Academy Weapon Replicator Novels & Stories

Caile's voice shakes her off. Amari drew her sword making Caile amused. "That was really the Aquarius Replica." He said amused at its appearance. "For a commoner like you, to draw it. My relic replica Taurus would be sad." He said looking at his green sword comparing it to Amari's blue sword. "..much." Amari barely whispers. "You saying something?" She was walking towards him without any sign of fear. "You talk too much..." Amari whispers and for some reason Caile had goosebumps.

She continues appraising the other artifacts. [NEPTUNE'S TEARS] Replica Type: Blessing Rank: II A drop of the liquid brings the dead back to life temporarily with its soul intact. The replica cannot bring back the soul so the dead turns into a zombie. Skills- None [Ignus Quail] Replica FAILED PRODUCT Type: Dragonblood Rank: III By eating the raw egg inside, the user will partly gain the powers of The Ignus Dragon. Skills: Failed products cannot be used. [Hymn to the War Gods]

“And how is that related to this frozen sword?” “That’s what I’m trying to find out,” Estevan pointed out. “You see, there are a lot of different Empyreal Weapons—swords, shields, bows and arrows, spears, hammers … I can go on. But I’m still wondering if it’s possible to have that as another kind.” “You think this is one of those weapons?” Larice said, looking at the replica. “No … Your blood.”

I could feel his wolf pacing just beneath his skin, demanding blood, demanding to shift, demanding to hunt. The armory was in the basement, behind a vault door that required both his palm print and a retinal scan. The lights came on automatically as we entered, revealing rows of weapons that gleamed under the harsh fluorescents. Silver-edged blades. Custom rifles loaded with wolfsbane-tipped rounds. Body armor that looked like it could stop a charging Alpha. Communication earpieces so small they were almost invisible.

My fingers brush cold polymer. The Glock. It must have flown out of Drakon’s holster during the roll. I grab it. It feels heavy, a solid weight in a world that has lost its gravity. I check the slide. It’s in battery. The back doors of the van are twisted, hanging open on bent hinges. Through the gap, I see a pair of combat boots stop. A shadow falls over the opening. A Reaper leans down. He peers into the wreckage. He’s wearing a skull mask, his rifle raised.

POV: CADE MERRICK The sound of metal hitting stone was the only thing I could hear inside the cold, concrete armory of the Sentinel Outpost. I sat at my workbench under the bright lights, focused on the weapon in front of me. I checked my customized heavy rifle, pulling the bolt back to make sure the chamber was clear before sliding a fresh magazine into place. Everything I carried was made for one thing: killing. My tactical vest was lined with iron plates covered in protective runes, my forearms were wrapped in dark leather marked with anti-magic wards, and my belt held several small vials that could slow down dangerous creatures.

For the next hour, every strike and evasion I make on the mat is stripped down to raw, military-grade efficiency. "It makes perfect sense you Awakened to the Reaper bloodline," Nyla notes approvingly as I step off the mat. She gestures to my thigh holster. "Custom firearm? Let me see." I hand over my matte-black pistol. "I'm running dangerously low on ammo, Professor. Can the Academy supply free bullets?" I ask, my brain never missing a chance to exploit the school's budget. Nyla expertly checks the chamber. "I can submit a requisition form. But under one strict condition, Rea, absolutely no shooting your classmates."

It took a fingerprint ID, eye scan, and a twelve-digit code to breach, but she quickly found out why. "Holy shit!" she murmured as she walked in. The damn vault was easily 50 feet long, 15 feet wide, and lined with weapons ranging from throwing stars to rocket launchers. "This is SO illegal!" she said, running her hands over a high-powered sniper rifle with a scope she'd never even seen before. "What the hell are these?" she asked, picking up a pair of what looked like Desert Eagle 50s but with some kind of banana clip. "Just what they look like," Reaper said lovingly, staring at the guns. "I know someone who works with the manufacturer, and he made us a special set. Single shot for most bad

The Reapers were coming for the final harvest, their black tactical gear making them look like spiders dropping from a web. ​"Let them come," Malakai growled. He didn't head for the roof access door. Instead, he moved toward a stack of industrial crates marked for the hotel’s ongoing penthouse renovations. He kicked a pallet aside, revealing a heavy, military-grade briefcase. He didn't open it; he smashed the digital lock with the butt of his gun and ripped the lid back. ​Inside wasn't another gun. It was a localized EMP (Electromagnetic Pulse) generator—a prototype he must have diverted from a Council shipment years ago.

The wood was polished, the iron barrel cold and smelling strongly of sulfur and burnt powder. The system-builder turned it over in his hands, his analytical mind instantly dissecting the firing mechanism, the flint, the flash pan. "They are not gods," Cord said quietly, looking down the sights of the weapon. "They are just men who figured out how to harness a spark." He looked up at Elias, and then at me. "I can replicate this," Cord said. "With the foundries in Iron Crest, I can build a thousand of these." I looked at the brutal, unfeeling weapon in Cord’s hands.