Novel & Cerita Beowulf Graphic

Still in the room Beam had led me to, I marveled at everything Beam had achieved in her art. Drawings of werewolves in different shifting forms were pasted in one out of the four walls of the room. My senses offered a tingle when I realized that we were both all alone. Before I could say what I was about to say, I felt someone punch me with a spiked glove. Beam screamed out of fear! She ran towards the door trying to open it, but surprisingly we had been locked in from the outside.

“What do you have in mind?” My lips tightened. Even though we were chess pieces in a battle between gods and Fenrir had saved the day, there was something I could do to even the score. Something the wolf god had mentioned earlier drifted to the front of my mind, germinating an idea that made my lips curl into a smile. “That asshole and his pals at the Supernatural Council are going to regret treating us like pawns,” I said. Hours later, Griff and I returned with Lydia and the enforcers to the Living World, where I discovered why Beowulf had rejected Lydia and sacrificed her to Fenrir.

Tilting my head to the side, I studied the hulking man. He had bigger muscles and a broader frame. All of his body looked sculpted from marble, but a white beard covered his strong, square jaw. On his pectorals, a new masterpiece of ethereal blue ink displayed two majestic wolf heads. They mirrored each other with snarling elegance. Their manes curved and widespread across his shoulders like smoke from an old fire, depicting a whirling mixture of fur, tribal fires, and esoteric designs. The intricate lines seemed so alive, as if they thrummed with power and divine lineage.

Elena walked toward the nearest carved panel, her breath catching as her eyes traced the ancient, deeply etched lines of the stone. The mural didn't depict a grand royal lineage or a court of smiling nobles. It was a visual record of a slaughterhouse. Massive stone figures of Alaric’s early blood-smiths were shown binding human and werewolf infants to stone altars, their hands holding long, multi-pronged silver needles designed to extract and test the fluid in their veins.

The drawings she and Carl had been working on all morning. I looked at the colorful pages. Stick figures and wobbly wolves and bright yellow suns. "I think that's a wonderful idea." The children moved through the tent like small rays of sunshine. Stopping at each cot. Offering drawings with solemn sincerity. "This one's for you," Carl told a wolf with a bandaged arm. "It's a picture of a really strong wolf. That's you." The guard—a grizzled warrior who had probably seen a hundred battles—stared at the crude drawing. Something softened in his weathered face.

He growled in fury as he swayed his body and lifted high in the air, catching a hawk that tried to poke his eyes. Thorin swung his claws to the hawk, sending waves of deep wounds to its face and piercing his eye with his claws. The hawk squeaked in excruciating pain. However, Thorin and I weren't able to prepare yet when the eagle and werebears lunged together, pulling me down to the ground. The wound on my back was healing, but these werebears held me tightly while the eagle tried to attack my eyes. I gathered all my strength to fight them, and when I was about to bite the bear's neck, a spark of lightning sent them all floating in the air.

Helgar had her eyes averted, but Beowulf stared straight at her. The corners of his lips lifted in a cruel smile as he spoke, "It's a good thing they passed peacefully. Weak creatures like them always bring trouble to the pack." Scarlett lunged suddenly, overcome by a surge of violent rage. She attacked Beowulf and managed to scratch her nails across his face before Caleb caught her and pulled her away. Beowulf slowly ran a hand across his cheek, wiping off the blood before the scratch healed. His expression changed suddenly, his eyes peeling to pure black.

Besides the floating woman, there is another image of the same Goddess, now bound into shackles as a man stands in front of her. Her features are not clear in that image either, but her green eyes glow dangerously while the man’s broad back makes me take a look at him again. The third image follows with a man carrying a child whose face looks like...that of a wolf but his body is normal. My heart misses a terrible beat as I look at the last image of the story. It’s a Beast howling towards a moon. His frame is blurred, making it seem like the painting is older than it looks.

Beowulf scoffed"hmm,I don't know what you are talking about,what's the reason behind your stupid act of interrupting my peace" "You are a coward to be an alpha,I have really heard a lot about you,am disappointed to see such a pup"Luke replied sizing him up. Alpha Beowulf was provoked with what he said,one thing werewolves especially Alphas hated was someone looking down on them,they were creatures who had pride.

“Return,” Abe stated, and the Wyvern that moved with him became a midst that filled his right arm. On his scaled right arm appeared the marking of a Wyvern with its mouth wide open. The drawing light up, and Abe’s right hand was engulfed by a great red light much deeper than the scales that concealed his human frame. Abe pulled his arm back with great force like a bowstring. Great power was gathered into his curled up fist as his speed greatly increased. And like a flash of light he disappeared, leaving behind nothing but an afterimage.