Armor Naruto Novels & Stories

“Hahaha! You little piece of shit, you’re asking for it!” He raised his hand, hoping to launch the weapons from his sleeves. Using shuriken and kunai in a mission was a common tactic for ninjas. They were practically walking arsenals. As he raised his hands, eight black-colored beads were held in between his fingers. However, before he could launch them, Kaze beat him to it by grabbing his forearms before twisting them. Crack! Following two loud cracks, both arms were broken. “Aaaarh! I’ll kill you!”

It was impenetrable. In the master suite of the bunker, Zara stood in front of a full-length mirror. She wasn't wearing her usual corporate blazers. She was wearing a gown designed for a shadow-cartel masquerade. It was a masterpiece of midnight-black velvet, clinging perfectly to her curves, with a plunging neckline and a dramatic slit up the thigh. Hidden seamlessly within the lining of the velvet was a layer of carbon-nanotube armor, capable of stopping a high-caliber bullet.

His skin, usually pale and guarded, flushed with a jagged, violet hue—the color of the deep, forbidden pulse of the Buntu legacy. Rangga watched, paralyzed, as Arung’s knuckles turned bone-white against his own ribs. "Arung, stop! You’ll—you’ll burn out! You aren't a descendant, you don't have the shielding—" "Shut up!" Arung hissed, his voice strained, vibrating with a frequency that didn't sound human. "I’m not a shield, kid. I’m an anchor. If I don't hold the line, the mountain collapses on the entire valley. Do you want to kill everyone for a hundred miles?"

Her final inmate for the day was Aron. As Aron entered Athena's small office, his presence commanded attention. His black hair, meticulously styled in a buzz cut, accentuated his angular face. The vibrant tattoos adorning his neck served as a stark contrast to his pale skin. Piercings adorned his ears, hinting at a rebellious nature. Athena mentally prepared herself for the session, intrigued by the shift in Aron's mood since their earlier encounter. "Good day, Mr. Aron," Athena greeted, adjusting her glasses with a calm demeanor. Her eyes met his, momentarily captivated by the intensity of his stormy blue gaze.

She crossed her arms over her chest and stood glaring at him. She wanted to play it this way, did she? Fine. He dumped the clothes on the pallet and glared back. Removing his sage green Henly, he bared his broad, well-muscled chest and arms. He let her take in his clan's distinctive wolf tattoo covering his left shoulder. Runes of protection adorned his impressive torso, climbing up from the flat plains of his stomach to the slabs of hardened muscle covering his ribs. As he dropped the shirt to the ground, he saw the hint of her pink tongue come out to moisten her lips.

He was inhuman. He grabbed Armando's throat trying to choke him as Armando punched him. Hunter wasn't fazed at all even by his strong punch. There was maddening fury in his jade orbs that had flecks of gold in them. He was on the brink of shifting. Armando's claws extended out as he clawed at Hunter's face but Hunter defended himself which freed Armando from his grip as he stumbled back. Three of his men came to his side as Armando charged at Silvia but before he could reach her Hunter blocked him.

I command “Yes.” She breathes nodding before turning her head away from me. As soon as I reach my armoury room I change into a pair of dark jeans, a black V-neck t-shirt and put on my boots. I strap on my 9mm underneath my shirt, grab my sniper case and insert my Matsuda blade onto my back. I was getting ready to party.

“Ah, dear niece, so this is what an average day in the life looks like… waltzing with your kill and staring right into their eyes right before you snuff the light out of it… brilliant!” It was obvious he wanted a reaction out of her, and on a very good day, he would have gotten nothing, but today wasn’t exactly going as planned for the plus-sized assassin. Barbara moved with a speed that would have stunned the girl she used to be. In one fluid motion, she was behind him. She didn't bother shedding the server's jacket; she simply reached beneath it. The cold steel of a ceramic knife was pressed firmly against the pulse point of his neck before he could say another word.

And added some warnings. 'Dang this bald man!' Zen could help but curse this heretic. He was trying to see if Marina was okay. "Don't be distracted on battles young man, it will be the cause of your death. And yours are disrespecting a warrior's honor.” Arnold said in a calm voice as he clenched his fist and was about to throw a punch towards his right upper area. But before his punch could connect to Zen's body, a triangle arch made out of obsidian color rose from the ground.

He crouches in front of me, knitting his fingers together while resting his elbows on his knees. “Your uniform looks stupid,” I grumble. “I’ve been told women love men in uniform.” “You look like an underfed dragon.” It’s true, in my defense. Black, thick fabric envelopes him from his neck to the tips of his toes–every inch of him covered in strange scales of a depthless onyx. Leather armor covers his chest, forearms, and thighs. It hugs them like a glove, which makes sense, given that all of this is possible because of a pair of black gloves.