Sword Of Promised Victory Novels & Stories

Then, with the help of his shadows, grabbed the golden sword of Opherio, and rested its edge on the necks of its rightful owner. "!!" "We are champions! WE are evolution!! WE ARE NOT DEMONS!!!" Blood began to slide down his neck, the sword was being pushed harder against him. It was ready to slice the head of an enemy. Dominique landed his gold gaze on the weeping eyes of his enemy. "We are the people whose gifts are from the love of god..." A final trust. "WE ARE LOVE!!!" "HYAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaa... aahh?"

Marten drew his sword slowly. The blade reflected the first rays of dawn. He raised it toward the sky. "Hail Tombstone." The response shook the kingdom. "HAIL TOMBSTONE!" His sword remained raised. "Hail the fallen." "HAIL THE FALLEN!" His voice thundered one final time. "They bought our future." The warriors slammed their weapons against shields. Once. Twice. Three times. The sound echoed across the mountains. A final salute. A final farewell. A final promise. And as the sun finally rose above the snowy peaks, illuminating both the living and the dead, I realized that victory was never measured by the enemies you defeated.

He lifted his right hand; a big black sword appeared firmly in his hand, accompanied by a crisp sound. The big black sword had a chilly aura, and it was a purple category weapon.

The long wait was over; the final battle had begun. Veyra stood at the front of her army, her cloak billowing in the gusts of wind that whipped around her like the fury of the storm itself. Her hand rested on the hilt of the Sword of Zevi, its blade shimmering with moonfire—a weapon that had seen countless battles, but none like the one she was about to lead. The sword was more than just a weapon; it was a symbol of everything they had fought for. Of the sacrifices that had been made. Of the blood that had been spilled.

A medium lengthened double H sword with a tint of white and gold appeared beside his palm, so he gripped the grip of the sword and slashed it in the air in front of him diagonally to the left. Who will win? Good or Evil ?

"Arthur, look! Someone's proposing!" Victory called eagerly to Arthur, waving her hands, beckoning him to come towards her. A wide smile had adorned her face as she eagerly peered through the darkness, trying to see if she could spot a couple under the canopy of trees in Central Park.

Maverick was standing there, blocking our way, and my grip on the steering wheel went all shaky. We locked eyes through the windshield. His eyes were red and watery, like he was on the brink of tears. His lips trembled, and when that first tear broke free, he flashed a smile so twisted it was worse than any sob. "I've found you, Helen," he stammered, his voice thick with emotion. "I've finally found you..." Suvia, ever the worrier, piped up, "Ma'am, should I call the bodyguards to shoo him off?"

To think that his master's sword will be pointing at her is something she would never imagine. "You don't have to do this." Amari was shaking. She was holding her sword and about to draw it. But her hand were shaking she can't do it---no she has to. Shakingly she drew her sword. The Aquarius relic replica sword, given by Alkhun. She just made a promise and she knew she have to hold on to it. "Very well. Defeat me and you win." After saying this nerom immediately disappeared out of thin air.

BLADE 3. Pain. It was all I felt when I shot my eyes opened. I felt so sore and tired. The memories of how Lorenzo plunged deeper into me last night filled my mind. He was so cruel to me. I didn't find any enjoyment in it at all. I tried lifting my hands and I was happy It was back to functioning. My tit hurts too as a result of the sucking he did last night.

Cael sat apart from the others, elbows resting on his knees, gaze fixed on the embers. They glowed red, then dimmed, then flared again when a piece of wood shifted. He watched the cycle repeat, over and over, unable to look away. It reminded him too much of the day. Tension rising. Control holding. Collapse narrowly avoided. Almost. That was the word that lodged deepest. Almost struck. Almost failed. Almost became the thing he had sworn never to be again. His hand flexed unconsciously, fingers remembering the weight of the sword. The moment when steel had cleared leather. The sound it made. How right it had felt, and how dangerous that had been.