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The Blind Swordsman.

A tragedy... An abrupt departure... Death... And rebirth. Pain, rage, struggle, and blood honed a sword. A sword sharp enough to sever through reality and reveal what lies beyond. It unveiled something, Or rather, someone, incomprehensible and unprecedented.... A being who seems to weave the threads of fate. Does he truly exist, or is he merely a manifestation of another's will? If he does exist, what purpose does he serve? Is there really a purpose, or is it just another will imposed upon him? If it is another's will, can he defy it? Can he turn his sword against his creator, A being who literally writes his reality? Or will he be consumed by the abyss from which his power flows, Forever lost in the shifting void of his own making?

_Eshwar_ · Realistic
Not enough ratings
276 Chs

The warm and the cold

In luxuriously decorated room lit brightly due to warm sunshine peering into the room through the room's wide windows.

A devilishly charming pure black haired man sat on a chair next to the lazily comfortable bed which housed another jet black haired handsome young man, who seemed to be sleeping soundly.

The man on a bed had bandages mummifying him while the man sitting on the chair next to the bed had his elbow rested on the short table where a fruit basket, a knife, and a set of healing potions were placed.

The devilishly charming man had his face adorned with black glasses that were unlike any, while he smoked a cigarette that was completely black in colour and was longer than what was commonly found on Earth.

FHUUU…..