The Blade Itself Audiobook Novels & Stories

A sharp breath left me. "The Godfather approaches." A ripple of movement. Chairs scraped back. Every single man in the hall stood in unison. They began chanting. “Honor to the blade. Death to the weak. Honor to the blade. Death to the weak.” I shot up from my chair, pulse thudding. The hall trembled with their voices as the doors at the far end opened. Mr. Blade entered, flanked by men in black suits, walking with the kind of presence that sucked the air from the room. His gaze was stone. Cold. Unreadable.

The Hollow Blade waited for her there. It was no weapon forged by men, nor a simple vision birthed from fear. It was something etched into the marrow of her existence. A spectral blade with jagged, shifting edges, its body wreathed in whispers that cut deeper than steel. The voice it carried wasn’t one voice, it was many, layered, distorted, yet unified in cruelty. "You think you can wear the crown of Luna? You think your blood is strength, hybrid?" the Blade hissed, circling her in the void-space.

“You are not alone this time. I’m with you. The hybrids are with you. We will be your strength. Didn’t I tell you before? I will pull you back, love. I will change your fate. But for that to happen, you need to trust me. Do you trust me?” Blade was breaking inside. When I touched him, I heard the voices, too. I fought back the tears. Is this what he hears every single time? How could he survive such torture? Anyone would have gone mad by the number of voices, of the whispering, and of the curses I hear. I took a sharp breath. His whole body was burning. His veins were bulging. And when he held my hands, it hurt but I stood my ground. My pain was nothing compared to his.

A Blade! "What's the blade for?" she yelled, and tried to stand up, but a pair of strong hands held her shoulder down. "Stay down, golddigger!" the hands snarled. It was, surprisingly, the voice of a female. "Here, sir," Chris said. There was the sound of talking. Elena feared what the nature of the blade might be. "Just a pen knife?" Liam's father asked. "Have you no razor blades?" "No, sir. But the knife is sharp." His voice was trembling unsurely when he added: "Sir, what — what are you going to do with it?"

Then, he plunged his gladius upward, bypassing the traitor’s defense. ‘Your parents won’t be proud of you, goodbye!’ he gritted his teeth. “Ahhhhhh!” It went through. The tip of the blade bit into the chin, passed through the mouth and went out at the top of the betrayer's head. He drove it to the hilt, rage propelling his arm. Blood and pieces of Titus' brain burst like a ripe pomegranate fruit. ‘Be more honorable in your next life!’ Lucius closed his eyes, Titus’ words still echoing in his mind.

Blasting it open might risk me losing it and killing everyone. Inside, Michael clutched his wound, his lips pale. "I can't hold on. Please, stop the bleeding. I know where Lauren's kidneys went." My pulse spiked. I crouched beside him, the scalpel glinting. "Where?" Before he could answer, Robert's voice boomed from outside. "Michael, don't run your mouth and tank the hospital's reputation. We'll get you out." I pressed the blade against Michael's abdomen. "Bleed out now or later?"

I chipped in the update. “Two idiot friends always amalgamating the most stupid ideas” “So what do you think of it?” I was immune to her insults already. Anyone that still gets offended by it is yet to understand that harshness was Hilra’s mother tongue. She thought for a moment and turned to the door when it sounded like someone was walking past. “According to Anthonier, the blade is still with her?” “Yes. I believe it is safest in her room. No one would believe I’d leave a blade that could end me in the hands of a mistress who had barely stayed a full week”

The earlier talk… the yelling… it was too much. Everything blurred at the edges, like the world was dissolving in slow motion, "Just leave, okay? I don't want anything from any of you. Not anymore. I just want to live and breathe without feeling like my next breathe needs to stolen, given or sacrificed for you people." My legs wobbled, then buckled—and just before I hit the ground, something solid caught me. Not the cold floor. Not the itchy carpet. Someone. “Aanya?” a voice called, distant but familiar.

He was the wealthy, arrogant playboy girls would swoon around, and also the Blade family's eldest son. "Ezekiel?” A smirk tugged at the corner of his lips. “Ezekiel Blade,” he said. "Why are you without your glasses, freckle face?” He always mentioned his last name like he was nothing without it. But I knew that he loved the name so much as it meant people would fear him. I rolled my eyes, pulling my hand away from his grip. “Still a bully, huh? Besides, I don't wear glasses anymore, and I'm definitely not freckle face. It's Lydia Winters,” I said, mimicking his words.

The chains also dangled to make a deep sorrowful and pain-felt sound in the background. "Now I shall have the strength of an angel altogether and rule as a god before these competitors owning half of my city!" Blade stormed full of ecstasy and with his arms spread a little higher above his shoulders, he grunted but still hungered to be satisfied while having his tongue roll around his lips, to the lower part of his beard and to his moustache.