Relic Blade Darktide Novels & Stories

The sword felt cold, even through the minion’s thick, clawed hands. Its blade shimmered with a subtle red hue mirroring Lucifer’s intent. The dark aura surrounding it whispered death. One of Lucian's trusted minions stared into its cruel shimmer, something unexpected flickered in his eyes, a memory.

Dark eyes swirling with emotion. Doctor ready to inspect.

Lucas stood with his head lowered, as if he couldn't even bring himself to meet my eyes. Slowly, he took a small box from inside his coat and held it out toward me. His voice was hoarse and barely above a whisper. "Wilma, I want to return this to you." I opened the box and saw the familiar star-shaped pendant. It was the same one I had broken and tossed aside in the car. It had been fully repaired. The delicate star glinted faintly under the light.

Serenya asked, though her pulse quickened. Kaelen gestured to the dark water. “There are whispers of an ancient relic buried beneath these tides. A blade forged before kingdoms knew names, before crowns weighed down the heads of mortals. They call it the Drowned Star. With it, you could unite kingdoms—or end them.” Darian’s hand tightened on his sword. “Another prophecy? Another cursed weapon to bleed us dry?” Kaelen’s eyes glinted. “This is no prophecy. This is truth. Without the Drowned Star, we cannot face Thalric’s fleet. His ships outnumber ours three to one. His soldiers are ruthless, his ambition endless. You know this as well as I do.”

“You defied me in the Mirrorlands. Now you’ll watch him die.” I couldn’t breathe. I couldn’t blink. But I could burn. The Blade of Veyra reappeared in my hand like it had been waiting. It pulsed with fury—mine and the moon’s. I charged. Necros raised the relic. It glowed—flooding the temple with a blinding light. But I didn’t stop. His magic hit me like a tidal wave. It should have crushed me. Should have ripped my mind apart. Instead—something awoke.

“Let’s say we believe you. What proof do you offer?” Elias stepped forward and pulled a cloth-wrapped object from his satchel. It was the blade. The same one Celeste had plunged into the Moon Seal. Now dull and cracked, but still seeping with dark energy. When Elias unwrapped it, a low growl rippled through the assembled wolves. The air thickened. The trees trembled. “That blade was given to one of our own by the void spirit sealed beneath the sanctuary,” Elias said. “It is a relic of the Forgotten War. You remember that name, don’t you?”

He looked back down at me as I approached the wooden chair. You think your pack can save you, Richard shouted over the noise of the battle. You are too late! He suddenly let go of my dad’s hair, dropped the silver knife onto the ice, and grabbed the giant black relic on the pedestal. The moment his hands touched the stone, the smoky black veins flared with a blinding purple light. Richard let out a loud laugh, scooped up the relic, and turned around, running toward the dark corridors beneath the rink to escape with his prize.

A relic gleamed in her grip—a dagger wrought from moonstone and obsidian, its blade etched with runes that glowed like living fire. Elias’s eyes widened. “That’s—” “The Crescent Fang,” Rhea finished. “Forged by the council. A blade made to kill what should never have been born.” Her gaze locked on Serena, and for the first time, Rhea’s face softened with sorrow. “Forgive me.” --- The attack came like lightning. Rhea moved faster than any wolf Serena had ever seen, the blade slicing across the altar. Serena barely leapt back in time, but the dagger still grazed her arm. Pain exploded, burning like molten silver, searing into her veins.

They had the shape of warriors clad in armor forged from darkness itself, their weapons glowing with malevolent energy. Myrra took a sharp breath. “These aren’t just remnants. They’re something worse.” Elior’s Veliblade flared to life. “Then we fight.” Rael raised his sword. The crimson veins along its length pulsed as if sensing the battle ahead. But this time, he was more aware of the hunger within the blade. He had to control it—he had to be sure it wasn’t controlling him.