Cursed Ninja Turtle Novels & Stories

To be stronger than Ishaan, to be more than what he was-Ohas had to change. He had to become a Cursed. And that meant taking the final step. He sought out the oldest among them, a creature barely recognizable as a Naga, its form grotesquely elongated, its scales peeling and cracked, its fangs thick with venom that no cure could stop. Ohas did not flinch. He knelt. He offered his throat. The creature did not hesitate. The bite was instant-jagged fangs sinking deep, tearing flesh. Agony. It was not like Naga venom.

’ The turtle metahuman finally managed to free itself and glowered at me with its black eyes. I used to love turtles and would usually spend my money donating to their cause. But I guess I have to fight one of them now. What an irony. ‘Can you handle two metahumans? At least keep them at bay until I take care of this Ninja Turtle.’ I flexed my fingers and felt my gloves heating up in preparation for combat. I feel it buzzing with life as if it understood that we were about to go into battle.

The Giant Turtle might seem fierce when it said that, but it could not hide the apprehension in its eyes. Even though they were the Four Evil Beasts, they were not on friendly terms with each other. Once one of them found something good, they would fight over it. Furthermore, Darryl had the heavenly spiritual aura from Empress Nuwa, which was the ultimate treasure to them. Whoever had that power would be able to leave the Infernal Shadow Prison. Under such circumstances, how could the Giant Turtle share with the Terror Hound? "What a joke!" The Terror Hound sneered when he heard what the Giant Turtle had said. "All things have to be shared. What right do you have to have it all for yourself?

It was his Fire-breathing Palm. However, this was not a long-term solution. Andrius had to defeat this turtle if he wanted to get information about the Flame Emperor. However, there was a limit to his strength. When the turtle got tired, it could retract its limbs and head into the shell, making Andrius helpless. However, if Andrius got tired, he might be frozen by the turtle’s breath! “Maybe...” Suddenly, a bright light flashed in his eyes. Old Hagstorm told him before that there was no perfect lifeform in this world.

It was too far, so they could not tell what that person looked like. Fane raised an eyebrow. "It's a Crimson Tortoise." A Crimson Tortoise was about equal in strength to a Flaming Rhino. It was not a beast a regular warrior could handle. It was the second beast they had encountered, and every one of them was strong. He did not know if it was a coincidence or if the beasts were all just at that level of strength. If it was the latter, then the situation deeper into the area would only be worse.

She howled, picking me up from the bench by my sore arm. “I don’t really have a choice here..” I shot back, trying to keep my tone very low. “You think you can change him? I have been here longer than anyone else and I will tell you the truth. You can’t stay here with that man!” I swallowed the lump in my throat and slowly pulled my hand away from hers, “why not?” I asked and she scoffed. “Jordan is cursed! There’s a beast living within him and he won’t tell you this because he wants to trap you here and drain the life out of you until you have absolutely nothing to live for!”

He was tall, with a sculpted body that had ancient silver tattoos that gleamed under the moonlight, his hair was long, wild and raven dark. He stepped closer towards me, knelt down, his hand reaching to cup my jaw. The moment his skin touched mine, my head exploded with fractured images. Him holding me in his arms in a garden. Me...with him...smiling...sitting together on a throne. And then...a wall of fire, him standing over me, watching me as I burned to death with cold, indifferent eyes. Kill him. The voice hissed in my mind. Kill him before he kills you again.

And I was going to find it. My fingers brushed against an old leather-bound journal tucked between thick volumes of pack history. I opened it, feeling the spine creak, and revealed spidery handwriting that was decades old. These pages spoke of some "Blood Moon curse" with a very unclear origin and of some kind of artifact called Owlshard.

Lyra jolted Uptight; her eyes fixed on the three men who appeared from various directions. She narrowed her brows, sensing that something was off about them. "They're not rogues," she muttered to herself, noticing the lack of a scar on their faces. In Verdentia, all rogues were marked with an x-shaped scar on their left eye, whether in human or wolf form, as a sign that they did not belong to any pack and were on their own.

They spoke of his strength, how he cut through a pack of rogues single-handedly, how even death seemed to follow wherever he went. Elysia listened but said nothing. She didn’t know what he looked like. Only the name. Alaric Varyn. The cursed Alpha. The man whose soldiers had burned her home to ash. The man whose family’s war had ended hers. They said he was cursed, that his touch brought death. That no woman lived to tell of him. But Elysia didn’t care about curses. Curses were her mother’s craft, not hers. What she cared about was vengeance.