Darkhold Iron Man Novels & Stories

To Amy, the metal man looked like a bronze statue of 2Pac if it came to life. She saw the electric light in his eyes glowing like a charging light on a smartphone. His chiseled, metallic chest resembled body armor on a gladiator. Amy’s words were stuck in her throat as she stared at 2Pac. She didn’t want to be fascinated by a robotic man wearing blue jeans. Amy tried to keep her focus on her son sitting in the metal man’s arms. She looked up at the robotic 2Pac, who towered over her. His carved titanium alloy-covered shoulder muscles shimmered from the auto factory ceiling’s lights shining down on his six-foot-four frame.

Meaning as the war is going, we will also be converting the conquered land as we go, thus in a way, turning the land into Aeternum land and also keeping the peace and order of the conquered land, after all, I know for certain that many be it a nation, groups or even independent people were eager to picking up the crumbs of the war, and I will not giving anyone to take anything at all. “…Sir President, Mister Holgun Iron Horn is here…”.(Lieutenant Colonel Selie) “Good, tell him to come in..”. “Yes Sir…”.(Lieutenant Colonel Selie) Selie gently replied and closed the door, after a few second, a gentlemen comes in, a male, of 2.5 meter tall, large muscular built that is very evide

After moving the curtains, I cursed at my mate, Zaliver. The room had metal blinds. Like literally, metal blinds that were closed and bolted to the frame so I wouldn’t try to jump out, I guess. It kind of reminded me of Iron Man, but I somehow doubted that the wolf god had time to sit around and watch Tony Stark be a billionaire, playboy—whatever. I tilted my head at the strong shield-like blinds. Were these already here even before I got in?

I was totally expecting to see an old man, a hermit wizened with age, living in the cave to get away from the world. But the man who stood in front of me was no more than forty years of age, with a clean-shaven face and a head full of strawberry blonde hair. His crystal blue eyes shimmered in the light of the forge. He was tall and muscular, hulking like a giant, shirtless with sweat running down the contours of his chest. He wore on a pair of brown pants. He held a large hammer in one of his hands, and a pair of tongs in the other, holding a piece of red-hot metal with it. He raised the pair of tongs and dunked the iron in the barrel of water next to him, and a loud hissing noise came.

“Do you understand? Human children, families… cities… if you strike, if this escalates…” Samuel’s gaze softened for a moment—a flicker of the man he once was—but it vanished instantly. “Collateral is inevitable. I am not your Adrian,” he said, voice sharp as a blade. “I am the Iron King. And the world will learn fear or it will perish.”

He smiled at her, linking their fingers together. A hollow ache spread in my chest. “One seventy!” “One eighty!” “Two hundred!” A loud voice boomed from the back—Alpha Rowan of Iron Mane Pack. A giant of a man. Known for brutality. The kind of alpha who didn’t hire help… he broke them. Terror shot through me. Jaden’s grin widened. “Two hundred going once!” “Two twenty.” A calm, unfamiliar voice cut through the room. Heads turned. A hooded man stood near the door. Tall. Still. Shadowed. I couldn’t make out his face, but something about him pulled the air from the room. He didn’t look excited. Or eager. Just… certain.

The bottomless dark void churned inches beneath my shoulder blades, cold spatial drafts tugging at my hair. I was pinned, weaponless, and flat on my back. The lead Void-Guard loomed directly over me, blocking out the thin light of the room. It raised its heavy iron halberd with both hands, turning the jagged steel point straight down toward my exposed throat. Across the wall, Ronan was tearing through the constructs with his bare hands, his fists pounding against the Void-Iron with a sickening, frantic rhythm that echoed off the high ceiling. "ZANE! ZANE!"

Marcus lifted the heavy metal pipe high above his shoulder, his face twisting into a sick, evil grin. He took one final, massive step forward, swinging the iron bar with all his force directly at the back of Holden’s unprotected head.

The featureless iron helm of the ancient guardian did not reflect the blinding, golden glare of the overloading Pale Collar; it absorbed the light entirely, its pitted, rust-scaled surface drinking the violent illumination like a sponge. The towering figure stood over seven feet tall, its massive frame wrapped in rotting, oil-slicked crimson cloth that had survived centuries frozen in the deep rifts of the Great Divide. As the automaton shifted its weight, the gears within its joints ground together with a low, agonizing groan of long-dormant brass and ice-encrusted iron, the sound vibrating through the solid bedrock beneath our boots.

The heavy iron doors groaned as they were pushed open, not by a hand, but by a localized blizzard. A man walked in, his armor made of translucent, blue ice that never melted. He was tall, his skin the color of a winter sky, and his eyes were two frozen sapphires that held no warmth. He didn't bow to Killian. He didn't even acknowledge the warriors who stood with their hands on their blades. "Alpha Killian Blackwood," the man said, his voice sounding like ice cracking on a lake. "I am Haden, the First Claw of the Frostbite Kingdom. My King, Ragnar the Eternal, sends his... curiosity."