Sacred Blade Barber Novels & Stories

The golden threads added a touch of elegance to the personal offering. Meanwhile, Bryan contemplated where he would gather his lock of hair. With his short hair, the decision was not as straightforward. After careful consideration, he settled on his temple, as it was easily accessible and allowed for precise use of the dagger. Bryan gathered a handful of hair, holding it steady while he meticulously shaved the left side of his head from the hairline to just above his ear. With each precise stroke of the dagger, his hand skillfully removed the hair, until the handful came free. Taking a moment to clean the dagger by gently wiping its sides on his fin, Bryan placed it back in the box.

Even though I am not a supernatural being, one day I will hunt Ramos down and make him pay for this. With a resolute mind, I rummage through the drawers till I locate a sales razor blade. Bingo! This will have to do. I take the methylated spirit I find in the same drawer and rub a generous amount on my neck. After which I grit my teeth and start peeling my skin off. I do know that the neck is quite sensitive but I am left with no choice. Lucky for me, the mark is more prominent on the crook of my shoulder. Where the neck and the shoulder meet.

Crewcut smirked as he whipped out a huge scimitar and swung it at Caleb, launching a horrific shockwave! Caleb did the same, swinging the Dharmic Cutter vertically! World Burial Sword, First Style—Death Snap! Boom! The terrible shockwave that ensued rocked the world around them, crushing everything into dust! Shunk! That was when a silver spear thrusted straight at Crewcut's back, stabbing him from behind! His eyes widened in disbelief as he gasped, "You're an executor… but you stabbed me in the back?!" Boom! Tia's only response was a blast from her spear tip, vaporizing Crewcut's insides and killing him on the spot!

His fingers tremble and so does my breath. "Are you sure?" he whispers. I nod, voice stuck in my throat. "Just... don’t let go." His eyes close briefly, as if anchoring himself. "Never." Rowan hands him the ceremonial blade; silver, curved, engraved with runes that glimmer under the moonlight. The sight of it makes my stomach twist. Hold up... Nobody told me this part. Am I supposed to slice myself open? Can I back out now?? I start mentally panicking now.

Sophronia said, taking a deep breath to steady herself. "You want to see Mr. Harper?" The bald man let out a chilling laugh. "You'll have to get past me first!" Whoosh! His challenge had barely faded when Mystical Chubby unleashed a torrent of wind from his palm, slicing through the air with a fierce howl. Crash! In an instant, the bald thug's arm and his hefty blade hit the ground, blood spraying like a geyser. "Ah..." he screamed in agony. "Now, does your knife agree?" Mystical Chubby asked, his voice calm and detached.

With a warm smile that matched his soothing voice, Augustine assured the barber, "Don't worry, my friend. Aeron here has been living amidst animals, so sudden noises can catch him off guard. But he's harmless, I promise." Although perplexed, the barber nodded hesitantly, choosing not to pry further. Augustine then turned his attention to Aeron, gently placing a hand on his shoulder and explaining, "Aeron, the clipper is just a tool used to give you a stylish haircut. It won't harm you, I assure you." Aeron, keeping his trust in Augustine, managed to remain composed throughout the haircut. As the barber skillfully worked his magic, Aeron gradually relaxed, realizing that the clipper held no t

He gave a tiny, almost imperceptible nod. “Good,” Zeke said with chilling satisfaction. “It’s important that you understand this is what you asked for.” He turned his gaze to Damien. “Damien. The flogger from the bottom-right drawer.” Damien moved with silent efficiency. He opened the specified drawer and retrieved the instrument. It was a beautiful, brutal thing—a short, polished ebony handle with a dozen thin, leather falls. He brought it to Zeke, presenting it with the reverence of a knight offering his sword to his king.

she snapped, “I need to get back the shop before the boss has my head. Is this about the Bloody Barbies again?” Bloody Barbie was the nickname Maria gave to the murders ever since she’d gotten involved as a suspect. It was an apt name. Each crime scene that had been investigated was painted red with each victim’s blood, and in each one there would be a bloody doll left behind (though, not exactly a Barbie), no less than three feet away from the body.

"I don't know why I'm talking to you. I don't know you." “I told you, I’m Blade. The personal guard of Mr. Spencer. Isn’t that enough of an introduction for you to know me? ” Blade's bold answer. “Seems like you don’t have a friend to talk to, that’s why I’m here. If you can't say what you need to take out of your heart that burdens, then I promise that I will forget everything you say. I said I didn't hear anything after that. ”

Rourke was already standing when I entered. Six foot two. Late forties. Broad through the shoulders, dark hair threaded with grey, a face that seemed permanently done with unnecessary expression. A thin scar cut through one eyebrow. He looked at me once, from shoes to face, and waited without offering a chair. “Father Cassian Riven,” I said. I gave him the name and only the name. No confession. No birthday night. No east wing. If he was any good, the name would be enough to start.