Saw Blade Bloodborne Novels & Stories

"Tell me what I am looking at." [Warning, Host Eva! Tier 2 Mutated Variant identified: Blade-Stalker. High speed, high durability, and lethal melee capacity. Your hunting knife cannot pierce its main chest plating. Avoid direct blocks. Structural damage to the immediate ledge is critical!] "I do not plan to block, " I said through my teeth, my eyes locked onto the burning red glare of the beast's eyes. The Blade-Stalker did not wait. It let out a loud metallic hiss that made my teeth hurt and its right arm swung forward fast. The bone blade cut through the air with a whistle aiming straight for my neck.

I raised the blade. And from the eastern edge of the sanctuary, where the enslaved vampire contingent had been holding position for the last hour, someone came through the gap at a full run with silver eyes that were completely, entirely, unmistakably his own.

Blood from my nose had run past my lips and chin, smearing across my cheeks and ears. The front of my shirt had long since lost its original color. It was soaked through with blood. The pool beneath me had spread to Derrick’s shoes, sticky and dark. “Harriet?” Derrick’s voice trembled. He called my name again. “Harriet?” Mom had been celebrating Sheila’s safe return. When she saw Derrick storm toward the storage room, she followed him. The sight before her made her scream. She covered her mouth and staggered back a step. Dad had been comforting the frightened Sheila. After hearing the commotion, he rushed over as well.

With the other, he drove the tip of the palette knife into the rotting bullet hole. Sora was nauseous. The shifter’s thick, hot black blood drenched his fingers and seeped under his nails. The most horrific part was the pain itself. Every time the knife scraped Vardan’s nerves, the mark on Sora’s neck throbbed wildly. A sharp ache transferred into Sora’s own bones. He nearly dropped the knife as he felt the same searing sensation in his own shoulder.

Other people moved to help her, but I didn’t move. Blood splattered across the ground. She cried out as the vampire cut through her clothes. Then, she grunted and flipped it over, pulling a shining silver blade out of somewhere and driving it between the vampire’s eyebrows with a sharp grunt of exertion. My jaw dropped open as the vampire screeched and shook. The blade of the dagger glowed bright red as the body went still and began to disintegrate. She tucked the blade back into her holster with a grimace before looking over at Cillian.

The impact sent him crashing to the ground of the cage. The crowd cheered crazily, screams erupted all around me. "BLADE!" "BLADE!" "BLADE!" I pulled out my custom-made blade gleamed with a savage hunger under the bright arena lights. The polished steel bore the name "Capone," etched into the metal like a proclamation of death. Its edge was as sharp as a serpent's fang. It looked eager to cut, having tasted the blood of many before. The handle, wrapped in black leather, felt like a coiled snake in my grip, ready to strike with deadly accuracy. This blade wasn't just a weapon; it was a merciless instrument of brutality, a symbol of my unrelenting power in this world.

The blade gleamed with a brilliant silver light, its edge shimmering with a promise of sharpness. The blood sword! I exclaimed internally, astonished by the fact that I had successfully conjured the legendary weapon known to be wielded by a valiant warrior from Cairos—a neighboring nation to Springgan. Apollo had shared stories about it, expressing his dream to create such a weapon one day. Empowered by the gauntlet, I held the blood sword with ease. The blade's edge gleamed, a testament to its lethal potential. Just as the icy shield surrounding me shattered, the dominus seized the opportunity to consume me. Its jaws opened wide as it lunged towards me. Reacting swiftly, I positioned the sw

(Harper’s POV) The angel blade glowed as I reached for it. I pulled it from the hilt on my thigh and spun, slicing the now fully lit up blade through the two vamps that were closing in on me. They barely had time to recognise that their time was up before the light left their eyes and their demon blood burnt them up from the inside.

It’s birthing faster. I slash another across the face, the shard punching through an empty eye socket with a wet, sucking pop. It screams, a raw, desperate sound. I rip the shard free and ram it into its gut—twist—feel the rotted organs give way under the blade. I shove the corpse aside, boots sliding in the gore, and grab the fallen creature’s broken spear. It’s jagged. Splintered. Perfect. Behind me, the prisoner howls, driving his own shard into the chest of a witch-stitched thing that bleeds thick black pus instead of blood.

He started to reload, but his quivering hands dropped most of the bullets. Two more infected barreled down the hallway towards us, but something else was running behind them—a speeding shadow, too quick to clearly see. Sven? My throat tightened at the thought of his infection . . . but then his wristblade jammed through the back of one creature’s head. The blade’s tip came out through its face, clean through the brain. Then Sven moved on to the other creature, slicing both of his blades through its head at once.