Defeated Warrior Novels & Stories

The fur of Connor's back was coated, his victory guaranteed in mere seconds. The body crashed to the ground, death taking the warrior not long after. He towered above it, covered with its life force, a shiver of pride working through him. Then, he turned to the other warriors. All of them were larger than him, hulking masses of muscle that stared dumbfounded at their fallen brother. Fighting might not be his forte but that didn’t mean he hadn't created his own style in order to win. Connor slipped into a defensive stance, waiting to see who would charge him next, determined not to let a single wolf past him. Determined to protect Inga’s retreat.

LAUREN'S POV “Fine, Lauren, you win!” The teen warrior who was older than me cried, “Seriously, why are you so strong? You are only 7!” “No. You are too weak. A good warrior in my father’s pack should be as strong as I am.” I knew what I said was not exactly true. He was full of potential and expected to be the strongest warrior in the future. It was a serious battle which is normal among wolves. “Another victory isn’t it, my little cupcake? Congratulations!”

His long silver-gray hair was in small braids, and a dead man was lying at his feet. Trying to get a better view I narrowed my eyes at the prone body and realized that it was Styx. Confused about what I was seeing, I opened my eyes and said, “I don't understand!” Gavin shifted beside me and growled tiredly, “Get some sleep, sweetheart.” Pinching my lips together I rolled to my side and continued to try to figure out what I had seen. “Sergio Winters is a male warrior prodigy, ancient and extremely experienced. He probably challenged Styx to claim your daughter, and unfortunately, Styx lost,” Bria whimpered, and I ground my molars.

The noise had been deafening. Metal against metal, flesh against flesh, shield against shield. And over it all, the battle cries of warriors lost to bloodlust and determination to kill or be killed. Brand had forgotten what it felt like – the all-consuming need for the blood of his enemies to be spilled on the ground at his feet.

“Trespassing? This forest belongs to no one. And you… you are weak. I can smell it on you.” The people shifted uncomfortably. A younger warrior stepped forward, his voice sharp. “Watch your tongue. You are one, we are many.” Valen’s eyes flashed. “Then come.” The young warrior attacked first, claws out, teeth bared. But Valen was faster. He sidestepped, grabbed the warrior’s arm, and broke it with a snap. The man screamed, falling to the ground. Another warrior charged, but Valen slashed his throat open. Blood poured as the man collapsed. The others froze, their courage fading.

Laura’s heart dropped the second she heard the name. “Garrick.” A warrior stepped forward from the crowd, and everything about him screamed danger. He moved with deliberate slowness, boots crunching against the packed dirt. His shoulders rolled back lazily, showing off muscle layered over more muscle. Scars crossed his chest and arms—not random marks from accidents, but clean lines that spoke of countless battles. Battles he’d won. This wasn’t some random fighter. This was a veteran and an actual killer.

“Because from this day forward, they’ll see you as what you are.” “What’s that?” “My Luna. Their Luna.” I hesitated, then smiled against his shirt. “Then you better start preparing them. Because I’m not exactly the soft, smiling kind of leader.” He pulled back just enough to tilt my chin up. “Good. Because I didn’t fall in love with soft and smiling. I fell in love with a warrior.” “A blind warrior.” “A warrior who sees more than anyone else.” I bit my lip. “You’re going to make me cry.”

"They will swarm you. They will use their numbers, their hierarchy, and their cheap political tricks to crush you. If you cannot handle three elite beta warriors in my ring, you will never survive the summit when you return." Before I could even settle into a defensive stance, Vance raised his hand. "Begin." The three warriors didn't hesitate. They moved as a synchronized pack, splitting up instantly to flank me. The largest warrior—a brute named Torin—charged straight down the center, his massive, calloused fists aiming a crushing strike toward my jaw. I ducked beneath his blow, my sneakers slipping slightly on the fresh snow, but as I pivoted to strike his exposed ribs, the second warrior

AUTHOR'S POV: "Ohhhhh our little prince will lose Again," the warrior taunts the 15-year-old Noah. Your mind is a battlefield, be it COMMANDER, not SOLDIER! Noah thwarted the warrior's attack and slash the sword against his chest in a quick zigzag and with a loud swoosh, the armor fell into pieces. The warrior looked at him with fear and shock written on his face. Noah gave him one last look and took off from the training ground.

I turned. A warrior. Mid twenties. Big through the shoulders in the way that some wolves are who have trained hard since early adolescence and let it make them wide. He was standing about three meters away with a short practice staff held loosely in one hand and an expression that was not quite a smile. I recognized the expression. I had been on the receiving end of it for years in different forms. It was the look of someone who had spotted the person in the room they were allowed to diminish and was deciding whether it was worth the energy.