The Blade Itself Character Art Novels & Stories

And on a night like this when he was finally free from the shackles he had been put in by Rya, he was a living monster, death cloaked in human flesh. For the first time in months, I finally set eyes on him. He had become a shadow of himself, looking wild and haggard. And the way he smiled, he was like a broken man, one who had nothing left to lose, willing to take the world down with himself. He clutched tightly a certain blade in his hand. It was different from the rest. There were engravings on the blade, like runes that made it completely different from other kinds of blades. I had never seen its kind all through my years of living in the SilverFang pack.

" I ignored her mockery and followed her wandering figure around the study. The walls were filled with pictures and sketches, all expressions of Tristan's unspoken longing—for Delilah, not me. At that moment, I felt like an outsider, stumbling into a memory that belonged to their close connection. Delilah picked up a carefully drawn sketch and walked over to me. I froze. The profile in the drawing was identical to mine, except for a mole at the corner of the eye. I had seen this drawing before on Tristan's desk. He had gently pulled me into his arms, smiling as he tapped my nose and said, "I drew this specifically for you, Tia. Do you like it?"

I found her in one of the abandoned studios on campus. There was a large painting in the studio—half of it was done in oil paints, and the other half was a sketch. Isabel beamed when she saw me. "Look at this, Jojo. This is Liam, this is me, and this is you. We're together now, and we always will be." I found that the young man in the painting had half his arm burned off, and he looked surprisingly like Liam. Meanwhile, my body, which had been deconstructed, had been pieced together like a ragdoll.

Damon POV The first blade came from the left. I deflected it, slammed my shoulder into the attacker, and drove my knife up under his ribs. He dropped without a sound. More came—sprinting through the trees, shouting Axel’s name like it was a war cry. I met them head-on. Steel met flesh. Blood soaked into the dirt. I moved on instinct. Dodge, strike, kill. My breath was ragged, my arms heavy, but I didn’t stop. Couldn’t. I carved a path forward through the chaos, eyes scanning the battlefield, listening for anything—anyone—that could tell me where Kalilah was.

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.

He activated the spiritual energy within him, gathering it on his Thunder Blade. The Thunder Blade gleamed with a cold light, and a crimson hue appeared on the blade. "Crazy Blade Strike!" A sharp and fierce blood-red blade light cut through the air, flashing through the moonlit woods. Just as the blade light was about to touch Sebastian's body, a semi-transparent shield appeared in front of him. Clang! When the blade light struck the shield, the shield dissipated, and the blade light was also neutralized. Sebastian was unharmed, showing no signs of damage.

"She can’t smell me. Witches don’t have mates. And look at me, Stone. Without the mate bond pull, do you think someone would want me for a mate?" Blade was bigger and bulkier. He stood six feet nine inches compared to Althea’s five feet five inches in height. While the witch’s skin was covered with light runes markings, Blade was covered with tattoos and scars. Only his face was spared from cuts, but every part of his body had been tainted with blood. "I don’t find you or any man attractive, so I’m no help here." He let out a sigh and brushed his hand over his hair. "Do you want her?" I asked.

Purple patches and blade marks marred his body, and even in a transformed state, the gaping wounds could be seen. Opposite him was Razor, the holder of the Blade Lion technique. Razor was also in his transformed state, towering over Shao by half a meter. His eyes were cold and menacing, not anything like his regular genial self, and his claws and paws were stained with Shao’s blood. Protruding from his elbows, forearm, heel, and calves, were sharp blades that could tear through steel easily. These blades were stained with Shao’s blood as well. In contrast, Razor did not have a single wound on him. “Submit,” his strong voice appealed to his opponent’s sense of reason. There was no need to con