Black Clover Nozel Novels & Stories

Five people to sneak into the heart of the enemy. They gathered in a smaller cave that served as an armory. It wasn't filled with swords and shields, but with tools of subtle war. Ronan traded his crystal-tipped spear for a wicked-looking knife made of black, volcanic glass, its edge so sharp it seemed to cut the light. He checked the tension of a powerful, compact crossbow, its bolts tipped with a paralytic toxin derived from a desert scorpion.

But it didn't make it feel better or take the pain away. My fingers trembled as I reached into the pocket of the hoodie I had thrown on after the rogue attack. The small, hard lump I’d felt earlier was still there. I pulled it out. A tiny black norb. Not bigger than a fingernail I was about to throw it away, when I saw a blinking green light coming from it. It was a tracker, Enzo wouldn't put a tracker on me, if he did it wouldn't take him so long to find me when I run away.

I silently followed behind her as she manoeuvred her way through the woods and even though I wanted to ask what had happened here or where Alpha Hunter was, I knew it was better to get out of here before I began to ask any questions. Lux perked up within me and I could feel her nudging me in a particular direction the farther we went. The growls grew louder and it was painfully obvious there was a fight not too far from where we were. "What's going on?" I asked Clara as I turned towards the direction of the noise and she caught my hand. "What do you think you are doing?" She asked just as a howl echoed into the night and recognition dawned on me. "Nic?" I whispered and Clara's eyes bulged as

Jessica led them into the locker room and motioned to a row of open cubbies. “This one’s yours,” she said, patting the nameplate that read RIVERS. “Hooks up top. Gear below. Jerseys in your size should be folded here, we can swap if the fit’s off." Noah dropped his duffel, the weight slipping off his shoulder with a soft thud. He crouched down to inspect the gear. Clean. New. The orange-and-silver colors of the Crestwick Stormriders gleamed under the fluorescent lights, the tornado logo stitched sharply on the chest of each jersey.

"It seems you've had trouble finding the antidote. Pity." Claw groaned, his eyes fluttering open. They were glassy, unfocused. Nox reached into his pocket and withdrew a small bottle that was a little more than the one he’d given me that day. "Looking for this?" Nox asked, his tone light but edged with menace. He dangled the bottle in front of Claw's face, and I saw the dying man's eyes widen with desperate hope.

The door was solid oak with heavy locks. Beautiful, comfortable, and absolutely inescapable. Perfect. I reached carefully into my elaborately styled hair and extracted a small crystal, no bigger than a pearl. The communication device pulsed with soft blue light as I activated it with a whisper of power. "I am in," I whispered quietly. Static crackled for a moment before a familiar voice responded—rough, commanding, tinged with the kind of darkness that made smart people run. "About time, little wolf. Status report."

In the vortex that formed at his feet, the dark red mist began to merge into the rose holy sword, eventually converging on the carved out rose. A silver rose that turns blood red after absorbing the fog. As Noah whispered the blood language, the smile on the Toddlers' faces instantly disappeared. "Bastard! There's no way I'm losing to you!" The Toddlers, enraged, glared at Noah and yelled. "You must not know what it feels like to be stabbed by it, let you remember it well today!" Noah said, raising the sword in his hand. Toddlers immediately made a defensive move, trying to use those metal gloves to defend against Klopp's attack.

“Don’t worry about how well you carve the lines. Consider it an exchange of pack knowledge.” “Chloe Hurst!” Noah roared, his throat vibrating with a suppressed warning rumble. He could see through her cruel game, knowing she was trying to drag me to the middle of the pavilion to turn me into a laughingstock for the entire regional territory.

Kir tells the clerk. The clerk sets the steel cage carefully on a small velvet tray on the counter. "And the plugs," Kir adds, pointing to a different shelf in the case. The clerk pulls out a black cardboard box. Inside are three smooth, black silicone teardrop plugs in escalating sizes. The smallest one has a metallic base. There is a small, flat remote control resting in the cutout next to it. Kir picks up the remote. He presses the center button. The smallest plug immediately starts vibrating against the cardboard packaging with an angry, aggressive hum. The noise is loud in the quiet store.

Twenty feet away Noah's already on a knee, bow up before the dirt's even settled, because staying down isn't in him, and he puts a silver bolt into the thing's wrist joint at a range where he does not miss. He doesn't miss. It doesn't matter. The bolt hits bone and skips off into the dark like he shot a highway overpass. The skull drops through the canopy to look at what tickled it, close now, filling the space between the trees, and Noah, my hunter, my brilliant lunatic, is already reloading. "NOAH, MOVE!" The hand sweeps. He makes it half a step. The edge of one finger catches him mid-dive. Just the edge. Just a clip.