Battlefield 4 Recker Novels & Stories

followed by the deep, rhythmic footprint of a man who thought he was safe in his own fortress. I reached for my Beretta out of habit, but the practical, asshole part of my brain reminded me that the recoil of a .45 would probably collapse my lung for good this time, so I shoved the gun back and pulled the combat blade from my belt instead. I stepped out of the shadows just as the guard turned the corner, and for a split second, the kid's eyes went wide as he realized the Reaper was currently standing in his basement looking like a ghost that had been chewed up by a lawnmower.

“You’re the only one I trust not to let your dick do the thinking. She’s family. You keep her breathing. End of discussion.” Rebekah’s pulse hammered in her ears. She risked a glance at Ryker. Forty-five years old and carved like a weapon—broad shoulders, thick forearms corded with muscle, a jaw you could cut glass on, and silver threading the black hair at his temples. The scar that sliced through his left eyebrow made him look mean until he smiled. He wasn’t smiling now. He met her eyes for half a second, then looked away like the sight of her burned.

Tavin was beside him a second later, gutting a soldier in mid-turn, not stopping to watch him fall. They carved space into the madness. One of the North Creek fighters—Kael’s younger brother, Emrin—caught Ryker’s eye. His face was pale, mouth working like he wanted to speak but couldn’t over the screaming. Ryker grabbed his collar. “Form a wedge! Press them into the choke!” “Can’t—” “You can,” Ryker barked, shoving him forward. The defenders rallied. Two lines. Shields forward, blades out. A brutal dance of inches.

Kayson was honestly surprised and quickly replied, “Alright, alright, I agree.” He did not want to embarrass himself. People would laugh at him. Only then did Leon get up with a smile and ask, “Dr. Yarde, what’s this thing on the floor?” Kayson was quiet for a moment before he answered, “It’s probably named Smasher Core, from what I know. “But its former self is something known as the Reka Pill. When one takes it, one’s internal injuries will recover, and they will reach peak condition within a short span of time.

Each cry carried the weight of a name, a memory, a life taken too soon. Hugo’s shoulders sagged under the burden of leadership, the responsibility of protecting the family that looked to him for strength. Ryker’s death was a wound that cut deeper than any physical injury. He could still see it—his loyal friend and soldier, lifeless in his arms, the blood soaking into his clothes as the storm raged around them. In those final moments, Ryker’s wolf form had shifted back into his human body, his face pale and streaked with blood but filled with a quiet resolve.

Beta Jack is calling everyone back. “Looks like something’s happening,” Alec says. We rejoin the group. I stay toward the back. Away from Joric and Britney. Away from anyone who might ask questions. Then I see him. Ryker steps onto the platform. He’s wearing simple clothes. Dark jeans. Black shirt. But he commands attention without trying. My breath catches. Sable stirs immediately. Stay calm, I beg her. I’m trying. “Thank you all for being here,” Ryker says. His voice carries easily. Strong. Steady. “This tournament is about showing your strength. Your courage. Your loyalty to your pack.”

Soon she felt a firm material right above her ankle. She snapped open her eyes and saw him clasping that dagger sheath at her crus. She didn't know what he was trying to do but better knew than defying him. After clasping the sheath securely Ryker tucked the dagger in it. The dagger has in his name with his date of birth carved on it as: Ryker Verlice 28.09.1994

Every strike landed with the memory of an elder’s smirk, my father’s nod, the hall roaring while she walked out alone. Recce wanted something that screamed. The warrior fell wrong. His shoulder popped with a crack that cut through the haze. He cried out. Silence fell. I stared at him too long, chest heaving, hands shaking. “Get the healer,” I said flatly. The Beta stepped onto the sand, face grim. “Enough.” “No.” “Enough,” he repeated, low. “You’re not punishing us—you’re punishing yourself. The yard isn’t where you bleed that out.” He’s right, Recce snarled. Find a real fight.

Their patch gleamed back at him, a crude mockery of the venom curling in their name. One of them — tall, broad, eyes glinting like a man who’d lived his whole life looking for fights — stepped forward. His grin cut through the dark like a blade. “Evening, boys,” he called. “Heard you been busy up north. Thought we’d drop by and say hello.” Rhett’s hands itched for his gun. He could already see it — the man’s head snapping back, blood spraying the dirt, his body crumpling like trash.

he said, his voice firm. Ryker grinned, his eyes sparkling with amusement. "Finally, we have warrior Eirak," he said, his voice filled with admiration. "Eirak is a stealthy warrior, able to slip in and out of the shadows unnoticed. He once infiltrated the rival pack's camp and gathered crucial information that allowed us to defeat them in battle." Thane's eyes widened, his expression impressed. "That's quite a feat," he said, his voice thoughtful. Ryker nodded, a smile spreading across his face. "And that's not all," he said, his voice filled with enthusiasm. "Eirak has also proven himself to be a skilled fighter, able to take down multiple opponents with ease."