Captain Vane Novels & Stories

They knew I hadn't let a female come within ten feet of me in a decade without my curse driving me to tear them apart. Most of the elders dropped their eyes instantly, bowing their heads in silent terror. Commander Vane didn't. Vane was a mountain warlord with a chest full of jagged battle scars and an ego big enough to forget who held the throne. He stepped out from the main table, blocking our path to the raised high seats. His dark eyes ran down Daphne’s body—from her full chest, down her soft stomach, to the wide, voluptuous width of her thighs—with a slow, disgusting sneer.

He looked at me first, in no hurry to step in and showing no hostility toward Ethan, and only asked, "Do you want me to stay, or should I call security?" It was a short question, but something in my chest eased. He didn't decide for me. He gave me a choice. I said, "Stay." He nodded and moved to stand half a step to my side. Not far, not close. Ethan looked at him. "Who are you?" "Noah Hayes." His tone was level. "Captain of the air medical rescue team. In charge of Dr. Reed's project handover and on-site safety today." Ethan let out a cold laugh. "On-site safety?"

Ravan replied in stern voice and harshly pulled out his sword by making Vivan fall down on his knees. Vivan lightly supported his body by pressing on arm on floor and other on his bleeding heart wound “Randhir Bha… bhai… mere.. chita ko agni dena… koi nhi hai tumhare siva mera yeha (Randhir Brother…… do my Cremation as I have no one else buy you)” Vivan said as his body fell down on floor covered in pool of his own blood while his eyes remained on Ravan face in meantime Ravan to kept his eyes on Vivan who was now slowly slipping in to death mouth by standing tall above him holding ‘khanda’ in his hand as blood kept oozing form his arm where bullet was shot when unexpectedly a lone tear drop

This prompted Vans to fight with a resolute intention to kill, turning it into a battle of life and death between the two. "Who are you, and why are you in this dungeon?" Vans inquired, while continuously sending fire magic attacks towards the man. "Hahahaha... I should be the one asking you that. Why did you manage to come here? This is a secret chamber that not everyone can enter," the man replied, blocking the successive attacks from Vans. He effortlessly blocked and redirected the high-speed barrage of fire arrows as if they were mere insignificant attacks.

"The ones who left when the magic became too heavy for the common man to bear." Commander Vane stepped forward, her heavy boots clanking against the obsidian. Her brass arm whirred with a pneumatic hiss as she adjusted the pressure valves. She didn't bow. In the steam-cities of the South, Kings were just men who hadn't learned to build their own power. "You’ve got a mess on your hands, Alpha," Vane said, her voice gravelly and sharp. "That thing on the ice-wave isn't a wolf. Our sensors are redlining. It’s a walking vacuum."

VANE: ANG TRAIDOR SA LIWANAG ​Sa gitna ng kanilang pagkamangha, isang malakas na pagyanig ang naganap. Ang kisame ng hall ay nabutas at mula roon ay bumaba ang anim na tactical ships ng "Project Icarus." ​Si Dr. Aris Vane ay lumabas mula sa pangunahing barko, suot ang isang armor na gawa sa ginto at itim na chrome. Sa kanyang kamay ay hawak niya ang "Icarus Lance"—isang device na kayang humigop ng memorya at DNA sa isang iglap.

And standing at the very center, his dark cape catching the bitter northern wind, was Silas. Even from this height, his aura was visible. a shimmering, oppressive wave of dominant power that forced the air out of the courtyard. Across the threshold of the open gate stood the Iron Claw messenger. He was a high ranking enforcer, a man I recognized all too well from Kaelen’s inner circle: Captain Vance. Vance was a brutal man, accustomed to throwing his weight around, but right now, standing before the Lycan Alpha, he looked painfully small. His posture was rigid, his shoulders tense, and his hands were clenched so tightly around the white flag of parley that his knuckles were white.

And then, he stepped out. He didn't look like the boy I had fought in the Trench. He was taller, his shoulders broader, dressed in the sharp, charcoal-grey uniform of the Republic’s Internal Security Bureau. But the eyes—those pulsing, violet voids—were unmistakable. The Violet God hadn't just survived the reset; he had been promoted. "Commander Vane," the lead guard said, snapping a sharp salute. "The signature originated from this vessel." The Violet God—now Commander Vane—didn't speak. He walked to the edge of the dock, his boots clicking rhythmically against the concrete. He stopped inches from Thorne’s skiff, his gaze sweeping over the rusted hull with a look of profound boredom.

His immaculate silver-trimmed military greatcoat was immaculate even in the dusty cave, his sharp, aristocratic features twisting into a dark, volatile rage as he looked at the bodies of his fallen men, and finally, locked eyes with Vivian. ​"You..." Vane hissed, his voice cold and sharp as a razor blade. He set the briefcase down, his right hand slowly moving toward the high-frequency plasma rapier mounted at his waist. "The Vance ghost. I should have turned Sector 4 into an ash heap the moment your name surfaced on the regional census. You think you’ve won because you played with the Syndicate's banks?" ​He let out a low, mocking laugh, his eyes flashing with a lethal, obsessive hatred. "T