Avatar Mech Suits Novels & Stories

The impact sent a jarring vibration up my arm. It wasn't flesh. It was a Harvester Shell, layered in synthetic armor that hummed with a low-frequency dampener. The figure didn’t grunt. Its blue optical sensors flashed in a staccato rhythm, struggling to track my acceleration. I didn't give it the window to recalibrate. I seized the edge of its high-collar suit, my silver threads igniting with a violet roar. The air around my knuckles crackled with static, the smell of scorched insulation and hot copper filling the small space.

He fought down a smile. Liv's breaths came quickly as her eyes locked on his body. He had muscles she hadn't even known existed. He was like a marble sculpture, all hard planes and valleys, veins popping out from his extraordinary muscles. When his thumbs tugged down his briefs, her breath caught in anticipation, but he shifted before Liv could even get a glance at what was under the black cloth. She jerked in surprise. Between one blink and the next, he'd gone from a muscled Viking warrior to a huge, white wolf. He was so large she thought he looked like one of the Dire wolves from Game of Thrones.

But the Iron Vanguard was the elite fist of the capital, and they did not break as easily as the port garrison. From the center of the artillery line, a massive, steam-vented gate in the commander’s pavilion slid open. Stepping out into the firelight was a mechanical horror that made the front-line vanguard defenders instinctively hesitate: an eight-foot-tall, bipedal iron mechanized exo-suit, its thick plates painted in the dark, matte green of the capital's heavy legions. Small, sputtering steam-donkeys were mounted to its shoulders, spitting sharp bursts of gray vapor to stabilize the massive weight of the machine's limbs.

He looked up to see it revert to where it had come from. Lucas caught it with one arm, fixing it as the shield glinted with its concentric black and white circles that matched his spy-esque suit as he had on a black mask over his face and a kind of black and white stealth suit. Someone else appeared on Viper's side, donned in black attire and a mask over her cheek bones. Carmen was brandishing a sparkling arrow in a bow. Her brother appeared next to Lucas, his sword in hand, looking like a cyber-punk gladiator. They all had various outfits which seemed to match their traits.

War fought the urge to growl at his superior as he smiled briefly at Pomelia before re-adjusting the mirror. "Where am I? We left the compound," she gasped, looking out the window with a look of fear on her face. She was shaking slightly, glancing at Alpha Khan before looking, to War, then at Trent. She was obviously intimidated by all of the male energy in the car.

"Cassian's people in the South are buying these grafts by the hundreds. If we don't adapt, we become a museum piece while the rest of the world moves on." Malakor’s Masterpiece The Merchant Prince wasn't content with just repairing the broken. He was designing something new: the Steam-Wolf Suit. It was a full exoskeleton of Aether-powered armor that allowed a human to fight with the strength of a High Alpha. "The beauty of this, Lady Lyra," Malakor said, leading her into his private workshop, "is that it levels the playing field. Why should the 'bloodline' decide who leads? With enough coal, any man can be a King."

"It’s too slow. If I am fighting a Leviathan, a half-second delay in mechanical translation will get me crushed." "So how does it move?" Elara asked, tracing a complex array of silver wiring on the parchment. "It's heavy, Jace. Even with the minimalist geometry, the dense core-metal plating has to weigh over a thousand pounds. Your physical muscles can't lift an arm piece, let alone walk in it." "I won't be using my muscles," I replied, rolling up my sleeves to expose the ruined, bruised-purple iron veins mapping my forearms. "The suit isn't armor. It's a prosthetic. I am going to wire my cooked nervous system directly into the abyssal metal."