Assassin Creed Hero Novels & Stories

No one cared how many bastard kids they had, odal’s sons and daughters were automatically odal, but not Afanasiia. If Aurora was his prized possession, Afanasiia was his treasure. He loved her to his heart’s content. He held her in high regard, basically worshipped her or rather worshipped her skills. He had never seen a better assassin than her. She never left a single trace of evidence. He was so proud that every single country’s law enforcement agency was looking for her. Interpol was on high alert, but no one had her picture or name. They just called her – HEELER, a killer who kills with her heels. She always left her heels as souvenirs for the police to find.

I may not be able to take back what was done to her, but I could at least make those men pay. Took a little time, but I managed to find every single one and give them the deaths they so greatly deserved. The only one left was Zephyr. The one who started it all. His death will act as a warning to every man in this room, and maybe, just maybe, it will stop it from happening again. And if it doesn’t, then let them know I’ll be coming for them. They may all know me as Dasha Hatzis, daughter of Mihalis Hatzis; right-hand man of the of the most powerful mafia family in all of Greece. But to the rest of the world, I am known by my codename - Aconite; a lethal assassin who fears no man.

Her hand twitched as though she longed to reach for a weapon that wasn’t there. Marco noticed. He placed a hand over hers, firm and guarding. “Not here.” He murmured under the music, his voice a command more than a suggestion. Alessa inhaled sharply, her gaze flicking away. She hated this–the waiting, the pretending. She was an assassin by nature, trained to strike, not to sit beneath chandeliers while enemies smiled across from her.

And if he killed my father, like he wanted to, there would be a war. My father was well-respected by many. Hero was a new Alpha king, and the other Alphas wouldn't accept his rule easily. They would definitely try to challenge him. Hero was strong and would defeat them all, but then the real danger would begin. Instead of open challenges, there would be secret attempts to assassinate him. It was inevitable. Someone would eventually succeed. Maybe in a few months, maybe a year, but he would be killed. This was unacceptable because he supported me, and I wouldn't allow him to die. I would protect him.

Almighty Heroes’ Ability: Mind Reading [A guy with a lowest ranked among the Heroes present but is extremely dangerous when it become serious as he can read what was your weakness] Name: Cassie Ver Age: 20 years old Identity: Hero HA7 Additional Identity: Superstar [Actress] Ability: Love-sick Potion Original World: Earth ‘Not a Transmigrator. Almighty Heroes’ [She will glance in a direct way at someone eyes if they give her a moment of interest, causing for the victim person to have lovesickness towards her for a long time]

How can someone who murders a person be capable of the greatest skill of all, healing? Lucien, I need to remember his name instead of just ‘the assassin’ softly knocking on the door late into the night. I sent Kyra to deal with him but even I had to admit he looked immaculate in a crisp white shirt. He was wearing one of Alexanders, but it was stretched to the max over his wider shoulders and muscles.

And I was going with him. A Spartan warrior, tied directly to House Ares, on a secret mission involving assassins, monsters, and a weapon pulled from the very fabric of myth. The sheer, audacious insanity of it was breathtaking. We worked in the pre-dawn stillness, the tavern our sanctuary. While Hypatos checked and rechecked his gear, his movements economical and precise, I became the logistics expert I never knew I was. I pulled out old maps from beneath the floorboards, their creased parchment smelling of dust and forgotten journeys.

He puffed deeply, inhaling the menthol smoke, which buzzed against the back of his throat. Stupid motherfuckers. All of them. Especially Deyquan, ragging on his terrorist theory. Like he knew any better. Such bullshit. Seriously. A girl dead in the bathroom, drowned in a fucking sink. Who did that? Not your average psycho-serial killer. That was straight-up, hardcore assassin shit. Like stabbing someone’s brain through their eye with a pen. Or strangling them with piano wire. He should know. He played Assassin’s Creed and Call of Duty and Splinter Cell, 24-7. He’d seen all the Jason Bourne movies, too.

She was smiling at him sheepishly, trying to look apologetic. “I’ll get right on this, sir,” she promised enthusiastically. “I’ll call you for any update.” Zach turned back his laptop towards him the minute his door closed. He erased the name of Damon on the search tab and this time type the word, Scepter, Marshall, and Worthington. He clicked enter and then waited for the results that their database can give him. He sat up straight when an interesting subject caught his eye at the database results. It contains an article pertaining to Scepter, an unknown and high-profile person of interest in the Middle East.

My heart raced, hand gripping the wall behind me. Red eyes stood behind him, a dagger glimmered in the moonlight. The light beam shone across the red eyes figure’s face. It’s lower part of his face covered by a black mask. The Assassin. “And I deserve to return to my prison, where Hades will send me to judgment,” Ir’ak let out a ragged breath. The dagger, once twinkling in the small light from the window, plunged into Ir’ak’s neck. His legs knees dropped into the carpet.