Red Rising Sling Blade Novels & Stories

Dustin ordered, then turned away. They hurriedly freed their men and led them off the ship first. Scarlet Blade gripped a pistol. "Shit," she cursed as she almost dropped it, which made Soleil laugh. Scarlet Blade's injured hand still felt numb, barely able to hold the gun's weight. "You're laughing? Lucky for you, your body's built like bronze — even with a hole in your stomach, you're still strong!" Scarlet Blade scoffed at Soleil.

A glint of red reflected off a silver blade. The Red King had found them.

POV: Calista Rivers The first thrall cleared the ladder rail with its red eyes locked onto my throat. It didn’t breathe because the air around its jaw rippled with foul heat. I didn’t wait for it to stabilize its stance. I stepped into its guard, my left hand jamming into the smoky mass of its shoulder to anchor its position while my right drove the silver blade straight through its sternum. The second thrall was already over the rail behind me. Its obsidian claws scraped across my shoulder blade and tore through the tough leather of my jacket and sliced a clean line across my skin.

A sliver of hope in the chaos. Another screech drew my attention. A creature had broken through the defensive line near the edge of the clearing, its limbs jagged and red, tendrils lashing. I darted forward, spinning my blade in a wide arc. Sparks of energy collided with it, lighting the clearing in flashes of red and white.

His eyes searched her, sharp and protective. “Raven, what is it? What happened?” His voice was urgent. But she couldn’t answer. Because it was there. Right in front of her bed, hovering in the air where moonlight filtered faintly through the window, was the Hollow Blade. The same jagged weapon from her vision, only now it gleamed with dreadful reality. Its edge shimmered with that unnatural light, whispering with voices too faint to fully hear, too sharp to ignore. Her breath hitched, terror rooting her in place as she pointed with a trembling hand.

The stare-off between Axe and Kaine seemed to stretch on, their eyes locked on each other. The air crackled with tension, the stillness broken only by the sound of heavy breaths escaping their lips. And then, in the blink of an eye, Kaine's face contorted with a mixture of desperation and rage. Summoning the last ounce of strength within him, Kaine's hand darted to the back of his pants, fingers closing around the cold handle of a gleaming knife. With a guttural growl, he lunged towards Axe, his movements fueled by a surge of adrenaline.

That choice lives in the hand that wields it. And mine? Mine’s already made up its mind. This blade is gonna taste blood for the first time today. Not just any blood. Pete’s blood. I lift the blade by its worn leather cord and loop it around my neck. The weight settles against my chest like it’s meant to be there. I slip it under my shirt, let the cool metal rest against my skin. It’s safe there. Close. Hidden, but ready. My eyes catch something else in the mirror. The mark.

The red mist sprays into the white smoke of the flashbang, painting the air. The man on the right spins, his knee blown out by a high-caliber round. He hits the ground screaming. Spadino erupts from the pile of leaves near the fountain. He isn't holding a gun. He is holding a pair of curved karambits. He moves like a blur of grey maintenance uniform and lethal intent. He is on the kneeling man before the scream leaves his throat. Slash. Spadino cuts the hamstring. Slash. He opens the throat. It is efficient. It is brutal. It is a dance of blood.

He raised his heavy iron pike, the tip glowing with the pale blue light of a disruption array. Riven’s shadow-spears tore through the man’s iron gauntlet with a wet, crunching sound that ended in a sharp scream of agony. Severe crimson arterial spray painted the whitewashed walls of the study, the hot blood smoking furiously as it met the freezing air of the mountain draft. The second enforcer lunged forward, his heavy broadsword clearing its scabbard with a high-pitched ring that set my teeth on edge. "Run for the shaft right now," Riven grunted, his bare hand catching the descending blade by the flat of the steel. His fingers bled dark, slow drops where the sharp metal cut through his shad

And then we’d make sure no one ever made us feel worthless again. The second week of training introduced me to knife combat. Elena handed me a balanced throwing knife, the blade gleaming in the morning sun. “Knives are intimate weapons. You have to be close, which means you have to be brave. Or desperate.” “I’ve been both,” I said, testing the weight. “I know.” She pointed to a target she’d set up: a rough mannequin stuffed with straw. “Knife fighting is about precision and commitment. Every strike needs purpose. No wasted movement.”