Owari No Seraph Bloody Blade Novels & Stories

Sethlzaar made it to his destination, his only obstacles being wandering attacks and a few annoying corpses that stumbled onto his way. The sight he beheld almost consumed his attention. If he were not in the midst of blood and death, he would’ve lost all of his focus to the fight ensuing before him. Reverend Bratvi fought alongside two other Most Reverends and the High blade, holding off a one armed man who fought them off with a sword. There was no debating the man’s identity. The way the High blade and the Reverends moved almost had Sethlzaar convinced they’d been fighting as a team for years. Each time one man attacked another was there to defend, switching positions as was necessary and

It was time to rise and dress herself to face the Lycan King. She glanced at her reflection in the large gilt mirror hanging above the sink basin. Her haunted eyes judged her harsher than any villager raining blows on her head. If it came to it, she decided, she would turn her blade on herself before letting the world in which her mother existed burn in a rain of fire. ****** There was something to be said for being clean, she thought as she worked at her long, dripping hair. The Lycan King had seen to her needs, at least. There were an array of combs that she used to smooth and arrange her hair.

plus he looked. “Seraphina?” The voice chilled me to my bones, the familiar string to it gnawing at me, and slowly, I turned around, my heart thrashing wildly my chest. “Lazaro? Watch out!” But it was too late. Aric had already stabbed an inch of the knife into his back from behind, before Lazaro could block the attack fully. And wailing, I watched as the two men rolled onto the floor in a tussle of fists, out the door, the knife lost between them.

Sharp as a knife. My heart jolted. What was he going to do to me? The High Witch stepped forward and bowed her head. The entire room was silent. Her voice echoed off the walls, practiced and polite. “This is Seraphina Noir, last of the Noir Coven, a peace offering, Your Majesty. A gesture from the surviving covens.” Peace offering. What a lovely way to say sacrifice. I didn’t bow, didn’t kneel. My heart pounded so hard in my chest it felt like it wanted to come out, but I locked my knees and fixed on him for a few seconds before I quickly looked away.

He needed that blood, badly! ______________________________________ Next will be updated soon keep on liking and commenting. Don't forget to follow me here and on I*******m it's mirah_selim Till the next adios

+ Medora "How dare youuuu..." Seraphina hissed. Blood bubbled past her pale lips. She stumbled backwards. She clutched at the textured handle of the knife sticking out of her neck. Her pristine wool coat soaked up the dark red stain. I smiled. The anger inside my chest felt cold and sharp. I didn't feel a single ounce of pity for her. "This isn't just any random blade," I told her. My voice didn't shake at all. "This is a silver blade coated in wolfsbane. You should never have thought you could be with my mate."

"But let's see how you handle this." She pulled out a dagger. Ornate, glowing with the same silver light. And drove it into her own chest. Blood poured out. Silver blood. It hit the floor and ignited. Not white like Lyra's. Silver and black. The flames spread. Rose, formed their own crown. Twisted, dark, a mockery of Lyra's Crownfire. Seraphine stood with the dagger still in her chest. Smiling through the pain. Her own crown hovering above her head.

she hissed. Her grip tightened. Thomas choked but did not struggle wildly. He met Sera’s eyes across the chaos. I chose this. With his free hand, he yanked the blade from her body. And drove it in again. Higher. Harder. Seraphine shrieked — fury replacing shock. But this time she was ready. Her hand twisted. The blade shifted in his grip. And in one brutal motion, she wrenched it from his control and drove it straight into him.

“Go on, little witch. Show me you’re worthy of belonging… or prove to everyone that you are exactly what you seem: an outsider who doesn’t even know the rules.” The nail felt oddly warm in her hand, like it was humming with a heartbeat of its own. Seraphine hesitated, then pressed it into her palm. It stung sharply, but the pain was brief almost as if the wound had already started to fade even as she dragged the nail down. She winced, but held her hand steady as the crimson line opened. At once, the waiting quill shimmered brighter, its feather rustling as if eager. Sera dipped the tip into her blood and bent toward the parchment.

The air turned heavy, pressing down on their lungs until every breath felt stolen. Seraphine raised the Bloodstone high. “VAELROS SERAXA..…” she whispered, daring the name. The torches extinguished. The Orchard above groaned. The acolytes fell to their knees, clutching their throats as if hands of smoke strangled them. Mira screamed, though no sound carried beyond the chamber. The Bloodstone cracked. From its fracture seeped a light neither red nor black but something in-between—something like the color of pain made flesh.