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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_ · Realista
Classificações insuficientes
276 Chs

The day of blessings

A rippling collision rang in his ears, making him turn to face what it was that had been attacking him, and there colliding against his sword was a cue stick-like something stabbing at him, and in that immediate instance, the thing was shot back as if it was made of rubber.

But its hardening claimed otherwise.

He then continued to block the things he decided to 'cuetacles,' which was nothing more than a mix of cue and tentacles; waiting for an opportunity to try and cut it.

Seconds passed like that, and at one instance, sensing a cuetacle's arrival, instead of preparing himself to block, he attacked it.

SLASH!

BAM-!

Like a stretched rubber, the stretched part struck him in the face upon being cut while the other end shot back, his free hand flickered and caught the ping-pong ball sized pure white squishy blob as he once again began to block the attacks stabbing at him.