Your Words Cut Deeper Than Any Blade Novels & Stories

My vision gets blurs. Voices echo in my mind, distant but clear. Mocking, cruel. “Noah is incapable of love.” “You should be grateful if you can receive a shred of love from anyone because you are not worth anything.” “No one will ever love you.” I squeeze my eyes shut, but the words remain. They cut through me like a blade, each syllable deepening wounds that never really healed. I grip the glass so tightly I almost expect it to shatter. Maybe I want it to. Maybe that will cause me to feel a bit of relief.

Killing is part of who we are. I sigh, gripping the edge of the sink as I meet my own gaze in the mirror. I know what she’s saying, but it doesn’t help. It doesn’t erase the images burned into my brain. The battle. The bodies. The moment the air smelled of blood. We took lives today, and I can’t just rationalize that away. ‘You are the Moon Goddess’s blade,’ her voice whispers at the edges of my thoughts. ‘And blades are meant to cut.’ I shake it off. Another problem for another time.

I stated, the words sharp and jagged. The words felt like shards of glass leaving my mouth, cutting into the silence of the room. “He didn't even bother to hide it from the pack or from me.” A profound, shocking silence filled the chamber at my revelation.

It felt like a blade,dangerous, yes, but mine to wield. But even as I stared at it, I felt the whisper stir again, softer than breath, slick as oil. Every blade cuts both ways, Amara.

Sean's words were almost merciless. A sharp blade inflicted instant pain, but a dull knife that was slow and relentless was far crueler. Had he delivered a swift, clean cut, Joanna might not have felt such piercing agony. However, Sean's deliberate indifference was like a blunt blade, dragging through her flesh and prolonging the torment. It did not cut deep enough to end her suffering, but it scraped and pulled, leaving her in excruciating pain that was worse than death itself. Joanna's face turned pale. She bit her lip, at a complete loss for words.

Out of nowhere, Vivi lunged at me, a knife clenched in her hand. Harvey shouted, "WATCH OUT!" and threw himself between us. The sickening sound of metal hitting flesh echoed as his face twisted in pain, blood soaking his clothes. People around us screamed. Vivi's vicious glare crumbled into panic, her hands shaking. "Harvey! I didn't mean to hurt you! That wretch came back from the dead! I thought if I killed her, we could still have a future—"

I tried not to take her words to heart seeing as she was still disoriented but her words cut through me like the sharpest of knives. I had sustained thousands of wounds, cuts, even the scars on my body were a testimony of the agony that resided throughout my lifetime but this, this hurt more than any wound or bruise I had ever attained. I couldn't control the whimper that left my throat as I could see Phoenix sit up, his lips trembling and his eyes a mix of sadness and a deep longing, one that I knew all too well.

He tries to fight back but I'm stronger than I look, I pin him face up to the desk, my blade under his chin, so close to his throat. “Please, I have a family, kids—” “argh,” I groan. They always say this, like it should have some effect on me but I'm Requiem, I feel nothing, nothing except the strong urge to shut him up forever. “Stop begging, and stop wiggling or I'm going to get upset.” I snap, pressing the blade deeper into his flesh where I make my first clean cut, making him cry out in pain. His scream isn't filled with enough terror, I need to feel the terror in his voice so I slice again on the same the same spot, pushing my blade deeper until I feel something grate my blade, perfect—

The tip of my blade pierced his cheeks drawing blood. He broke, the words came rushing out……..names, some of the stories were not straight and it was filled with him blaming other people. I listened, not that I believed a word he was saying but somehow lies always have some truth mixed in. I listened to how he said it, to the rhythm of his voice. I listened to how his fear made him stumble over certain names. When he was done, I wiped the blade on his shirt. He was obviously full of shit and I hated when people think me a fool.

I would rise from the ashes, stronger and fiercer than ever. With each passing moment, the darkness within me grew, merging with my own soul. Knife was no longer just a name, but a part of my being—a symbol of strength and resilience in the face of unimaginable loss. The forest seemed to sense this shift, the branches reaching out like dark tendrils, as if welcoming the return of their own.