Obsidian Blade Novels & Stories

Behind it lay the Lunaris Blade—a weapon forged by the first Moon Blessed, imbued with the essence of starlight and sorrow. Selene had never touched it. Until now. She whispered the incantation, voice steady. The runes flared to life. The door groaned open. And the chamber beyond seemed to hold its breath. There, atop a stone pedestal, lay the blade—its hilt wrapped in lunar silk, its edge gleaming faintly as if lit from within. The moment her fingers closed around it, a wave of energy surged up her arm—pain and clarity in equal measure. Visions danced behind her eyes: fire, fangs, Lucian’s smile twisted in triumph… and a throne of bone rising from ash.

As long as he survived the upcoming thunder tribulation, the Oculus Blade would be ranked top among all immortal weapons! Severin was incredibly excited by that thought. He took a deep breath, suppressed the joy in his heart, and stared intensely at the figure of the sword embryo floating in front of him. The original crimson Oculus Blade that carried the divine flames and bore the rules of fire had taken on a copper hue, with six golden filament-like lines swirling around it like dragons. It emitted a piercingly cold and terrifying sword intent.

Seraphine moved like a shadow given form, her body still fracturing at the edges from the transport that had brought her here, but her eyes were sharp, and her hands were steady. The blade was obsidian. Old magic. Stolen magic. How ironic, from Obsidian Ridge. It punched through Alina's chest and emerged from her back in a spray of silver light.

The blade itself was crafted from what looked like obsidian, a material that seemed to absorb the light around it. As I stared at the weapon, I couldn't help but marvel at its artistry. The blade was adorned with symbols that I didn't recognize, a language of magic that spoke to something primal deep within me. The hilt, too, was a thing of wonder, decorated with delicate carvings of wolves that snarled and bared their teeth with a savage grace.

161 Zara's POV "Oh god, Zara! I'm scared for you." My fake sobs came to a halt as I heard an equally jarring fake gasp on the call. "How big is the knife? Is it a katana? Or a machete?" The mockery in those words pierced my ego like the tip of an obsidian blade. When I say obsidian blade, I remember reading once that it is the sharpest blade in the world. One can only imagine how deep the tip wounded my ego.

had softened into a gentle, rhythmic pulse that illuminated the night. Killian pulled a small, silver object from his pocket. It was the shard of the "Obsidian Blade" that had snapped during the fight with the Bone King. He held it out to me. "I don't want to carry a weapon anymore," he said. I took the shard. With a thought, I summoned the "Holy Fire," let it flow through my fingers and into the dark stone. The obsidian didn't melt; it transformed. The black glass turned translucent, then white, until it was a piece of pure, polished quartz that glowed with a soft interior light.

A plethora of screams bang against my eardrums. I let the spine fall from my hand at his side. I move on to the next one. This one’s farther away, nearly at the edge of the market, and by the time I see him the shift is almost complete. It would be a mess if they shifted completely. The weight of the obsidian blade is in and out of my hand, hitting the target through the skull with enough force to sever it from the body and sink into a wall. It’s muscle memory to rip the spinal cord from the falling body. A cursed Lycan can only be killed for good once the spine is removed.

The familiar weight settled into his grip like an old companion. For a moment he stood perfectly still, letting the quiet settle around him. Then he began. The blade moved through the air in slow, controlled arcs. Steel cut through the morning mist. Again. Again. Again. Each motion was deliberate. Measured. His breathing fell naturally into rhythm with the movement of the sword. Training had always been the only place where Adrian’s mind truly quieted. The past faded. The memories of the borderlands, the hunts, the bloodshed—they all blurred into the background.

This silence felt like a man stepping past the place where feeling could still slow his hand, into the colder arithmetic of what the full scope demanded. Kieran had infiltrated the edges of Obsidian through Liliana long before I ever arrived. The design was older than the treaty, older than the bond, older than the claim that had finally forced it into the light. And the man who had to answer that truth had gone so quiet that the absence of his anger had become the loudest thing in the room.

She felt very small. Up ahead, she saw a house. But it did not look like a normal house. It was not made of wood. It was not made of bricks. It was made of black glass. The glass was dark and shiny. The house looked like a giant box of shadows sitting on the cliff. There were no trees around it. There were no flowers. There was only the black glass and the gray sky. People called this house "The Obsidian." It was a very expensive and a very scary place.