Bloodsoaked Champion Novels & Stories

The boy kept his grasp on my hand, then he hoisted it up and another cheer rose vibrant and deafening around us. Our hands dropped and he turned to me, looking me up and down. "You're good." I grinned, clutching at my side, "You too." Suddenly hands constricted around my waist and the Champion froze. "What the hell is going on here?" I sighed, "Ben." He kept his arm around me from behind, his chest on my back. But his eyes were trained on the champion. "Dante," his voice was a cold, dangerous calm, "why is Carrie bleeding?"

I only had one form left, to imagine that I was even considering using it is proof of how difficult this battle is. Slowly the number of demons was diminishing but there were still too many. Everywhere I turned it was demon after demon. I was getting injuries from all sides and places. I do not think there was a single area on my body which did not contain blood, MY blood. Marcus!

The beastkin was overpowering the champion, wounding him in different places. The beastkin and the champion exchanged blows and swing for what seemed like an eternity and the champion has started to grow tired while the beastkin still has a lot of stamina remaining. The champion fell to his knees, the crowd gasped. The beastkin get close to the fallen champion, dragging his heavy claymore along. The champion tried to stay upright, leaning on his sword. He could barely move, he felt like it was the end of his line. His only regret that if he is defeated here, this evil challenger will be the champion; he does not want to imagine what this person would do after receiving the blessing of the go

He also had a good athletic build, they all did, but he had a little more bulk to him, he’d be a strong competitor. With a nod from me, he stepped forward and knelt on one knee. Taking my time, I circled around him, leaning down to inspect him closer and tossing in a thoughtful “Hmm,” every so often. Standing in front of him again, I kept my voice quiet and even. “I will name you, Romulus, my champion,” I used the little knife to cut a shallow gash on my palm and pressed the cut against his chest, then his forehead, marking him with my blood, while reciting the lines I’d memorized just an hour ago. It was weird, but a lot less bloody than killing a whole goat would’ve been. He bowed his head

I said. Dominic smiled. It didn't reach his eyes. "Brave words. Let's see if you can back them up. We've selected our champion." The massive doors at the far end of the chamber swung open. A figure entered, backlit by torchlight. Seven feet tall, broad as a door, covered in scars that told stories of violence and victory. Thorne Blackwater. I'd seen his photo on Luna's laptop. But photos didn't capture the raw menace he radiated. He moved like a predator, each step deliberate and deadly. His eyes found mine across the chamber, and something cold slithered down my spine.

It was my duty to initiate the 'Worthy', no matter their number. My actions were mine. I would not shame the other houses. I would not consider their prestige at all. It was not my place in the same way it was not their place to tell me what I could and couldn't do. It was a divine 'Go get 'em' and it felt pretty, freaking awesome. "Cáel, are you okay?" Nicole asked in a worried tone. She squeezed my thigh. I looked down at my hands. I was okay. "Nicole, I have the blood of Ahhiyawa champions on my hands. I feel it's sticky, sickening ichor and smell the copper-laden, metallic odor," I smiled. "I think I'm going to be just fine."

Blood trickles from the corpse’s mouth, steaming when it hits the cold air. The man fully steps into the ruined light, and the pit of my stomach tightens. He’s massive—6’4”- a war god made of claws and scars. His shoulders stretch the torn leather of his jacket, which is black and battered, soaked in someone else’s blood. The scent rolls off him in waves: pine turned rancid, fresh snow smothering old blood. It’s not cold the way winter is cold, but a cold you feel when something drags its grave behind it.

I hoped to play the hero–or heroin. Blood painted the stone walls of the fortress, they smelt like fresh blood. Before me in a long hallway was a huge door with few lifeless men littering the door entrance. My heart thuds as I make my brave steps towards the door. What's behind the door could be the dreadful one who slayed the men I met on the way. Also the one who might be keeping Emmett captive, because for what I know, he was immortal.

Our bond seared, agony flooding my chest like I had been torn open myself. “No!” I shrieked, forcing my way through. Lucian dropped to one knee, blood pouring from the wound, staining the earth. The champion raised its claw again, ready to finish him. The world narrowed. I didn’t think. I didn’t choose. I unleashed. The Harbinger fire exploded from me, gold laced with black. It roared across the field, swallowing the champion whole. Its scream was unearthly, shrill, before its body crumbled into ash. The remaining enemy wolves faltered, scattered, some burning where they stood.

The champion of house black fire shouted on top of his voice. The crowd’s cheers transformed into a mix of awe, shock, and fascination. The champion of house Black Fire stood tall amidst the flames, a dark and ominous figure, basking in the adoration of the spectators. The scene of devastation and victory served as a chilling reminder of his dominance and the price to be paid for challenging him. As the smoke and the cheers filled the air, the champion of house Black Fire reveled in his triumph, his name etched in the annals of the tournament’s history. The arena became a stage for his dominance, a testament to his ruthless power and his unwavering pursuit of victory.