Young Dagger Novels & Stories

Dragons circled overhead, their shadows slicing across the marble. Greg stood tall, shoulders squared, a longsword gleaming in his grip. His presence radiated strength honed by discipline. Jade, in contrast, carried only a jagged dagger, her weapon of choice, dripping still from the maid she had slain. She smirked, her crimson eyes glowing with a hunger for blood. “Ready to bleed, Uncle?” she taunted. Greg didn’t answer. He only raised his sword. Then Jade lunged. She was fast, too fast for human eyes. Her dagger flashed like lightning, aiming straight for his throat. Greg twisted at the last second, steel shrieking as his blade deflected hers. Sparks exploded, showering the stones. The crow

Sticking my hand out to him, wanting to get this over with, because I wanted down from on top of this smoldering hot ledge, and I knew the only way we were going to leave here was to let him have my blood. I honestly didn’t know why I had even agreed to this, but right now it was a little too late to rethink what was about to happen. In a way, I was happy to finally get this over with, if it would finally put a stop to all this madness of everyone thinking I was their long-lost Goddess’s descendant. “It will only hurt for a second. My dagger is sharp and made from the finest metals from the heavens above.” Gabriel tells me, but his whole spill about his dagger being sharp wasn’t giving me an

Madchen could only stare up at Drago. His eyes transformed into deep black. He smiled down at her, seemingly pleased at Jason offering her to him. She felt a sharp sting as the knife pierced her shoulder. She gasped for air and blood poured from her mouth. He had punctured her lung. “You have done well, servant,” she could hear Drago growl. This time there was no mistaking it. It rumbled, shaking the furniture. “Bring her to me,” His voice boomed. Jason, rather pleased with himself, threw Madchen at Drago’s feet. She was gasping for air. She was slipping away, she could taste the coppery blood as it welled up in her throat, pouring from her mouth.

But at the bottom, in small, precise letters, was the only line that mattered: Kaine Solstice: Amnesty Granted. "Well?" Nergal asked. He slid a small, ceremonial dagger across the table. The blade was obsidian. The handle wrapped in silver wire. "It's a death sentence," I whispered. My throat felt like it was filled with ground glass. "Only if you run," Nergal smiled. His lips pulled back over teeth that were too white. Too sharp. "Sign." I picked up the dagger. It was heavier than it looked. The weight dragged my hand down.

Lost myself in the only thing that made sense in a world that had suddenly outgrown me. As the fire died out, the Alpha of the Fenrir sought comfort in the arms of the girl who had helped him ruin everything, while the Queen he had discarded dreamed of the three shards that would end his reign forever. --- [Dagger P.O.V] I didn't go far. Perched on the gargoyle three stories above the ward. Cloak wrapped tight. Mask still in place. The nosebleed had stopped but my hands still shook. Pathetic. I was Dagger. The Ghost Blade. The assassin who had killed seventeen warlords, three archmages, and a god's avatar. I didn't shake. I didn't hesitate. I didn't stand at the foot of a girl's bed leaking

I yelled and glanced around wildly. Where the hell are the humans in this place?! "YOU DON'T WANT ME AS YOUR—" Before I could say that particular word, Nicholas stopped and faced me. All of a sudden, I felt a cold metal on the side of my stomach. I glanced down and saw a dagger. Its grip has intricate patterns. How did he pull that out in a second? The light brush of the dagger caused a burning sensation on my skin. Silver. The dagger was made of pure silver. Nicholas leaned closer and hissed low, "I dare you to finish it" pressing his dagger even more on my skin.

I shook my head, "Sorry, my dear, but I can't take that risk. You know too much, and I am obliged t bring you back with me. Now come on, let's go." was struck by a sudden shift in the atmosphere. The air around us grew tense, as if the very fabric of reality had warped, and I could feel my heart racing as my fingers brushed against her arm. And then, without warning, she lashed out at me with a dagger. The blade glinted in the dim light, catching my eye as I gasped for air. I could feel the cool metal pressing against my skin, and I knew with a sickening certainty that she meant to harm me. The dagger was a thing of beauty, despite the danger it posed. The hilt was made of blackened bone, et

I asked back confused but he shot me a dead glare and I quickly stretched my left palm to him. "ouch "I shriek out when he slice my palm unannounced " this dagger is made from the venom of a black mamba and a little amount of dark magic. The wound on your palm has been poisoned and you have till sundown tomorrow to bring the girl to us or you die "he said and my blood went cold. gush now I think coming here was a bad idea, I can't believe I was such a fool to have come report my discovery to the high witch.

She had long black hair that touched her waist and that was all most people had seen of her. But, some people had seen than that. They had seen her fingers and her nails which were always painted black and were always covered by gloves. Some had seen her eyes which were always surrounded by black shades of eye shadow and her lips that seemed blacker each time you looked at it. But, none had noticed those bright blue irises that sparkled whenever she smiled. Neither had anyone seen her smile. They all knew her name and all she did but most of them would never recognize her if she wore a color other than black. She was Jade Adler, the Gothic troublemaker who had almost burned down the school d

A ghost who couldn’t protect what was his, either. “A thug?” I mused, the word a soft, dangerous thing. I reached inside my jacket, and the elders flinched as one, expecting a gun. Instead, I slowly pulled out a small, ornate dagger. The blade was a sinister, oily black. “A thug doesn’t survive twenty-three assassination attempts. A thug doesn’t keep trophies.”