Crimson Rangers Novels & Stories

So, he immediately speeds up and leaps towards that direction as fast as he can. He dashes into the forest and the nearer he is, the more he is starting to get a sense of Déjà vu. He swiftly moves through the trees and marches on forward until he finds himself standing in front of a large clearing inside the forest.Suddenly, he sees a man scrambling from somewhere and quickly vanishing into the opposite side of the forest. Then he sees a few vampires rushing around the chaos, ripping off the heads of women, men and children alike. Their pale faces are covered in the blood of their victims. The fire is burning the building all-round the place.

"The clubhouse... it’s lit up like a Christmas tree, Prez. But those aren't our colors on the gate." Ruan’s jaw set into a hard, white line. He didn't slow down. "Describe them." "Red and gold," Vulture spat. "The Crimson Kings. They’re a gutter gang from the valley. They wouldn't dare breathe our air if the Phantoms were whole." "They think the King is dead," I whispered, clutching Ruan’s waist. I could feel the heat radiating off him, a simmering volcano ready to erupt. "They think the board is clear."

"I suspected as much." Frank nodded. "We finally identified the tattoo on his wrist." Rowan looked up. "And?" Frank's face grew grim. "It belongs to an organization called..." "The Crimson Fang." Silence filled the room. Even Rowan's calm expression faltered slightly. "They still exist?" "So it seems." Frank lowered his voice. "My Alpha..." "The Crimson Fang doesn't accept ordinary contracts." "They only hunt..." He paused. "...people connected to the ancient prophecy." Rowan slowly looked toward the window.

My heart beats quicker with every stride. The ground starts to vibrate. Suddenly, a deep growl echoes down the tube. Lena draws her dagger. “We’ve got company.” From the darkness ahead, brilliant red eyes appear one pair, then another, then more. Creatures with twisted bodies, half-wolf, half-shadow. They snarl and step forward. Ezra raises his workforce. “These are the Crimson Guardians. Corrupted protectors. Stay close to me.” They attack. I hardly have time to react as one of them leaps at me. I swerve to the side and swing, claws out, slashing across its shoulder. It howls and stumbles back.

It vibrated with divine, starlight resonance, calming the panic spiking behind me, before it could fully take root. “Charge!” I screamed, my silver eyes flaring awake. Thousands of Obsidian wolves and Badlands Lycans poured over the cliffs, rushing down those steep rocky inclines like an avalanche made of fur and fangs. We slammed onto the beach as the first wave of the Crimson Court stepped off the iron ramps. They weren’t like the mindless, frozen husks of the Ice-Wyrm’s army. No. These were aristocrats of absolute butchery. Immaculate blood-red combat armor sat over elegant pale skin. Their eyes burned, polished rubies, bright and cold. They moved with a liquid grace that didn’t care abou

Ronan coughed, eyes burning. Lyra dragged him out into the moonlight. And saw them. A war pack. Crimson Fangs. Ten. Maybe more. Forming a perimeter around the ruins with torches and guns and gleaming silver blades. A voice shouted: “We want the girl.” Ronan stood in front of her. “Over my dead body.” The Crimson Fang Alpha stepped forward, his grin sharp. “That’s the idea.”

However, a new threat emerged from the shadows – whispers of a rogue pack, operating independently, yet somehow connected to the Crimson Fang’s machinations. This rogue pack, known only as the Shadow Stalkers, remained elusive, their movements swift and silent. They struck with brutal efficiency, targeting isolated outposts and supply lines, disrupting the fragile peace that had settled over the land. Their methods were different from the Crimson Fang’s frontal assaults; their attacks were calculated and precise, suggesting a high level of tactical skill and an intimate knowledge of the terrain. The few survivors of their attacks spoke of terrifying speed, almost supernatural agility, and a

It would give them a chance to interfere in pack matters. Just as these thoughts crossed my mind, making my heart feel constricted under the pressure, the blank screen finally connected the call and the face of an unknown man appeared on the screen. Alpha Krimson had long black hair that touched his shoulders. It reminded me of Darcia in his late teens. But somehow, this man managed to make it look intimidating and professional at the same time. However, the most noticeable feature about the man who seemed to be built like a tank, were his bright red eyes. A definitive sign of a rogue wolf.

“And something else.” “What is the Crimson Circle?” Lyra asked. His expression hardened. “The oldest secret of the werewolf realm. An ancient sect. They prey on Moon-Blessed. Drain their power. Trade them like weapons.” Lyra felt bile rise in her throat. “Why?” “Because they fear us,” Ronan said. “Because we are unpredictable. Untamed. And because we are rare enough to be hunted.” “Celeste… is she one of them?” “No. But she is their pawn,” he said. “Her father was a Crimson hunter. So was her mother. She grew up on their stories. And now, she thinks by delivering you, she’ll be accepted.”

I now turned to Critsy knowing it had to be said. “Gorm does not lie. Everyone listens, these are good people a good pack that is far stronger than we could ever be because they allow everyone to be who they should be, mate whoever they want to mate.” I watched as his eyes met Claire’s and she quickly put her head down. “There is hope here and love here. We can be happy without ever having to run away again and all we have to do is follow our true alpha, the last true descendant of the red wolves, the Crimson Priestess.” Hushed voices and intense shock swept through almost every single wolf.