The Blacksmith Daredevil Novels & Stories

They were members of the Iron Claws, mercenaries who reeked of dried blood and ancient hatred. “Dante Blackwood has a refined taste for weak spots,” hissed the one who seemed to lead the trio, a man with yellowish eyes and scars that looked like teeth marks on his neck. “Let’s see how he reacts when we send you back to him in pieces.” The man advanced with an agility that defied gravity. Helena retreated, but the gravel betrayed her. Before the attacker’s hand could close around her neck, the world exploded in a roar of metal and fury. Dante’s motorcycle leaped from the side embankment, colliding with one of the aggressors in mid-air. The impact was brutal, a sound of bones breaking that ech

— declared the red-haired blacksmith. — You'll have more time to work for us! You stay here until breakfast, don't you? — asks the skinny long-bearded blacksmith whom I give the coal bag. — I will do my best to help! —I answer and give the gray-haired blacksmith the copper bag. — With men missing, even half a man already helps! — He answers. I now had my anvil and hammer. My task was just to put pieces together and heat the metals, but I have to admit that a blacksmith's job is very cool! Turning the iron rod into a sword or shield is difficult and tiring, but cool.

The prince of the rouges growled. Drake was panting, gasping for air. He closes his eyes, feeling the presence of the beating heart. As he opened his eyes, it was blood red. He wore the devil's eye. It was cold, dark, mysterious, and dangerous. The prince of the rouges steps backward, trembling. He didn't try to struggle off the chain; he just wore his dangerous lopsided grin.

He climbed out of the earth like a demon rising from hell. He was covered in dust and blood. His left leg was made of black stone. And in his hand, he held a Hammer that looked like a tombstone. "Dad?" I whispered. Damian stood up. He looked at the charging Peacekeeper. He didn't dodge. He swung the Hammer. CRACK. It wasn't a sound. It was a tectonic event. The Hammer hit the Peacekeeper. The soldier didn't fly backward. He ceased to exist. The force of the impact atomized the armor, the flesh, and the void energy instantly.

Ulfhild determined to stay as far away from him as possible. Brand had been slightly worried when the giant warrior took the field. It had been quite a while since he had wielded a sword in earnest. There was no need other than the occasional sparring session for fun with his brothers in twenty-first century Wyoming. He was sure to be rusty. But as soon as he felt the first ring of metal-on-metal vibrate down his arms, all his years of training came rushing back. His muscles instinctively bunched and stretched as he deflected, thrust, and countered with the talented warrior. Sweat broke out on his forehead, and he couldn't hold back a small smile of grim pleasure as they continued to fight.

Who knew how long I was going to be in this dark, smelly place without food or water. "Mother, please give me strength," I whispered slowly, trying to comfort myself, for I knew this was just the beginning of my journey. ...... "The girl, how's she?" A young man with stricken features asked as he adjusted himself on his chair. He was dressed in a black suit, which made him look like the devil. Damian was a hired mercenary, a merciless killer who had been trained for years to skillfully eliminate important figures in society. Merely looking at him, he appeared human, but being trained in the laboratory made him stronger, as he had undergone a series of experiments since he was a child.

I would still send him home tonight feeling lost. Just then, Dante walked up between us in his tall frame. “You both will ride with the spirit of the brotherhood. You are not allowed to die. If you fall, you rise again.” That was all he said before turning his back and leaving us alone. I didn’t need his motivation. I was ready for this. And thankfully, I had been using the painkiller Dr.Vance gave me to numb the tremble in my left arm. My jaw flexed, teeth grinding as I straddled the beast beneath me. The hell-bound bike was unlike anything street legal—matte black frame, skeletal structure, raw engine growl that sounded more alive than machine. The handlebars vibrated hungrily like it want

Ribs pressing against his skin like a washboard. The blacksmith was a one-eyed old man with a vicious temper who forged blades that never broke. Every soldier in the camp came to him for repairs. Rex crouched outside the smithy for three days, watching the old man work the iron. The metal in the furnace bloomed orange-red. The old man pulled it free with tongs, laid it on the anvil, and struck. Sparks burst with every hammer blow. Burn scars covered his hands, layered over each other like the bark of an ancient tree.

But lately, reports have been of the Dark Knight’s men snooping around, waiting for me to make one wrong move. “I—I don't know what you're talking about. I d—don’t even know who you are.” She stammer out, whimpering, afraid of my demon form before her. It's exactly how I like my captives to be, Afraid. Trembling at my feet. Scared of my unpredictable nature. “Liar!” I growled, grabbing on her neck. I want to go easy, but easy never gets the job done. “You knew exactly where I'd be. At the exact spot I'd be standing, perfect timing, and you want me to believe you're innocent?” I tighten my free hand to a fist, guarding myself from showing mercy.