Novel & Cerita Blacksmith Of The Apocalypse

I lifted my head to see what happened to Apocalypse. To my surprise was there a big hole in the ceiling and lots of debris and rubble mixed with wooden beams. I got up and walked over to what was over of the ceiling. I heard some groans coming from under the debris. Apocalypse was barely alive and stuck under big stone pieces and wooden beams. “You have to do better and more than this to stop me, you pathetic woman.” She coughed and spitted a clot of blood.

I was the blacksmith, hammering life into him with every thrust, every ragged breath spilling from my lungs. “Stay,” I rasped, voice breaking but louder than the ringing in my head. “You think you’re some legend feeding off me? You’re here ‘cause I let you. My blood. My body. My fucking fire keeping you solid.” He shuddered, his hands clutching at me, nails biting my back. His form shimmered again, half-sword, half-man, his jaw clenching like he was fighting to hold on. I slammed into him harder, chest heaving, spit flying as I growled, “I ain’t your sheath. I’m the smith. I’m the fire. I make you, Lachlan. You hear me?”

He doesn’t look like the guards—his silhouette is taller, broader, cloaked in soot and silver. A blacksmith, I assume. His hands are calloused, his movements quick but calculated. He approaches the forge with confidence, tools clinking at his belt, and when he sees me—his eyes lock onto mine. There’s something strange about his gaze. Not cruel, but… pitying. Gentle.

I'm just an escort. Yarsi turned around, measured the blacksmith with a calm look. Let this person feel his essence. He even wondered how someone who could understand who he was would react. “I have heard about your skill, blacksmith, I hope you will not refuse to help me,” he bared his fangs in a smile, examining the man with curiosity. The blacksmith was not young, but still quite strong, with a face without wrinkles and a completely bald head. On his face smeared with soot, very bright, understanding eyes burned with feverish lights. It was better to talk to such a person directly, without hiding your intentions.

Lucas the Demon, Biggy the Godly Boxer, White Doll the Steel Limbs, Scarlet the Polar Ice, Rayne the Petrification, and Sven the Ghastly Sword. Lucas' found their names quite interesting. It looked like both Lucas and the Apocalyptic Legion had risen to fame in the Wilderness. Everyone had heard of the name Godly Boxer, Steel Limbs, Polar Ice, Petrification, and Ghastly Sword. Nevertheless, only a handful had witnessed them with their naked eyes.

Sweat ran down the back of my neck. The blacksmith was completely bald, but with a huge walrus moustache. He wore a heavy leather apron that made him look like he had nothing on underneath. I desperately hoped that wasn’t the case. He ignored me and continued to bang away — Pang! Pang! Pang! — red sparks flying in every direction. The hammer could have been borrowed from Thor. He picked a glowing object off the anvil with large pincers and plunged it in a bucket of water. Steam shot into the air. “What is it?” he finally said without looking at me.

But it looks like, he needed to buy the head part of the deity first to unlock their appraisal talent. |In that case, no choice, huh! I must use this finishing touch!| After saying this in his mind, he threw on the ground another ball-shaped object but this time with gray color. The gray-colored ball-shaped object landed near those five white cotton-like ball-shaped objects. After it hit the ground, smoke suddenly raises around it. But it wasn't so thick. Actually, this thing was a smoke bomb, but it only smokes a little. The good thing on it was, it lowered the enemy's vision for a few seconds.

Lana’s brow furrows, “You speak of the four horsemen of the apocalypse? Are you saying my sisters are the horsemen? But they’re…men. Arent they? ” Clotho nods, “You’re thinking of the human’s biblical terms. Of course, the humans would make them all males. Zeus forbid that females be just as vicious as males.” she rolls her eyes, which would be so amusing if the situation wasn’t so dire. “However, the basic concept of the horsemen is the same. You are Abaddon, the destroyer, the antichrist. Whatever religious moniker you are labeled leads to you being the ender of worlds. Once the balance was restored, your true identity and your sisters’ souls would be mobilized.”

I hurriedly follow after him, hoping that if we go quickly, I might still be able to make it to class. Ajax leads me to the weaponry room, where he keeps going straight towards the blacksmith that’s in charge of this room. He’s a big man, and by that, I don’t mean his height. He’s bald and is wearing an eyepatch. A long and deep scar runs from the top of his left forehead to his lips. When he sees Ajax, he smiles, and I can’t believe how yellow they are. Even from this distance, I can already smell his nasty breath, making me pause where I am.

“We’re in fucking Ragnarok.” Perhaps it comforted him to think that his love had been taken from him because it was the end of the world. Then again, perhaps he was right. Perhaps the Nightfall had only been the first stage of an even greater apocalypse—one that Salem, with all his new power, would bring about. Perhaps this was what the Church of Black Heaven had wanted all along. Fine then, I decided. If Salem was to be Black Heaven’s greatest weapon, then I would be the greatest weapon against him.