Sword Of Rupture の小説・ストーリー

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.

There was no gorgeous fire or stunning explosion. There was only a cracking sound like the breaking of porcelain. The sword beam struck by Rupert immediately showed dense cracks. In less than a few seconds, it was completely shattered into fragments of aura and disappeared into the sky. The remaining power of the sword beam remained undiminished, and with the force of thunder, it struck Rupert again. After seeing this scene, Rupert not only did not panic, but he said calmly, "No wonder you can kill the four saintmen in the secret realm of the Eastern Sea on your own!"

A shiver travelled through my down my back. "That's about the same time the attacks started getting worse," he told me. "Why do you think you're a rogue? Do you even know what they are?" I felt the tears burn the back of my eyes as I knotted my fingers together in my lap. "My old pack told me that the only title I'd ever be worthy of is a rogue." "You're nothing like the rogue werewolves." Hunt sounded so reassuring and when I looked at him, his eyes were warm and kind.

He corrected himself, gritting the words. His breath started getting heavy. Instant fury enveloped him. He began to pace left and right, his uproarious eyes looking deep in thought. "Someone had touched you. Someone had touched my Hazel. She was handed to me with promise to protect her. She was to be protected. Someone had touched her." He was murmuring in between his walk, hands interlocking in back of his neck as he let out a deranged growl. "I WILL FUCKING SHRED HIM INTO PIECES. I WILL FUCKING TEAR THAT BASTARD APART!"

"I don't need you to protect me. Your love will be enough for me to fight till my last breath." ~ Regan "My love for you is mercenary. Don't expect something that you will never get from me." ~ Lincoln . . . Regan Wells (Maria Turgenev) It started the day in senior high, a game of revenge that I was unaware of at that time. He starts the battle of the unknown with me, a girl with a lost memory against him, a handsome bully with his demons.

Beneath the falling rust revealed a weapon utterly different: An obsidian-black sword, smooth, unmarked, no runes—completely plain. No runes. No glow. No divine markings. Just a black sword that made space itself quiver in terror. The Seraphim slashed. A hundred-foot golden arc tore the sky open, roaring toward the facility. Quintan slashed too— His voice finally rising in a deep, earth-shaking cry: “HEAVEN’S SPLITTER!” His strike was small—tiny compared to the golden colossus—but infinitely concentrated. The two forces met. The resulting explosion was like a nuclear detonation suspended mid-air.

A loud thump rang through the air. Duran curled over in pain. His expression was creased with agony as the aura in him was shattered by the blow within seconds. The bloody sword disintegrated as well. Duran was incapacitated fully by the merciless attack.

“If they could not see what their own son was doing, how can we trust their judgment now?” Then another. “They declared Kellan disloyal for leaving. For loving a Bloodpine. But he brought truth back when no one else could.” Someone clapped. Just once. Then again. By the time I turned to see who it was, a small wave of pack members had followed suit, not to applaud, but to acknowledge. Ronan squeezed my hand tighter. It wasn’t victory. Not really. But it was a rupture. And in Runebound, rupture was how the truth came in.

For each win, there was a kickback: tiny shards of code exploding outward like shrapnel, flashes of color, and sound that made my teeth buzz. Corvin moved with the pulses, absorbing the worst of the backlash. His palm, still pressed against CONSENT, bled now—dark fluid dripping from between his fingers and evaporating into code before it could hit anything solid. The hand on his sword was slick with it, grip unshaken. He was half-system, half-man, and right now, all of that was being used to keep the Game’s counterattacks from ripping us apart.

"Jax." It came out the same way it had four years ago, it was soft, ruined, like a door coming off its hinges. He stilled completely for one second. His forehead dropped to mine. His eyes closed. His breath came uneven, shaky, and I realized with a lurching shock that I had just broken something open in him the same way he had always broken things open in me. His hand was still under my hoodie, palm pressed flat against my ribs, not moving, just holding on.