9 Tailed Cloak Novels & Stories

Alex was dressed in a jet black cloak , the material was not clearly visible, the lap of his long cloak touching the ground, occasionally making a rustle following his steady footsteps. These days, when people come across someone wearing a cloak like that, they are bound to think it's something strange and unusual. After all, such outfits are only for something like a Cosplay festival, Carnival, or something the same as that. Some people even think it's crazy. But Uri felt that Alex suited this cloak very well, he didn't find it strange at all.

The inner lining was a deep, blood-red satin, offering a stark contrast to the cloak’s outer appearance and symbolizing the power and danger that lay beneath. A high collar framed Claud’s face, providing additional concealment and protection, while the hood was spacious enough to shroud his features in shadow, yet tailored to fit snugly around his head without slipping. The cloak extended down to his ankles, with slits on the sides to allow for unrestricted movement during combat.

I completed my dressing with the dragon stone necklace after putting on the cloak round my neck. I remembered how Richard and Bryon had suddenly turn invisible the first time I met as Kedar brought in the cloak. "A magical cloak?" I asked when I saw the ominous dark looking cloak. Richard had explained that his cloak made them invisible to the eyes of people. "What?" She shot an are - you - crazy look at me. "Why do you humans take magic as some sort of game you can always toy with?" She spoke as if he wasn't on of us humans. "This is a normal cloak, it goes well with that dress of yours." She had bluntly explained before walking out the door.

She later made me wash off my face and asked me to pick a warrior garb with a cloak from my wardrobe. After wearing a leather jacket over matching fitted pants. I picked a hooded cloak that I had worn when Dane was officially celebrated as the alpha of the Northlanders. It was a Tyrian purple color with the emblem of the Northlanders embroidered with white and black thread on the spot where the breast pocket ought to be. The buttons that lined the front flap from the throat to the hem were pure gold and it all clung to my body like a second skin.

Alpha Ares stood in the heart of the magical dungeon, his imposing figure shrouded by a cloak that seemed to be woven from the fabric of darkness itself. The cloak, black as a moonless night, billowed around him, its edges seemingly dancing in an otherworldly breeze. It exuded an aura of dread and malevolence, as if it were a living entity feeding on the fears of those who dared to gaze upon it.

It would be troublesome to wear ordinary clothes since they would tear apart every time I transformed. Sigh... I don't think we could remain low-profile in this attire. I bet the others look noble and elegant as well. My gaze landed on my black cloak, and it was even more ridiculous. It was obvious the cloak was expensive since the fabric used was of high quality. If one looks closely, one can see a tiny symbol on our cloak. Everyone wears the same cloak for safety purposes. Isabella got this ready for us before we set off two months ago. I have a wild guess that Isabella's friends had a hand in the designs. Those women have good taste and only wear the best material.

It was a man—or something resembling one—standing tall and composed, as if stepping out of thin air was nothing extraordinary. Compared to the twisted creatures around him, he appeared almost human, his form straight and unmarred by the same distortions. He wore a cloak much like the first figure's, the hood pushed back to reveal his head, fabric draping over his shoulders and concealing the rest of his body perfectly. His skin gleamed a sickly pale grey, stretched tight over bones that showed too clearly.

I said flatly. He looked at me in question. “You're insane.” “Perhaps. But at least I'm charming and roguishly handsome.” “You look like a lunatic in a garbage bag.” “It's a cloak,” he snapped, scowling and loosening the cowl. The robe dripped shadows as he removed it. Without warning, he threw it at me. I caught it and gasped. It was slick like water and downy soft; layers of it seemed to glide through my fingers. Streamers of smoke rose from its edges as I ran my hands through the strange raiment, gaze lingering on it as it gleamed blue-black in the moonlight, just like a raven's wing.

She was sure that the sorceress's cloak was also magical. Without realizing it, she found herself reaching her hand to touch the feathers, admiring the handiwork. It had unusually rich, ornamented mantles but surprisingly light. The dominant color was a mix of lustrous red and glittery gold. "Beautiful, isn't it?" Vasilisa said smugly. "This is not an ordinary cloak, Cassandra," Owlyn added. "Fashioned after Goddess Freyja's Falcon Cloak, my lady named it the Cloak of the Fire-Bird."

However, despite what the Coven Head believed, she was not free from the influence of her executioner and loyal jester, Sethor Mebuz. Standing beside her like an omen of doom, Sethor wore a more stylized version of a wizard’s cloak. Resembling a jacket in most aspects of its tailoring, the loose black velvet sleeves were all that was left of the garment’s origins. Their fabric hung from his darkly handsome figure to blend in with the cuffs of Sethor’s grey button-down shirt and black pants, Tilla only vaguely acknowledged his presence. Before, her eyes shifted towards the menacing silhouette of Minorah lurking along the wall behind him.