Sword Draw Novels & Stories

“How much?” Deacon put his hands up. “Celestial weaponry is not sold, Theo. The weapon is fated to a specific owner and that sword was destined to be yours.” Theo nodded, pretending he understood the meaning of it. Deacon pointed to the scabbard with a holster fit for a dagger in the chest. The moment Theo touched the scabbard, the sword shrunk to its original size. Convenient, he thought, as he sheathed the dagger into the scabbard.

“Mind if I jump in?” He eyed her—suspicious, but not pissed. “You actually know what you’re doing?” She smiled, lazy and dangerous. “I know how to handle a lot of things.” He tossed her a wooden sword. She caught it one-handed, spun it just to show off. Drew grabbed his own. “First to five?” “Try not to embarrass yourself.” They circled, blades up. First strikes light, testing. She was quick, sharp. He was all steel and focus. She threw in feints, a wink here, a smirk there. He just countered—solid, silent.

I tossed the blanket aside and stood. Staggering, I moved to the edge of the window frame and stared at what they were doing in the yard. Archer was holding the ugliest sword I’d ever seen. The blade was thin and long, a dull black, like it didn’t even have an edge. The hilt was rough, leather and some material I couldn’t place. Was this really the super sword that supposedly came out of that shell? I was skeptical, but when I saw the excitement in Archer’s eyes, I realized this wasn’t simple at all.

The serpecdysis closes its mouth with a snap before swallowing me whole. "Hey," I scream after landing a few feet away from the serpecdysis. I turn around and flip the switch on my weapon. The buzzsaw on my sword handle pops out and falls to the ground. Now, the only thing that connects the saw to my handle is a thick black cable. "Wrong me." The serpecdysis sees me after swallowing me. It seems confused at first but doesn't give it much thought. It lunges at me again. This time, however, I don't run. I swing my saw at the serpecdysis.

he drawled out. Rhychard nodded. "Okay then. Open the back of the truck and step back." The Warrior opened his door and dropped out of the truck. Showtime. Trace had been slow to move. Rhychard turned to his friend as he reached over his shoulder and gripped the Guardian Sword. As he pulled it from its sheath, he could feel the power taking hold, the voices screaming for battle. Trace's eyes went wide as the sword materialized. "Move!" Rhychard yelled. He finished pulling the sword around as he turned back to the man bearing down on him.

I stood outside, under the harsh sun for about three minutes before I broke the lock of the door in annoyance and walked in. The first thing I did was to chug down a beer and then get an ice bag to help my sore ankles. Munching a bundle of crunchy biscuits, I waited patiently for Blade who still hadn’t replied my message. After consuming six bottles of beer and countless snacks, I watched a black sedan drive in and park in the coffee shop’s driveway. Blade came out with his usual all black clothing—a big black sweatshirt, a black baggy jean, black glasses, black face cap, black sneakers— and a revolver carefully tucked by his side.

But first… I need to buy something to protect myself. ”Wai, open the store. I want to buy the sacrificial sword“ [Sacrificial sword. A sword that helps the user make a blast that is 10x his normal hit. This would only happen one time for every 25 seconds. It cost 150 harto. You currently have 220 harto. Do you still want to purchase it?] Letting out a sigh, it is not as if I can go on like this without any weapon. But wait… isn't a gun more useful than a sword? I always use a sacrificial sword which is why I was so used to it. But, a sword for long-distance combat, isn't it… a little useless?

It smelled of damp stone, old hay, and solitude. Makil was already there, warming up with a series of fluid stretches that further betrayed his training. He wore similar clothes to yesterday, and two practice longswords were thrust into the ground at the center of the yard. Leigh arrived silently, a shadow detaching from the deeper shadows of the archway. She'd re-braided her hair tightly. She said nothing, simply walked to the center, pulled one sword from the earth, and tested its weight. "No rules," Makil said, pulling the other. "First to yield, or be disarmed."

The arming sword was the same only with a longer reach and more pointed tip. Another note was found inside. I took the liberty of choosing dual swords just for you. A shortsword and arming sword as it goes perfectly. It’s light, durable, and appropriate for your build, reach, and power. Practice with it as much as you can. Also, don’t poke yourself with it. Dune. She’s sure to buy him a present next time she sees him.

Eryndor's Shadowing dagger seemed to dance in the moonlight, its dark blade slicing through the air with a haunting screee-ksss. Each strike landed with a thud-thwack-thoom, sending tremors through the troop's warriors. The troop's hearts raced as the violent zing-ting-zap of clashing daggers filled the field. The savages of warriors, fueled by fury and loyalty, clashed in a frenzy of arms and teeth. The ground grew slick with blood, the earthy smell mingling with the metallic tang of steel. Jack Wolf stood firm, his Moon-whisper spear shining with a soft, ethereal light. He parried Eryndor's strikes with a precision born of desperation, his movements a blur of speed and strength.