Captain Vane Novels & Stories

One in particular caught my eye. Dante Kade. Captain. Number 17. Ice-blue eyes. A name that came with a hundred headlines and at least five fangirl forums I pretended not to browse. He looked lethal. The kind of lethal that made smart girls run and stupid girls fall. I wasn’t here to do either. I tore my eyes away from the poster and squared my shoulders. The heel of my boot clicked against the tile with more attitude than I felt. I could fake it. I’d faked worse.

He chuckles, the sound low and rough. Everett Griffin stands at least six-foot-three, broad-shouldered, with the lean, sculpted build of someone who's spent years on a volleyball court. Dark hair falls carelessly over sharp brows, framing a face that's unfairly handsome. The kind of face that makes girls lose their minds. Which is honestly a waste. Because his personality is absolute trash. Everett is the captain of Gladdis' men's volleyball team, and annoyingly, he's incredible. His spikes are brutal, his reflexes ridiculous—I've watched the men's championships once or twice—and everyone treats him like some volleyball god.

​Before Kael could answer, a broad silhouette crashed down the final obsidian steps, tumbling hard onto the stone floor. ​It was Captain Vane. His silver plate armor was scorched black, and dark blood dripped from a deep gash along his temple. He scrambled to his feet, brandishing his broken broadsword as he threw himself in front of Kael and Selene. ​"My Lord... the Vanguard is scattered," Vane gasped out, his chest heaving violently. "They came through the hidden servant tunnels behind the high council hall. It isn't just men—they're using hounds bred in the shadow marshes."

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

"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 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

And standing at the end of the hall was a figure. He was huge. He wore tattered rags. His face was a ruin of scar tissue and metal staples. Vane. He held a fire axe in his hands. He smiled. His teeth were metal. "I told you," Vane rasped. "Tonight we break the beast." He charged. The guards raised their weapons, but Vane was too fast. He moved with the same unnatural speed as Kaelen. The serum. He had it too. He swung the axe.

"But Vespera is out there. She didn't lose her army; she just lost her ledger. And now she knows we aren't just rebels trying to break things. We're trying to replace her." "Then let her come," a gruff voice echoed from the doorway. Captain Vane strolled into the Command Center, holstering his twin pistols with an exaggerated twirl. He looked worse for wear—his coat was torn, a nasty bruise was blossoming along his jawline from his fight in the tram, and he smelled strongly of gunpowder and cheap cigar smoke. "If the Iron Duchess wants to come back and dispute our claim," Vane grinned, flashing a gold tooth, "she’ll have to get through fifty heavily armed pira