Scud Blade Novels & Stories

Across the harbour, a single lighthouse jutted into the clear blue sky, pointed at the midday sun. Allegedly, the United States Army wanted to use the power plant as a staging ground for a push west into Russia, and Scythe Squadron was in charge of securing it so their transports could move in. Unfortunately for them, the Alliance had been covertly studying Scythe Squadron for months. Scythe Squadron was a five-mech patrol unit specializing in stealing enemy resources and crippling supply lines. The moniker was clever-they reaped what their enemies sowed. Their commander, simply known as Harlow, was a brash veteran with a powerful sense of loyalty towards both Axion Industries and his govern

The Anatomy of the Thermal-Resonance Blade I began the process with the precision of a surgeon. I laid my obsidian blade—the one that had tasted the blood of the Shadow Alpha—onto the stone table. Using a laser-scalpel from my kit, I carved a hollow channel down the center of the blade, exactly where the 'blood groove' would be. "Leo, Ace... I need you," I called out. The boys stepped forward. They had been training with the Cinder-children, learning how to pull heat from the air without burning their lungs. Ace’s hands were already glowing a deep, volcanic red, while Leo stood as the anchor, his golden aura acting as a containment field.

" Look as a gesture of my apology I am giving you a chance to face me squarely at a location where we will not be interrupted. What do you say? " Shelby eyed the black guy, her look searching for clues that he was trying to pull a fast one on her but she came away with only cold amusement on his face nothing else. The guy looked cocksure of his ability to defeat her and that is going to be his downfall as she doesn't plan on losing this fight. She nodded silently at him. A thrilling expression appeared on Blade's face. " Follow me, " he said and turned towards his bike. A red sleek beautiful Red Yahama YZF- R6.

He almost ignored it. Then the preview frame loaded and he went completely still, still buried inside me to the hilt. I followed his gaze. The screen showed Softiya in her wheelchair in the private medical wing. The angle was high, slightly distorted, like a hidden camera. She was speaking into a secure handset, voice low and clear enough for the feed to catch every word. Across from her, leaning against the wall with his arms folded, stood Ruslan “The Blade”—shaved head, heavy beard, the missing pinky on his left hand visible even in the grainy light. The same enforcer who answered only to the highest contracts.

He was always so pleased by her speed and ruthlessness in dispatching his elder children, that he doted on her during class. She was unrivaled in hand-to-hand, quicker and more sure-footed than her siblings. She was deadly with small blades as well, and kept one tucked in her boot at all times, just in case any of Killian's cronies took the young Lord at his word and tried to have her quietly dispatched. Not that she ever represented a true threat to either Killian or Reena, she was just as much her mother's daughter as her father's, and it was likely she would be a prey shifter rather than a predator.

I told them about the incident with the blade. As I pulled the blade to show them, my breath hitched. A sickening realization settled over me—the blade had begun to decay, its once-impenetrable metal now chipped where our blood had mingled. The sharp edge had dulled, the intricate engravings that once pulsed with power were now barely visible beneath the damaged metal. It was as if the weapon itself had been tainted, consumed by the impossibility of what had touched it.