ll keep you alive. For a while.” She stepped closer, blade in hand, the glint of it reflected in Kael’s wide, horrified eyes. But before she could make another move—

“Maybe. But you didn’t. And now here we are.” The clearing around us was dead silent, as if even the forest refused to bear witness to what came next. Damon reached into his coat and pulled out a blade—curved, obsidian black, humming with faint energy. “Do you know what this is?” I didn’t answer. “Ancient werewolf iron. Soaked in the blood of an Alpha god.” He raised the blade to my throat, letting it graze my skin. “It’s meant to subdue power like yours. The Luna Star can’t be allowed to run wild, after all.”