The Sword Of Damocles Novels & Stories

His younger brother. In his peripheral vision, Nicholai saw Elvious movement. On its hand, a red sword appeared. Nicholai new that sword, the sword of Elious. A sword that can takes away someone's ability for eternity. In a quick motion, Elvious appeared just infront of Nathaniel, Elious sword on hand barreling towards Nathaniel's body. But before it hit Nathaniel, someone blocked it from there.

"And if anyone was to be given birth, the child needs to die or the world suffers for it." The eldest heaved a sigh and bent down, drawing out the sword. "Take." She gestured it to Dylan. "Do what you must do. Anything even, positive or negative, you'd make sure you do what it is to be done." Dylan collected it, bowed, and exited the door. __________________________________________ "Rumor has it that the sword lies deep in the shadows." Hoots said. "Yes, it does. That shadow is there." Wahika pointed at the dark room."

Lloyd fell silent, not answering immediately. After a moment, he seemed to make a difficult decision and said, “If it truly comes to that… I will summon the Sword of Zeus and go down together with Old Hagstorm!” The Sword of Zeus! This legendary weapon in the Obaro continent was said to be the sword of the ancient king of gods, Zeus. It possessed unparalleled divine power, but the cost of using it was heavy. Alexander was filled with distress and asked, “Elder, is that the only solution?”

The second the sword was pulled out, dragon-like flames instantly surged out from the sword’s blade… A sinister smile on his face, the shadowy figure then lifted the sword high as he laughed arrogantly before declaring, “The Sword of Might… It’s finally mine! The world is going to be mine soon!”

Marcel kept one hand on his sword's hilt and the other partway down the blade. Nathan growled, "I loathe you, Marcel." Nathan was beaten up before the sword fight. He was bleeding but Marcel was fresher, and his armour gave him extra weight and power in his struggles. Marcel kept moving, not wanting to be stuck too long within Nathan's reach. The dragon's grip on his blade allowed him more leverage and more precise thrusts, but it greatly lowered his reach. King Marcel had no such disadvantage. Nathan anxiously clutching his sword at his side, his other hand opening and closing in nervous energy.

On the pavilion floor lay a sword carved with a dragon, and standing on it was the man who had shouted. He stooped slightly, breath ragged; his eyes were bloodshot, bulging as if they might pop from their sockets. Through gritted teeth he thought, 'Xiu Jian is a damned wretch! I can’t even burn his sword!' Indeed, the trembling, furious man was Huang Fu, and the blade beneath his boot was the Sacred Dragon Sword. He had tried to set the sword aflame—yet not only did the flames refuse to take, the fuel he poured seemed to be absorbed and vanished, drying as if swallowed by the metal itself.

“Are you sure that if we insist upon your innocence, evidence would not come out to haunt us?” “Any evidence would be fabricated,” he responded with a nonchalant shrug. “They have the sword,” Faris butted in. “Once they took you, they came back for the sword.” “A sword is a sword,” he continued with the nonchalant act. “The Moon’s Sword was blessed by the goddess long ago during the founding of Deimos. It was used to eliminate threats to the monarchy. Is there any record of it turning people to rotten corpses with a single swing?”

The realization disarmed her more effectively than any feint. She released the sword, taking a step back. "Then we understand each other," she said, her voice losing its edge. "You see a weapon. I see a cage. We're both prisoners of this... purpose." He held the practice sword, looking momentarily wrong-footed by her retreat. He studied the crude blade, then her face. The anger seemed to drain from him, leaving a weary, cold curiosity. "What are you, really? A spy for your father? A trained assassin sent to unsettle the court?"

X voice grew coldly. Isreal began laughing hysterically, as he unsheathed a long sword. “It seems as if you do not understand your place. I have you surrounded, surrender and I will spare your life, as Lord Henderson will decide you fate. He will be the god to judge you.” The sword Israel held was definitely finely crafted. The Sword was hand forged as the Damascus pattern resembled a calm river. The hilt was made of bronze and fitted with gold. No matter what quality his sword was, it will still rubbish before X’s translucent blade.

The long wait was over; the final battle had begun. Veyra stood at the front of her army, her cloak billowing in the gusts of wind that whipped around her like the fury of the storm itself. Her hand rested on the hilt of the Sword of Zevi, its blade shimmering with moonfire—a weapon that had seen countless battles, but none like the one she was about to lead. The sword was more than just a weapon; it was a symbol of everything they had fought for. Of the sacrifices that had been made. Of the blood that had been spilled.