Blacksmith Of The Apocalypse Novels & Stories

The reinforced steel gate opened slowly. Years of dust and weather groaned through its heavy hinges as sunlight spilled across the concrete courtyard beyond. No one lowered their weapons immediately. Neither side trusted easily anymore. That was what almost three years of the apocalypse had taught everyone. Natasha remained where she was, her heartbeat had finally begun to settle, but her thoughts had not. The image of the Night Hunter being thrown backward replayed over and over inside her mind. It's not as if she touched or fired at it. She hadn't even raised her hand, yet something inside her responded.

Above us, the fifteen-ton mechanical hammer reached the bottom of its secondary swing. The concussive pressure wave hit the dais first, a wall of dense, superheated gravity that slammed my spine flat against the lodestone runes. The skin of my palms, already peeled to the red meat, fused completely with the glowing patterns as I funneled the volatile, surging hybrid fire from my core straight into the primary anchor bolts of the anvil. The hammer didn't hit the stone this time. It hit the very air above the moat.

He sneers. There it is. Doesn't matter how many years pass, they never forget what I am. I push myself off the stone floor slowly, joints stiff from another night pressed against the damp wall. I don't rush. I don't stumble. Weakness gets noticed here, and noticed things don't last long. I step into the thin strip of torchlight spilling through the open cell. The guard looks... disappointed. They always are. After hearing stories about the Thalorien traitors, people expect something terrifying. A monster. A girl with madness in her eyes.

He became a skilled blacksmith just like Bowen, his adoptive father, The Genius Blacksmith. One day, hundreds of years ago ... Bowen could feel an evil aura approaching the blacksmith workshop, where he worked. He stopped the work of forging iron, then hurried to block the door with heavy iron bars. The Dwarf hurriedly extinguished the fire by dousing it with water, causing a sizzling hot smoke. The suppressing evil aura drew closer. Bowen didn't know who was out there. Whoever, the intentions were definitely not good. He didn't like the arrival of these uninvited guests. He had a bad feeling.

Her back hit the concrete walls made of cobblestones. Like Maleficent, Apollo Sky used one of his wings to cover his body from the debris that flew in his direction. With his arm covering his face, amid the cloud of dust around them, his stormy gray eyes widened upon realizing why Damon blew the iron bars. “You are not allowed to free her. Or else – ”

"I know you're one of Schneider's men, but I'm not going to let you go in this state. You definitely need proper treatment." With ease, the people lifted themselves up, walking with steady, steady steps in contrast to their less muscular bodies, like Askarovich. It was only when they had walked quite a distance and their eyes were no longer glaring from the sun, did they realised the identity of the man who was carrying them just now. Alec Berthold. The grandson of Pierre Berthold—a human blacksmith who was granted immortality by the goddess Morrigan and renowned as the only master weapon maker from time to time who could resonate with the magical powers of the old man's clients, who were mo

She quickly turned her head to see the commotion, (as well as the other students) when they heard two more explosions — also paired with intense suffering; this time, it came from two students who were next to each other at the far back. What Mariana's eyes witnessed was a horrific sight. The person behind her was an earth mage and like most of them that she had seen, he wore a mud-colored robe with metal armor covering his chest — except his was trickled with spots of blood. His face was pale white as he put pressure on his dismantled hand to stop the blood from gushing out. His paper, unreadable anymore with all the bloodstains and ink that spilled from the tumbled ink bottle; his quill, o

Clearly, he could see that it hurt his father's reputation, for being publicly embarrassed both by his name being slammed across every media site, when it had nothing to do with praising his name. He was angry, but being angry wouldn't help to tackle the issue at hand. The Blacksmiths! Someone had called the Blacksmiths on them, and they had no idea who it was, what agenda that person had to make if not to kill the Castillo family, and take their business. The Blacksmiths are a secret organization dealing with mercenaries, more like hired assassins in the underground known for their ruthless ways of killing their victims. The unique thing about them is their secrecy and coordinated way of do

Later that year Hunter was pulling on his tuxedo as Ava stepped up beside him in the mirror with the sexiest dress he’d ever seen her in. The perfect slave dress for a spicy island night that would change their lives forever. With his father back at the helm of the Apollyon Corporation. Hunter had more time to spend on his own projects and managed to get his ideas in the right hands to help people across the globe. His most recent project, helping reunite families who were victims of crimes and human trafficking.

"Do you think we'd be able to live if they were all dead?" "You don't have anything to worry about as long as I'm here," said Wilbur calmly. "How am I supposed to not worry? We have three Sanctuary level cultivators, and none of them is any match for that stupid ape," said Cameron. Just then, the ape sent a few adventurers flying as it let out a cry of agony. At the same time, Gobu's spell was finally complete. He put his palms together, crying out, "Thor's Signal!" A huge bolt of lightning came down from the sky, striking the ape squarely on its body.