Slime Slayer: From Zero To Black Steel King Novels & Stories

The Face-Slap of the Prototype Just as the blade reached its final temper, the ceiling of the forge groaned. A massive shard of black ice—Bone King ice—crashed through the basalt, followed by a swarm of Void-Husks. But these weren't the stumbling monsters from the bunker. These were armored. They were wearing a perverted version of the Syndicate’s exo-suits, powered by the King’s frozen essence. "They found the Veins!" Solara screamed, her warriors already leaping into the air, their fire-spears blazing. "Ace, Leo, get to the refugees!" I shouted.

Her blood—violet and warm—slicked the black stone. Suddenly, the Null-Stone didn't just vibrate. It shrieked. The black mineral began to drink her blood, and for the first time in the First Kingdom, a shadow appeared. It wasn't Malachi’s shadow, but a jagged, hungry darkness that began to spread across the white sand like ink in water.

Arms crossed, a cruel smirk dancing on her lips, she stepped into the room like it already belonged to her. “Didn’t take long for the stray to worm her way into my place.” Her voice curled like smoke through the air, thick with venom, eyes burning into me like fire. I tensed. My body hadn’t even fully healed from everything and now this? Ronan’s presence shifted beside me, jaw tightening, but he didn’t say anything yet. Chloe walked forward, hips swaying, never once taking her eyes off me. “Of course you’d go for the king,” she sneered. “Dirty little thing like you. Moonstone trash. Whore of a slave.”

Our serpent clan had migrated several times to survive, and the entire clan had finally settled in this barren wasteland. When Jade and I arrived, Damien Hunter was holding my sister's hand as he lay on the makeshift bed the clan had built. "I am willing to offer 10 thousand gold pieces to marry Briar Vale." Jade looked envious and whispered in my ear, "Briar is so lucky. This man..." "Is the crown prince of the Ice Wolf pack, the Northern Plains royal family," I interrupted. "How did you know?" Because in my previous life, I was the one who saved him.

Thorne's slab-jaws worked soundless first, yellowed fangs glinting saliva-slick in the gloom, before a gravel-roar erupted guttural from his cavernous chest, spittle flecking beard: "Impossible... my borders—scrys screaming rifts clotting shut like gangrened wounds, shadows receding whipped like castrated curs! How in the abyss—your half-bred whelps wrought this? Blackwood blood-sorcery? This diad abomination forged in profane rut?" Damian sheathed his massive blade with a slick, ichor-dripping shing that sang quench-thirst through the runes, the weapon's edge still steaming void-flesh melt; wolfish grin split his cragged face triumphant, silver temples stark-veined under ruins' oppressive g

everyone in the command center saluted. “Now let's join the fight,” he adjusted his weapon, and walked towards me. His fingers met mine briefly as he left. “Good luck,” I whispered while watching him go. “Let's move,” Damon said, and we walked out as well. The battlefield smelled of smoke and metal. The sound of clashing weapons echoed through the wind. Screams, growls, orders being shouted—this was war. We ran through the castle gates and into the chaos. Slade was already ahead with the first wave of soldiers. His black-and-gold armor gleamed under the gray sky. He moved like he was born for this—strong, fast, fearless.

“To demonstrate goodwill, I am going to give you to Alpha Mordecai Black,” I could not move. I could not speak as horror washed over me. Alpha Mordecai Black. Everyone knew that name. The Kingslayer. The alpha who had killed previous Alpha Kings with his own hands whenever they challenged him but always refused the throne like it meant nothing to him. The alpha that other alphas did not challenge because they valued their lives. And Alpha Kelvin was going to give me to him. My heart had stopped beating properly. It was getting hard to breathe.

Holding the ebony fan, I set foot on the Celestial Ascension Stairway to the Nine Heavens alone. With a flick of my wrist, the fan's ribs and surface elongated in a flash of blinding black light, transforming into a longsword as dark as ink. A jet-black wave of sword energy crashed down like a bolt of lightning. The magnificent Ascension Stairway shattered with a deafening roar. Jade stone splintered and collapsed, and half the Celestial Realm shook violently. Countless celestial soldiers and generals poured out of the Southern Heavenly Gate in a panic, blocking my path.

His touch was steady, but his eyes kept drifting north, like he could see the coming war on the horizon. I held the black stone the Exile King gave me. It beat with a slow, cold beat. When I closed my eyes, I heard voices; old, broken, angry. They talked about blood and bargains, about Sovereigns who failed and worlds that burned. I wanted to drop it, but I couldn’t. The longer I held it, the more I felt something coiling inside, waiting. The old stories called these stones heartshards. Some said they were pieces of the world’s first binding, broken off when the earliest magic was sealed. Others whispered that only lost kings and traitor Sovereigns ever carried one, and that touching it mean

And again, his grey eyes never leaving his target, his hands steady despite the blood. Lysander drove the dark dagger into the king's side, and the blade blazed, burning the shadow that clung to his bones. The king howled, turning to face him, but Lysander was already gone, already circling, already looking for the next opening. He moved like water, like smoke, like the shadow he had once been. I raised the Kingslayer. The gold in my blood surged, pouring into the blade, and the light exploded—gold and silver, bright as the sun, brighter than anything I had ever felt. The king recoiled, shielding his red eyes with his claws.