Black Rock Shooter Novels & Stories

In his life. I slid out of bed quietly, my legs still aching from the night before, and padded toward the soft glow coming from the kitchen. I didn’t know what I expected to find, but it wasn’t him leaning against the counter, bare-chested and half in shadow, nursing a glass of water like it might drown his demons. For a moment, I just watched him. Dominic Blackwood wasn’t beautiful in a traditional sense. He was all sharp edges and hard lines. A man built like a weapon, forged in fire and sharpened by circumstance.

The entire hall held its breath. Suddenly, the emergency exit at the back slammed shut. The lights flickered off for a second—and when they came back on, Raghav was standing right in front of the stage. But he wasn’t standing like a human being. His feet were pressed against a chair, his body bent forward unnaturally, as if an invisible thread were pulling him from above. His neck twisted slowly at an impossible angle. Crack. Crack. Crack. Like bones shifting into new positions. Someone screamed.

The sound of fracturing carbon-fiber armor and snapping bone echoed through the lab as the assassin was lifted off the ground, crashing violently into a row of metal storage lockers fifty feet away. The fourth assassin panicked, discarding his heavy rifle and drawing a high-frequency vibro-blade from his hip. He lunged at Rhys’s throat, but Rhys simply raised his left arm. The vibro-blade slammed against the dense carbon-fiber plates of the moonstone wraps, emitting a shower of bright orange sparks.

The gunshot rang out. Everything went black.

Video shoots are my least favorite thing that we have to do. I hate the whole process. They are repetitive and boring. I just want this to be done so we can get back to Los Angeles. The album is done and this is the first single off of it. The song is amazing. This is the last day of the shoot. The other guys have already shot their parts. I walk downstairs to the kitchen. There is a group of models admiring themselves in the mirror they are trying to catch our drummer Devon’s attention. He however is engrossed in a conversation with our manager Brady.

With shaking fingers, he pressed play. The room fell into complete silence as the video began. Every lie. Every rumor. Every insinuation. Each word was like a knife driven into Ethan's chest. By the time the video ended, his breathing had become ragged. He covered his face with one hand, then exploded. "Fuck!" He stood abruptly. "Fuck! Fuck! Fuck!" The raw anguish in his voice stunned everyone in the room. Even Pete clenched his jaw, his expression darkening with fury. Ethan turned to him, his eyes blazing.

This way I can clear my head and be in the right headspace, as well as warming up my muscles and feeling prepared. On the turf, I set down my stuff and put in my earbuds. Listening to music always calms my pre-game nervousness. * Work it, make it, do it, makes us Harder, better, faster, stronger N-now th-that, that don't kill me Can only make me stronger I need you to hurry up now 'Cause I can't wait much longer' ... This life's go no escape, Go hard until I can't see straight, Sunlight burn in' my eyes,

The street lamps began to crumble just like they had done the day of the accident, the earth crumbling as the ground quaked. “Seems you could use a little help, little vamparina.” A masculine voice resonated in the air. Vamparina? There he stood, along with my parents, his eyes red, his black dreadlocks running down along his face, his muscles big, merging perfectly with his physique, his perfectly chiseled jawline with a black cloak on. “Blood!” They groaned. “Back to the underworld.” He said as he raised his hands. The air stood still, flame engulfing the creatures in a minute. Groans filled the air as they began to disintegrate into soot, flowing along with the wind.

He walked over to Rook's weapon rack. He picked up a heavy, kinetic sniper rifle. Real steel. Real bullets. "They want a war?" Ren racked the bolt. "Let's show them how we play on a hardcore server."