Battlefield 4 Recker Novels & Stories

Reaper The sound of a fist crunching against bone echoed in the storage room, a gross, wet thump against the bare concrete walls. “Please… Reaper… I.. I swear, I didn't know it…” I didn't respond. Instead, I adjusted the big silver ring I always wore on my right hand and swung again, hitting Ricky hard. He was just some low-level guy who ran drugs for us and he had been stealing a bit regularly from the fentanyl shipments. He dropped to the floor, spitting out blood onto the stained floor.

But deep down, she knew there was more as to why she wanted to see him. ~ The Same Day. Ryker's Fortress. Ryker's Fortress, a grotesque monument to his ambition and ruthlessness, was nestled deep within a dense, ancient forest. The very air around it seemed to crackle with a dark energy. It was a place where shadows held tangible weight, and fear was a constant companion. He called them the Bloodshed Warriors, his rogue army, a band of outcasts, criminals and power-hungry wolves drawn to his magnetic charisma and promises of dominion.

My warriors come first. Ricky is the worst. He is bleeding heavily from a gash going from the side of his head down to his shoulder blade. I tell him through our link to hold on as we start to slowly drag him off of the battlefield. He is howling in pain from the movement. I link to all of my warriors I tell anyone who is able to follow them. I want to know who the hell we are dealing with now.

Large pieces of flesh look torn and burnt. This is Ryker’s work, his hammer, accompanied by his explosive abilities does a number on large creatures like these. The dust settles around the rest of the area and I see four more hydra creatures lying dead on the ground. I hear the agonising screams of men behind us. Looking back I see a large number of Ryker’s men being dragged away from the battle by recruits. The men are badly injured, covered in burns and some have lost limbs. I am surprised at the efficiency of the recruits. One drags while three others protect them in a half circle formation, facing the battle, until they have been taken into the tree line. Once safe they run back into the

I wobble on my feet, completely exhausted but manage to keep the stray wolf firmly in a chokehold. He lets out a cruel laughter, like his teammates dead around him didn't mean anything. "You fight a losing battle. We have a weapon that can kill an immortal." He throws his head back, letting out a hysterical laugh. "You fight a losing battle, mortals!" Ryker's hand extends into a claw, which he plunges into the man's side. I let go of him, watching the last of the rogues crumble to the floor. "They drive me fucking mad," Ryker mutters, walking away, barking out orders to Ragnar's minions.

Ryker was done waiting for scraps of permission. This war was his now. And if Thorne wanted a front-row seat? Fine. Let the bastard watch. Let him see how a real Ford finished what their father started. Ryker flipped a switch. The transmitter pulsed once, then went dark—buried again. He would let it activate only once they got close. Let Hale think he’d won. Let Cali believe she was safe. And when they relaxed? When they let their guard drop for a second? He’d rip everything away.

I was beaten down, exhausted, and I really wanted to just be there for the kid. "Yeah, I guess. My name is Dexter. Do you want to play army?" He asked handing me a plane while he had a tank. "Yeah, actually I would love too. My name is Ryker." "That's not your name, but I'll call you that if you want. Come on soldier get that bomb in the air and to the enemy territory, pronto." Dexter went straight into play which made me actually laugh. This boy was definitely something special.

He grabbed a second submachine gun from the wall rack and checked the chamber with a metallic clack that sounded like a death knell. ​"They’re in the lower tunnels," he growled, his eyes fixed on the security monitors. The screens showed thermal signatures—ghostly white figures emerging from the black water of the grotto. They were moving with military precision, draped in sleek rebreather gear and carrying compact, high-caliber weapons. "The Reapers. The Council’s personal cleanup crew. They don't take prisoners, Leona. They erase mistakes." ​"And we're the biggest mistake they ever made," I said, my voice surprisingly steady as I tightened the grip on the sidearm he’d given me. The adrenal

Dad persuaded, cocking his gun. Erik was already in full battle gear, a bulletproof vest shielding his body, an AK 47 at hand with a belt of grenades slanted on his body. He handed dad a vest as well, passing over an M249. “Dad, Mom,” I voiced, biting back the tears brimming on the side of my eyes. I was sure my heartbeat was louder than the echoes of gunfire coming from all directions. “We just got back together. We can walk out of here alive, the four of us. Don’t give up just yet.”

His hand jutting out into the space between us for a handshake. “Alpha Xander,” I state, nodding to Fletcher, still in wolf form, “my Beta Fletcher.” Turning to Andrew, I introduce him as well. “Beta Andrew of New Moon.” Nodding at the others, the man introduces himself, “Gamma Derek, and some of Northern Lakes’ warriors.” Nodding in appreciation, I pull out the tactical gear from my bag. Andrew remains silent and brooding, but he does the same. The others stand around awkwardly watching us, Derek’s eyes on my shoulder blade and the blurred mark sitting there.