Shattered Sword Novels & Stories

I read until the sun came up and my tears ran dry. And I understood, finally, why Dante Marchetti's eyes were so cold. He'd married the daughter of his nightmares. And now we were both trapped in a house built on lies and blood.

The Triarchs were right—we don't have much time. We swim toward the temple's entrance, and the doors—massive things made of some dark metal—swing open at our approach. As if we're expected. As if something wants us to enter. The interior is vast and echoing, filled with that same diffuse light. Murals cover the walls, depicting scenes from before the Shattering—the Mother deity whole and radiant, her children gathered around her, a world of peace and beauty. And then the war. The Shattering. The Mother torn apart, her fragments becoming the gods we know now. And at the center of it all, a single figure—neither god nor mortal, but something in between—falling into the abyss.

But as it hit the iron blade, it began to smoke. **[ERROR: UNAUTHORIZED DATA MODIFICATION]** **[CRITICAL FAILURE: NARRATIVE CORRUPTION DETECTED]** I slammed the bloody sword into the ground. "I am Kaima!" I roared. "And I am the **Glitch**!" A wave of black static erupted from the sword. It wasn't beautiful. It was terrifying. It looked like ink spilled on a painting, spreading out and erasing the silver suits, the white staffs, and the perfect faces of the Shareholders.

Shards of glass flew in each direction. One of the shards cut Whitney on the back of her hand, leaving behind a streak of blood. She moaned in pain and covered her wound. Still, she didn't respond to my statement. All she did was watch me silently. "Feel better?" she asked, casually wiping off the blood. She continued, "If doing that helped you feel better, smash all the glasses you like. It's my fault you're upset."

The same way morning sunlight streamed in through the trees, all broken and golden and almost pretty enough to hide the sharp edges underneath. Almost. “Where is he?” I asked. Marcus said, “At the packhouse. He moved back in once things got bad enough for the medics to need him close.” A pause. “He stopped shifting six weeks ago. His wolf can’t keep up with it anymore.” Those words landed heavy. I knew what it meant up close—bond deterioration so advanced that the wolf side starts slipping away. First shifting hurts. Then it’s nearly impossible. Then it’s gone entirely. There’s nothing fair about it.

He didn't even raise an arm to block my attack. The blade hit his shoulder. Crack. Time slammed back into normal speed. My sword didn't cut him. It didn't even sink in. It shattered. Pieces of expensive, forged steel exploded into the air, raining down into the bloody snow like broken glass. I staggered backward, my boots sliding in the mud. I was visibly shaking. Shock hit me like a physical punch to the gut. I looked at the jagged, broken hilt left in my hand, then back at Riven.

The chamber erupted into a maelstrom of shadows and steel as Damitri charged, his greatsword arcing through the fetid air like a comet's tail. The blade hummed with stolen power, aimed straight for the devil's heart—or whatever blackened core pulsed beneath that obsidian hide. But the devil moved with liquid grace, a blur of leathery wings and curling horns, sidestepping the strike as if swatting a gnat. The sword bit deep into the throne instead, splintering ancient wood with a resonant crack that echoed like fracturing bones. Splinters flew, one grazing Damitri's cheek, drawing a thin line of blood that sizzled on contact with the air.

she snapped her fingers dramatically. “You’re already a problem, Lola. Just not the academic kind.” She flipped her braids like a diva. “Exactly. Balance is the key.” The fan above us groaned as it turned slowly, like it too was tired of this routine. I let my eyes scan the room. Desks were scattered with wrappers and books half-unpacked. Chalk dust floated through slanted sunlight. Everything looked familiar and slightly drained. Like we were all waiting for the real term to begin.

Well, this just proves that I had really become stronger…. Nebuchadnezzar II's eyes gleamed in anger and parried my next blow successfully. The impact was so great that I felt the recoil of my sword shattering into cracks. Sheesh! Looks like my Bandersnatch Short Sword cannot hold out for much longer. One last blow and it will shatter completely… I held out my Bandersnatch Short Sword on reverse grip and tightened my hold. Covering it with Holy Energy, I suppose it would be sharp enough to give one last slash.

His crimson eyes glowed with a sick, triumphant light, entirely unbothered by the silver sword I had just driven completely through his heart. ​He squeezed. My airway crushed shut instantly. My vision dotted with black stars, the edges of the room blurring, but I absolutely refused to let go of the hilt of my sword. I twisted it harder, digging the silver deeper into his corrupted flesh, determined to sever his spine. ​CRACK. ​A blur of pristine white steel shot past my peripheral vision. General Vesh’s heavy, armored boot slammed into the side of Thorne's knee. The joint shattered backward with a sickening, wet snap.