The Blade Itself Audiobook Novels & Stories

Blade then crouched in front of the two women as they groaned in agony. "This is the final warning," Blade declared, her voice laced with menace, "Do not speak to me as if we are equals. I surpass both of you in every way, and if you ever disrespect me again, I will personally ensure that you pay dearly, perhaps by cutting off your tongues and serving them to you."

I told them about the incident with the blade. As I pulled the blade to show them, my breath hitched. A sickening realization settled over me—the blade had begun to decay, its once-impenetrable metal now chipped where our blood had mingled. The sharp edge had dulled, the intricate engravings that once pulsed with power were now barely visible beneath the damaged metal. It was as if the weapon itself had been tainted, consumed by the impossibility of what had touched it.

A sharp whooshing sound rushed past my ear before I could react. The object flew toward me and shot past my face, the sudden force of it making my hair whip slightly across my cheek. The jacket was instantly pinned against the pine tree behind me. The blade had gone straight through the thick fabric and buried itself deep into the bark with a heavy thud. A soft gasp escaped from me before I could stop it. My hand instinctively flew to my chest as my heart slammed violently against my ribs. The cold realization settled in immediately. He had thrown it without even seeing me.

Slowly, he pulled the blade from its sheath and brought it toward my face. I closed my eyes and held my breath. Relax, Lila. He's not going to kill you with it... I repeated to myself before cautiously opening my eyes again to stare at the most intimidating blade I had ever seen. It looked incredibly heavy, as though it carried the weight of an anchor. I wasn't even sure I could lift it with both hands. "Do you want to know why this blade is called the Blade of Poison?" he asked, raising it into the air to admire it.

My father had told me stories about how he found a hidden cave in our backyard when he was young and stumbled upon an ancient blade that belonged to Vangoda. Had my father known this was going to be my fate? Was he the one who etched my name on the Blade? I decided to take the blade out of its case and hold it. I felt a surge of energy run through my body as soon as my fingers wrapped around the hilt. The blade was light but sturdy, made from an unknown metal that was strong enough to slice through concrete or bone with ease. I could feel its power coursing through me, the same way a soldier feels when he straps on his gun and goes to war. It was as if the blade had chosen me as much as I ha

If everyone thought the same way and concealed themselves, would the slaughter gambit not go on forever, turning into a game of cat-and-mouse? At that moment, a cold voice rang out, "I know what you're thinking." Blade shuddered in fright. Even his breathing stopped. He looked toward the source of the noise and saw Chris walking toward him from a large tree. He seemed composed as if he was walking in his backyard. Compared to how Blade was trembling, Chris was the picture of calmness. A hopeless look flashed in Blade's eyes. He cursed himself for being so unlucky. He did not even make it that far before meeting the strongest of the 10!

He kicked his legs for a couple of times, before he died. His golden blade pierced the ground and landed right next to him. It was still quivering violently and a faint sound could be heard echoing from the blade, as if it was mourning its master's death. Everyone else was angry, but also scared to the bones, and they could not help but stop their movements for a second. "Now is the time for 'Blade Cry'." Qian Lei shouted aggressively. "Clang! Clang!" The golden blades hit against each other and produced a strange sound that penetrated into one's soul, making one suffer in great pain.

The impact sent him crashing to the ground of the cage. The crowd cheered crazily, screams erupted all around me. "BLADE!" "BLADE!" "BLADE!" I pulled out my custom-made blade gleamed with a savage hunger under the bright arena lights. The polished steel bore the name "Capone," etched into the metal like a proclamation of death. Its edge was as sharp as a serpent's fang. It looked eager to cut, having tasted the blood of many before. The handle, wrapped in black leather, felt like a coiled snake in my grip, ready to strike with deadly accuracy. This blade wasn't just a weapon; it was a merciless instrument of brutality, a symbol of my unrelenting power in this world.

“When you're done measuring up, I suggest you come and take a look at this.” “No measuring needed; we all know who the real man is, don’t we, Axel.” Shaking my head at my grandfather’s immature comment, I walked over to where Hector stood with his nose in a book. “Take a look.” Following where his finger pointed, I read the description. “Obsidian Blade. What is it?” I had never heard of it, though I hadn’t heard of half the stuff in this room. “A handcrafted sword made by Hephaestus himself.”