Ashfur Warriors Novels & Stories

While Carl had spiky brown hair, olive-toned skin and deep emerald eyes, Adrian on the other hand had fair skin, blond crew cut hair and deep blue eyes. “F**k Asphalt warriors team. They’re no match with us, why would anyone in their right senses make us compete with them?” jade cussed, rolling her eyes and crossing her arms at the same time. Since the Asphalt Warriors are their rivals with the same potential and skills, every member of the Wild Hogs team detested them and believed that they should not be friends. After jade finished her statement, murmurs erupted and Carl banged his fist on the wall to silence them.

Our connection isn’t as developed as mine and Nick’s but we can still make out their emotions, muted in comparison through the link. Focusing back on Asher, we zip past a few more groups battling, the wolves clearly winning against the few bears remaining. Some even stumble back, shifting to their human form and scurrying into cars before they peel away. Asher glances behind him only a few feet from his armored cars now. He smirks at us, his eyes finding ours almost immediately as though he knew we couldn’t resist following.

Alex What happened to me during the battle was amazing. I had never felt that much power before. I was told that my fur had golden coloured highlights and my eyes were bright. The description reminded me of Sam's wolf. The light that exploded around me was the same as the one that Sam's wolf shot out of her eyes. Her wolf had only put them to sleep then, but when the same power worked through me, it killed everyone it touched.

POV: Rhea Mooncrest "Ash! Stop! This isn't the mission! You told me the mission was to save the world, not burn it!" Rhea’s voice was raw, a jagged sound that tore through the freezing, violet-tinted mist of the Wastes. She was huddled in the sapphire rubble, her fingers digging into the permafrost until her nails bled. Above her, suspended in the center of the swirling rift, was the creature that had once been the Alpha of the Silverfangs. Ash Ryder was no longer a man; he was a monument of obsidian and ultraviolet light. His grey furs had been replaced by a jagged armor of shadow-matter, and his eyes—those beautiful, haunted grey eyes—were now twin suns of predatory violet radiation.

He looked with his bloody eyes at the one who ran away, quickly running towards them, blocking their way Fight me, you rewards! He screamed in his mind angrily, even though he knew they didn't hear him, but he was angry, blindly angry! They hurt his girlfriend, they simply hurt her! They wanted to kill her with the despicableness His anger increased, and his fur became black mixed with red, indicating his overwhelming anger A tear fell from his eye as he reached out and grabbed one of the wolves that howled for help To make it into guts in his hand and throw it at them

But our shield bearers held firm, the clang of steel ringing sharp and clear. I moved forward, voice booming over the chaos. “Hold the line! Protect the scouts! This is our land now!” The clash was fierce - warriors moving with fluid grace and brutal intent. I felt the familiar surge of power, the wolf inside me rising to meet the battle’s call. Blades flashed, bodies tumbled, and the ground seemed to tremble beneath the fury. Through the chaos, I saw Kira fighting like a tempest, her scarred face fierce and unyielding. The Ashmoon Alpha was a pillar of strength, his presence rallying the fighters around him.

One still twitching, eyes wide in horror as he choked on blood. And standing over them… “Fuck,” I whispered. Rogues. Not one. Not two. Seven. Massive. Wild-eyed. Feral wolves with patches of missing fur and twisted limbs like they’d been broken and healed wrong. Their eyes glowed silver, frothing at the mouths, muscles coiled too tightly under mangled skin. One of them raised his head. And grinned. “Asher…!” I turned just as he skidded to a halt beside me, sword already drawn.

Blood stained the clearing, a crimson proof of the fight for survival. Draven, a whirlwind of silver fur and sharp teeth, moved like a predator, each strike a testament to his honed skills, each growl a chilling reminder of his might. He cut through the enemy ranks, a beacon of hope for the Howling Wind pack, a storm of fury against the darkness. Asher, a loyal wolf, moved with the grace of a panther, his eyes never leaving his target. He fought with the precision of an expert, his claws a blur of deadly accuracy.

The Death Wolf lunged. Claws carved through the air, seeking Heratte’s flesh. His attack struck true, raking down her arm—only for the black blood that spilled to stitch itself back together. Heratte smirked. She saw the flicker of disbelief in his glowing eyes. He attacked again. They clashed, an unstoppable force against an immovable object, drawing each other’s blood like predators locked in an eternal war. Their bodies crashed against trees, uprooting them with the sheer force of their battle, leveling the land beneath them.

I stood with my fingers tapping idly against the armrest of my chair, watching as Shahar beat the hell out of two warriors. He was enraged, his fury barely contained as his fists connected with flesh, each strike carrying the weight of unspoken frustration. The warriors had barely lifted their arms in defense, but Shahar didn’t care—he wanted them to feel his wrath.