Blackness Marine Novels & Stories

’ Vuk pressed, tone clipped. “You want to discuss that here?” ‘Yes. Either that or you’re going to show her how hard she makes you.’ I glanced down at the problem pressing against my zipper. “There’s no response from the Arabs,” I muttered under my breath, dragging my mind somewhere else. “And no black wolf sightings.” Black Wolves were extinct for a reason. They were fucking brutal—beasts bred from the demon wolf line. Whoever wanted one either planned to use them as mercenaries or to bleed them dry for their power.

But I lost him because I was too proud to respect that he didn’t want to be a ruthless killer. But I’m done. For once, I will protect my son instead of just protecting myself. I, Nicholas Black, Gamma of the Midnight pack, hereby challenge you, Alpha Richard Harvey of the Midnight pack, for the Alpha title.”

I grew weak, drawing close to the darkness. I heard cries of my name and the wailing of sirens in a distance. Darkness finally consumed me, I had blacked out.

Entering the water, I raise my hands and pull the boat under the waves and direct it to the abyss. Breaching the surface, I shriek loudly, and we move towards Moonlight Cove. “Show them no mercy. Keep the children alive. Everyone else, kill them all.” I say through the link. We emerge on the beach and we all shift. Clothes have been left near the water for us. We all dress and move up the beach. The storm rages on and we start to jog before we sprint. First place on the hit list. Montgomery Fishing Corp. We move silently, like the predators we are. The building comes into view as I signal for us all to stop and crouch low. The smell of fish in the air and I growl.

Meanwhile somewhere far away from the traffic jam, There's a lady standing on the roof top of a 9 storey building, checking on Badmus with binoculars and a 200M military grade sniper with a long range laser optic scopes on it. The lady's name is Elizabeth who goes by the code name of {Black Ace ♠️} , She's also a member of the Prime X force and just like Diamond and the others, she was tasked with the order to take out Badmus. But unlike her team mates, Black ace was different in every way.

"They tracked the boat's signature. Dominic’s hounds or Killian’s shadows... it doesn't matter. We need to move." I peered through the rear window. Two black SUVs skidded to a halt at the entrance of the marina. But they weren't working together. The SUV on the left bore the Blackwood crest—Dominic’s men. The one on the right was unmarked, sleek, and silent—Killian’s elite hitters.

scar on his chest was no longer burning, but had become… pitch black, like a true “hollow.” He used his last strength. “Boss!” Marcus rushed over. “The ship…” Jack’s voice was weak, “Alia…can it… be repaired?” “The engine room…is completely destroyed…” Alia’s voice was choked with sobs, “We…we’re sinking…” The “Black Mary” was slowly sinking. Just then, a muffled, thunderous engine roar echoed from the horizon. It wasn't the "Deepsea Hound," nor was it a warship. It was a… a colossal, unimaginably black… nuclear-powered submarine.

A heavy, biting blizzard tore down from the highest mountain peaks, carrying the sharp scent of oncoming sleet and the ancient, calcified frost of the northern ranges. Through the shifting gray curtains of the snowstorm, the vanguard of the Abyssal Purebloods emerged like a fleet of drifting phantoms. Nearly eighty heavy war-galleons, their massive, deep-bellied hulls constructed from reinforced whalebone and dark black-iron plating, glided through the narrow channels of the reef in absolute, disciplined silence. They did not carry the standard glowing lanterns of the trade guilds or the silver insignias of the Eastern ports. Their sails were completely blacked out, matted with soot to absor

"I’m going to deliver a gift." Two hours later, the white expanse of the Icelandic sea was disrupted by the silent ascent of a Black Rose submarine. From its deck, a modified Black Hawk, painted in a matte charcoal that swallowed the light, lifted into the air. It tore through the freezing fog, a shadow among shadows, heading straight for the heart of the enemy blockade.

Salt. Bad odor. And darkness that claims common sense. In the middle of a Mediterranean coast that is not recorded on any nautical chart, a rusty steel shipping container is tossed about by the tidal waves. Inside, in a knee-deep pool of seawater seeping through welded cracks, a man nearly rots but refuses to die. Julian Blackwood.