Deku Vigilante Suit Novels & Stories

Because they think we're driving to our execution. The van smells of stale coffee and fear. I crouch in the back, rummaging through the tactical bags Silas left. I find a pair of black cargo pants and a heavy wool sweater. I pull them on, discarding the towel. Drakon is reloading. He’s filling every magazine we have. His movements are jerky, fueled by a rage so deep it’s vibrating the air around him. "Here," he says. He hands me a vest. It’s heavy. Kevlar plates.

Chris chuckled, making fun of my situation. "Yeah! Whatever. Is everything ready?" "Yes!! Use this bodysuit under your t-shirt because that vampire will aim for your heart for sure, and with this bodysuit, she would fail miserably." Derik said, throwing the bodysuit at my face. "This is the new invention of Maverick Wright. If you survive, then don’t forget to give him a review about it." I nodded my head and started stripping in front of them before I realized what I was doing.

​The specialized stealth suits felt like a second skin of dense, matte-black weave, engineered to absorb both thermal radiation and local radar frequencies. In the dim light of the bunker's lower armory, Vivian pulled the primary locking straps tight across her chest, her blue eyes reflecting the cold green luminescence of the tactical interface.

Behind him, ten warriors stand like statues, their uniforms neat, their expressions unreadable. Beside him, Alpha Dorian Vex emerges, adjusting the cuffs of his black leather coat. Unlike Elias, Dorian carries an aura of cool confidence rather than brute force. His high cheekbones and sharp, calculating eyes make him appear almost regal. His jet black hair is slicked back, a single silver streak cutting through one side. He wears a fitted black combat suit with a silver wolf emblem stitched over his heart. His ten warriors follow him closely, their matching dark attire giving them a ghostly presence.

Doom reacted. "Well, not going to lie, the sleeve part is my favorite. Also, the color palette is simple and uncomplicated," I once remembered I painted myself wearing all of the suits in each class. The bolt blue Keeper suit with elbow-length sleeves and hip-length cut, which I used to wear when I was a Keeper 9 years ago. The red-purple gradient Weaver suit with cropped layers, geometric cuts, and patterns made my complexion dark. The Herald's yellow-green long ankle-length fit with random ribbons on its sleeve—which I was accustomed to for the whole nine years—didn't make any impact on me. And wearing black and white leathery, single-sleeved, armor-like suits makes me look young and edgy.

With one glance, I knew he was the perfect mark. He exuded power and danger, draped in a suit that whispered wealth—a custom-made masterpiece worth around one-hundred thousand dollars. The Alexander Amosu Vanquish II Bespoke suit fit him perfectly, showing off a lean, muscled build that spoke of both discipline and strength. His hair, thick and dark, was meticulously styled, he likely spent a fortune on maintaining it.

“Just leave. I'm on schedule right now, and I've got work to get to.” “Sorry, Lea.” Ellie mumbled. “Don't, Ellie. Go.” I said, pointing towards the corridor. The two of them held hands as they walked down the corridor. I placed my hands underneath my nose and went in to suit up. My suit is black and consists of a steel getup that ends in a puffed skirt and tights. It is long-sleeved, flexible, and easy to move around in. My helmet is cat-like, and it fits my small face. But there's one way to describe my getup: I hate it. Savannah told me that Elias purposely gave me this getup because I hate skirts and cats are the bane of my existence. I complained about it, but as usual, Elias said,

"We have something for you. Something to make sure everyone knows exactly who they're dealing with." They set the cases down on the table. Silas clicked the latches and swung the lid open. My breath hitched. Resting in the foam was a suit of armor unlike anything I’d ever seen. It wasn't the dull silver of the guard or the black of the scouts. It was a deep, bruised crimson—the color of drying blood, polished to a mirror sheen. "It’s dark red," I whispered, reaching out to touch the cold metal of the breastplate.

"They have no idea that the Ghost Alpha commands thirty thousand rogue wolves in the Blackveil Quarter." I close the video link without another word, my heart hammering against my ribs like a war drum. I stand up from the desk, walking over to the walk-in closet. Passing by the soft silk dresses and delicate robes Celeste bought for me, my hands reach for the very back of the wardrobe. I pull aside a hidden panel, revealing a matte-black tactical suit crafted from reinforced dragon-hide, complete with twin silver daggers forged in the fires of Westmere. I strip off the civilian clothes and pull the heavy, form-fitting armor over my curves. The weight of the silver blades against my thighs fe

I try to calm him, I give Derik a look “You could’ve at least given a warning.” “And warn that devil spawn?” He growls, his eyes narrowed above I follow his gaze to find the source. Zen’s hanging from one of the lower branches by a single hand. He’s dressed in all black. A dark, close fitting shirt, riding pants and calf length leather boots. He must be wearing a cloak similar to Lukas, since the hood is pulled over his head. He looks like a part of darkness itself, if not for the piercing silver eyes that look back down coolly.