Obsidian Blade Novels & Stories

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.

Belief. I had given all three. The scars lived on my skin. My mind held the names of those who died in divine silence. My faith had fractured under what I had seen—but I stayed. And tonight, I would give more. I stepped onto the dais and lifted the ceremonial dagger—the Black Blade. Not forged metal, but obsidian fused with the bones of priestesses who had died mid-prophecy, minds split by divine madness. It could cut through flesh… and fate. I drew it across my palm again, deeper than before. My blood struck the altar and hissed.

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.

“I feel like I can finally breathe. Still, every second counts. What if she’s not just after the Luna position? What if this is bigger?” Gale’s eyes darkened. “I’ve had the same thought. The silver marking you described from your visions? It doesn’t match any standard pack insignia. Could be a rogue faction. Or worse. Something tied to the old bloodlines that were supposedly wiped out years ago. I’ll reach out to my contact at the border tonight. But we play this smart. No risks.”

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.

Amanda started shaking in fear, her eyes turned glossy as she pleaded him with her eyes. "You want to help me with my stress... Amanda?..." He said Maniacally lightly pressing the knife against her smooth skin making her tilt her head. "Let's release the stress then... Let me carve your skin with my knife, I want to admire it when blood will run down on your arms when I cut deep on it. Red suits your skin. I want to watch your soul leaving your body when you have no blood to lose Anymore..." He whispered darkly. Amanda started shaking and crying looking at his psycho behavior.