These were not cute at all.
Spiked clubs with cruel iron barbs that looked like they could tear flesh from bone in one swing.
Dangerously built swords with serrated edges that curved wickedly, blades etched with runes that pulsed red like fresh blood.
Whips whose heads were studded with razor-sharp obsidian shards that glinted hungrily.
War hammers with heads shaped like screaming skulls, the metal blackened as though scorched by hellfire.
Weapons with chains that ended in barbed spheres the size of fists. All of them radiated menace; practical and brutal, utterly designed to end fights quickly and messily.
Why were fairies in possession of them? Benjamin decided to ask.
Roselyn's expression sobered slightly as she ran a finger along the handle of one of the spiked clubs.
