Darkhold Iron Man Novels & Stories

These weren’t feral beasts, they were soldiers. “Ironwood doesn’t take prisoners!” Zayne yelled, keeping his body between me and the circling wolves. “They’re here for a prize! They want you delivered, or they want you dead!” The wolf to our right, the largest, shifted. Bones cracked and fur receded, revealing a muscular man with a shaved head and cold eyes. He stood naked and unashamed on the slope below. “Zayne.” the man said, his voice a gravelly rumble. “Still playing guardian to lost pups?”

The bond between us was a steady, warm hum, a deep current of comfort that made the noise of the gathering crowd feel like distant thunder. The great oak doors at the far end of the hall swung open, and a blast of freezing winter air swept through the room, making the hearth-fires flicker. A group of twenty men and women strode into the hall. They wore heavy, dark furs trimmed with the thick, gray pelt of the northern timber-wolf—the mark of the Ironwood pack. At their head walked a towering man with hair the color of rusted iron and a beard that reached his collarbone. His face was a map of old scars, his pale yellow eyes scanning the room with a cold, dismissive contempt that didn't soften

“I’m told, I have you to thank for doing what I couldn’t do.” The tall leader in his golden armor stood tall and straight and spoke to Dominic. His posture was stiff. One of his men held Raven’s unconscious body behind him as they lingered close to the portal. Another armor man held a squat brick colored statuette which Heather assumed was the anchor they searched for.

How the hell am I supposed to get out of here? For some reason, I just realized that my wrists are also bound behind my back, and then chained to my ankles so that I cannot move at all. How did they even get me up here? I wonder. I must be at least four feet above the floor. I wiggle around and try to break or move some of my restraints, but it is useless. I yell out in frustration when I realize what the metal chains are made of. Cold Iron. “Welp, the old bastard probably knew my weakness,” Iris said as she started to sway..Cold Iron is specifically designed to restrain moon wolves as we are immune to silver. The metal is freezing and I can feel my body heat sapping away, along with my ene

‘I told you, this man already pulverized those precious things’ she looks at Sherry’s nails when she speaks out the word ‘precious’ “NO… no, no, no! their cores are indestructible! They are much stronger than tungsten, steel, or any metal that you’ll ever discover in this world! And you just –” lifting his hand, he motioned the sleeping man before continuing “let him PULVERIZED it?! Are you out of your mind?! Yes, you are! Considering you! Raiding and attacking this man! Alone! And…” She didn’t care more about what he is spouting and moved directly to Nathan ‘do you have a way to kill him?’

Grimnr gave a damp whuff and nuzzled my rooster fetch, and they seemed thick as thieves as Grimnr danced on his horseshoes and gave bright hoo-hoos. "Jarnja, is that you, my old friend! - not in the study late into morning researching laws and reading lore in order to take back our kingdom from the Stronghold you yourself erected, or seeking Loki's weakness in your scrying bowl?" said a male huldra with whipcord muscles, cow tail and ears, birch hollow back with moss on the interior, dark olive skin, and curling black locks. His brown eyes sparkled and he had cow feet, dressed in breeches and bare chested. In his arms was a humongous claymore - the claymore Jarnja had charged my father, King

“I tried a lot of metals basically and most of them were destroyed by my mana attacks except cold iron.” Hikari leafed through the pages of my small diary, reading a few of my experiments and results involving cold iron and my mana. He knit his brows and then looked at me. “A metal that can actually repel mana? I didn’t know, nor did the overlord. Otherwise he would have told me,” he talked to himself. He looked astonished.

Their Alpha hadn't arrived yet. And then, there he was—walking in with his Beta. Alpha Draven Blackthorn of Ironfang—born from the bloodline said to descend from the first wolf of war. The man commanded presence. All eyes were on him as he strode in gracefully, broad shoulders cutting through the air looking like an untouchable god dropped into mortal skin—like sin carved into flesh; his facial features bore the kind of structure that would seem like sculptors bled themselves dry to imitate.

Her phone lay nearby, still recording. Dad Thirty-Two picked it up, glanced at the camera. "You wanted to film?" He tilted it. "Then don't miss this." He walked over and looked down at her. "Vivian Cobbley, right?" He crouched. "You know who I am?" Vivian shook her head hard. "My name's Trent Carter. Codename: Iron Fist. Twenty years ago, I took down seventeen traffickers with my bare hands. Thirty-eight bodies total."

Its locks couldn't be broken even by the best thieves here. Only the mysterious owner could unlock it without the key. The screen by the door lit and the man asked, “Did you take the trash out?” “24 Carat Gold.” Svetlana frowned, even after hearing it a couple of times it was obnoxious. It didn’t really make sense at all or maybe this stuck. "Who are you?" "Dark Swan and Black Panther." Ivana replied in her deadbeat tone. Svetlana name here was 'Siren' but she was undercover at the moment. Black Panther was on an assassination mission overseas so Svetlana was imposing as her.