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Well, maybe not the whole truth. Tres blinked. “So, like . . . there’s a real sword in there?” James nodded. “Yeah.” “Sweet! Can I see?” Tres exclaimed and jumped up from his seat. “Sure, I guess.” James laid the bag down, unzipped it, and spilled the sword onto the bed. Tres picked it up immediately. “Holy crap! This thing’s heavy,” he said as he unsheathed it and studied the shimmering blade. “Pretty cool. What’s he teaching that stuff to you for?”

I nodded and went to work seeing which one I seemed to have a gift for. I was sweating from every pore on my small body I had found a liking to the short sword and a katana. Blake thought it would be fitting to add some throwing knives. Sarin and Carden were already and Blake was all dressed to the nines for this battle. My brothers were on the far side of the room sheathing their weapons. My body was still flowing with raging angry power therefore my tattoos were a bright healthy glow.

It burned in my veins, fierce and alive. A sudden gust of wind burst out from around me, lifting the dust and ash. The red moon pulsed. Caden turned toward me, still holding Duncan’s wolf by the throat. His eyes narrowed. “What are you doing?” I didn’t answer. My hand reached out and the sword answered. With a flash of blue light, the Sword of Nytheris vanished from Caden’s grip. He looked down in shock as it dissolved from his hand and flew straight toward mine, slicing through the air like it had been waiting.

“Get out of here Nasir. Get out! Leave me the fuck alone.” I pulled my sword from my bag and started to drag it across my leg, The red started to cover my leg and I smiled. Nasir jumped at me again, his teeth digging into my hand that held my sword. He was whining. I was so mad. I tried to shake him off but he wouldn’t let go. Letting go of the sword he finally let me go, grabbing the sword in his teeth and throwing it out of the room. He growled at me, daring me to get past him.

He dropped to his knees and held onto the spear sticking out from his chest, he cried out again as he tried to pry it out of his body. {{ Mikelis, we need to finish this for good }} he unsheathed his sword and walked over to me where I stood over Neeko and held his sword out to me and I dragged my finger tip all the way along the sword making it glow, Neekos eyes widened with fear {{ I need the head to return home with, there is something I need to confirm, he nodded.

Then, he saw a sword. I know you. He said to the sword It was a strikingly beautiful sword whose blade glowed in the ruddy moon. It has a two-edged winged blade and it stood dipped into the ground. The grip shone with beautiful stones that enhanced its edges. The blade had some lettering written on it. He moved in closely and began to read it. "Nnkan to o jé temi ni temi, ko si si enikeni to legba momi lowo"

Boro and Mika stood in the sand circle as the two finalists. The animosity between the two was so thick in the air it was almost palpable. Boro stood in the ready form, Crane In The Water, standing perfectly balanced on one leg, his sword held out before him. Mika stood in a form that Boro didn't recognize. Boro prided himself on knowing all the forms of classical, and modern, sword art, the fact he didn't recognize this one was puzzling.

shouted Khalid, who was getting angry because he felt trapped by everyone's game in front of him. "It's not just us warriors," said Wang Ge, the warrior who was nicknamed the Asura Monk because of his strength he was ranked second after Swordsman Zou Fan. After Wang Ge said so, hundreds of swordsmen started to come out of their hiding places. chyou Chen started to grin, as the sensation of his heartbeat starting to race was getting stronger. "Is this going to be the end for me," thought Chyou Chen who started to feel a tremor in his legs.

Lo, there’s no dead body—but lots of fucking weapons. I glance around. "Are we allowed to be here?" "Nope. But in just two days, you’ve already entered places you’re not supposed to." He bends his hands, searching inside the coffin. As blades crash against one another, he grunts and lifts a worn sword rack. He withdraws the sword a little, it's sharp edges glitter in the dark. The sword's blade is covered in tiny stars, while the handle has a big star. It looks powerful... Ancient.

Alexandre's face is pale, his features frozen in an expression that belongs only to those who have given so much that they seem to fade away. Lucas is kneeling on the lawn, his hand pressed against his side, an arm that refuses to stay clean. He spits blood that stains the grass, bright red against the nighttime pallor. His eyes, when caught, are wild with pain and determination. He tries to rise, stumbles, falls back down. It seems he is holding something back—consciousness, rage, flight—knowing he won’t last long.