Zoro Swords Tattoo Novels & Stories

“What does he smell like?” The warrior opened his mouth, but before he could answer, Zahra-Rose suddenly stepped forward. “What is he wearing?” The warrior looked at her. “A pendant, Luna.” “What kind?” His brows furrowed as he tried to remember. “Silver. An old-looking one. It had some sort of symbol engraved into it.” “What symbol?” “I couldn’t tell but it looked like a circle that has an engraved moon on it or something. Zahra-Rose’s expression changed.

"I was about to head to Ol' Mare to deal with you myself. Never thought you'd show yourself here. You saved me from making the trip!" At that, all 80 men surrounded Alexander. John stood behind Mark with a darkened gaze. He did some stretches to warm up. Zoro drew his sword and rubbed his fingers on the blade. He looked murderous. John was famous for his fighting skills internationally. He had once gone up against many gangs and groups all alone. Zoro's swordplay was not to be reckoned with as well. He could attack his opponent six times within a second, enough to kill many sword-fighting champions.

“The one I cut on the back?” I blinked at her. “You mean the little asswipe with the shitty tattoo who wanted to fuck up my pretty face with his brass knuckles? Yeah, I’m fairly positive I don’t care if he’s okay. But from the way he lit out of there like his tail was on fire, I’d say he’s just fine.” “It wasn’t a shitty tattoo,” she mumbled. “It was the eye of Horus. Some thought it was a symbol to ward off evil, but it’s actually supposed to symbolize healing.”

My fingers are on my chin as I crouched and looked at it. The cover or the sheath was silver with a few pints of gold, I don't understand the engravings etched on it. Because of my curiosity, I held it and released it from its sheath. Unlike other sword, its blade was bluish and silver, the handle was wood in color and the cover was glass. It was not as heavy as it look. I lifted it up and swayed it... Imagining I was a samurai fighting some bad guys. I chuckled.

Not a second. A sovereign. A hush swept through the room. She could feel it—old power shifting in the bones of the mountain. The old ways resisting, then slowly bending. Yielding. Zara stepped forward, drawing a ceremonial blade from her belt. It gleamed in the fractured moonlight, the edge etched with runes of both wolf and witchcraft. She sliced her palm cleanly and pressed it to the stone crest etched before the seat. Magic flared, white and sharp, licking up her arm like frost fire.

Their armour is intricately detailed with engraved patterns and layered plates, common for Santo knight– a royal order of knights, committed to keeping the darkness at bay. Tiro was crouched low on one knee at the edge of the cliff. He has long, dark wavy hair that falls around his face and shoulders. His expression was focused and intense as he tracked the movement of Corrompido in the valley below. In his left hands, he held a finely crafted bow, with an arrow nocked and ready. A quiver full of arrows is strapped across his back. Bonito stepped closed to the edge of the cliff and looked down at the encampment. “A graveyard? How typical of Corrompido,” he commented. Bonito has short tousled

When they both recovered, on the inside of their right arm between the elbow and wrist was a tattoo of a dragon poised for flight. While Zutara's mark was done in a wide spectrum of colours from bright blues, pinks and oranges to blood red and burnished gold, Riz's was done completely in black but aside from difference in the colour it was the exact same dragon. "You are now the custodian of a rare and almost extinct legacy, you have to learn and master the five natural elements - Fire, Water, Earth, Air and Lightning, you will also learn to master the sword as there are times when the elements may ot be enough," Sikorra gestured toward Riz

He seemed to be in an unnaturally deep sleep, almost as if something had knocked him out. Was he drugged? I had no clue, but the fact that he hadn’t stirred even with my presence in his room was unsettling. And then my eyes drifted to his body—beautiful and imperfect. There was a scar on his right rib cage, the kind that only came from a blade. Though faint, I could tell it was an old wound, healed over time. Another one ran along his collarbone, slightly darker, as if the wound had been deeper, perhaps more brutal. But it was the tattoo over his heart that caught my attention the most—a sword, inked deep into his skin, standing tall, like a symbol of war, power, and destruction.

"So, why her?" "It is strange, isn't it?" Zalakai asked him. "We're natural enemies by right, but..." Zalakai smiled. "She intrigued me. Fascinated me with her strength and her weakness. Before I realized it, I had this deep-rooted need to protect her. From everything." He set the slice down and unbuttoned the first couple of unbuttons to his shirt and loosened his vest slightly. As he pulled the shirt open, there was a symbol engraved on his chest. A tribal heart with wings on each side. Gold chains wrapped around it and shimmered in the lamplight. It pulsed like a heartbeat.

I whispered, “You were amazing.” He pulled back and beamed at me. “Did you see my roll? And—and how I dodged and flipped him?” “I did! I don’t even think I could have done that,” I laughed, brushing his hair from his face. He puffed his chest. “The warriors say I’m strong. That I’m brave.” I kissed his forehead. “You are. You always have been.” He held up his arm, showing me a fresh tattoo inked onto his forearm. A beautiful phoenix with its wings spread in mid-flight as it stood in flames.