Trollhunters Swords Novels & Stories

But in a split second, Caleb's eight flying swords shot toward Tamel. "Wolfslicer!" Tamel hollered, his rich Reiki infused into his saber as he held it before himself like a shield! Clang! Clang! Clang! Even as the flying swords rained on him, they kept knocking him backward, his feet digging a deep trail into the ground as he tried to hold fast. "I-Impossible!" Tamel was astounded by how horrific Caleb's flying swords were!

The light in his eyes died as he crumpled to the forest floor. The sword spun in a graceful arc, its edge severing the hand that held Madeleine's wrist. His howl of agony was cut short as the blade found his throat. The second troll tried to run, but the sword was faster, opening him from spine to sternum before he'd taken three steps. In the sudden silence, Dante dropped from the tree with cat-like grace. The sword flew to his outstretched hand and disappeared. "Don't." Madeleine's voice was raw with fury and pain. She pressed her hand to the cut on her ribs, blood seeping between her fingers. "Don't you dare critique my performance after what you just did."

said Scarlett, smiling. Then she stepped inside the circle, pulling out both swords. Some of the men around them gasped when they saw the swords. They recognized them as Hova for their distinct whitish metal and the black onyx pommels. Humbert noticed it too and laughed. “So we have a Hova killer here, lads! Let’s see how good she is against a real man.” Then he charged at Scarlett, but she was ready.

Eryndor's Shadowing dagger seemed to dance in the moonlight, its dark blade slicing through the air with a haunting screee-ksss. Each strike landed with a thud-thwack-thoom, sending tremors through the troop's warriors. The troop's hearts raced as the violent zing-ting-zap of clashing daggers filled the field. The savages of warriors, fueled by fury and loyalty, clashed in a frenzy of arms and teeth. The ground grew slick with blood, the earthy smell mingling with the metallic tang of steel. Jack Wolf stood firm, his Moon-whisper spear shining with a soft, ethereal light. He parried Eryndor's strikes with a precision born of desperation, his movements a blur of speed and strength.

Exactly as seen earlier in the castle. The sword. “What does that one do?” I asked, pointing to it. “It drinks blood. For anyone it kills, their blood is stored in the blade. You would try to always have a clothing between you and the hilt” That did not sound more beneficial than fairy dust. “So how useful would it be to protect me?” With only a smile, “very” Time to close the deal. “I have one silver coin” playing with the coins against my fingers. “Make it three and we have a deal”

Its formidable presence serves as a reminder of his role as a prince and protector. To Tritan's left, Finrir gracefully hovers, his pack adorned with a sheathed long Viking sword. If his lethality is needed, the sword becomes an extension of his skills, a weapon to be unsheathed with precision and deadly intent. Crafted with intricate engravings and a polished edge, the sword reflects the strength and resilience that Finrir embodies. It is a weapon that strikes fear into the hearts of their enemies, poised to be wielded when the situation demands it.

“She’s inside and there is another man!” “Wait here.” Omar replied, helping the she-wolf to rest against the only wall not covered in blood. Omar moved calmly, pulling a hunting knife from his coat pocket. The way the blade winked wickedly in the pale light sent a chill down Chloe’s spine. She decided there and then she had seen enough of weapons and murder today and turned away from the door, gulping in air. Her throat burned and the bitter taste of bile still haunted Chloe’s mouth. Above her the clouds were breaking and golden sunlight was now filtering through, casting long shadows between the trees. It was too beautiful for the gruesome scene.

They all seemed on edge almost like they were waiting for something to happen, especially the vampires, as most of them stood around the barricade that led into the arena where the fight was going on. Using all the speed he could muster with only a tiny bit to spare, Kal dashed forward, swinging his sword out in front of him. It was a long silver sword that glinted harshly in the sun, but the moment it clashed with that of Sir Mallum, Kal instantly knew that Malik’s sword was much more deadly to him. It seemed to be coated in silver, irrespective of the dull properties the sword would have. In sir Mallum’s hand was a broadsword which he effortlessly swung almost like it was a pencil, and not

"The broadsword is called Soul-swallowing. It has been with me for about a thousand years and has only been used a few times. I won't let the blade return to its sheath until my enemies get hurt." Chu Xun chuckled and raised Dragon's Wrath. "It is called Dragon's Wrath. Whoever touches it will die." "You and I are very similar. We all have the overlords of weapons," Liu Wentian said. Chu Xun sneered and put away Dragon's Wrath the next moment. "Let me tell you, the saber is not the overlord, but I am." As soon as he finished speaking, Chu Xun rushed to Liu Wentian, his fists turning into amethysts. He punched out, with the dragon roaring.

A medium lengthened double H sword with a tint of white and gold appeared beside his palm, so he gripped the grip of the sword and slashed it in the air in front of him diagonally to the left. Who will win? Good or Evil ?