Demonic Warlord's Barding Novels & Stories

Every drop of blood inside trembled, glowing as if alive. Seraphim was no longer a weapon of destruction — it was immortal energy. With it, Alaric was neither human nor vampire. He was something new — a being above both races. --- Deep beneath Valenfort’s seventh stratum, where light had never reached, a colossal stone gate remained sealed. Beneath the cracked seal, Lucien Draven opened his eyes. He gasped, air thick with iron and ash. The wound on his chest still bled, but his eyes — once the crimson of a blood king — were now pure black.

), the Decarabian 's former lover Amos, and the Red-haired Warrior, when Clan Brunilderin, led by his current namesake Brunilderin, also takes part in the battle. In which Decarabian is killed in battle, just like Amos in which the Nameless Bard, as the Decarabian dies, Barbatos is elevated to godhood, in which he uses his newfound powers to create a ship in the form of the Nameless. Bard and takes him. the bow in honor of Amos.

It’s not also her attitude to fight against someone too weak for her. “Fuck.” she cursed when she’s almost out of breath. She stopped and catch her breath. She turned to Varagons warriors. Most of them have well-built bodies. They were wearing a beige tunic and pants. They were wearing a brown jacket, an arm patch is affixed to their right arms, it has their logo. Their logo was a standing lion with a wide mouth opened and there was an arrow towards the lion’s mouth. There was another logo but it was affixed in the jacket. The logo was capital letter B, it has an arrow in it and it was wrapped with flowers which is Peony. Their uniform has a black belt with a silver buckle.

Zadicus was back again to his mind. All the twelve relics were in his grasp. He had the whole control of the relics Zadicus was bleeding, losing his breaths as before he was a fifteen feet tall warrior. A knight in black armor with his face covered with a hood and a ripped red cape, holding an ancient maroon scythe with an obsidian in its middle, carved delicately to trap souls in it. “You look beat.” His deep husky voice came, holding his scythe while sitting on his throne, looking down at Zadicus but his face couldn’t be seen because of the shredded cloak over him.

Those who had a braver heart would have been terrified by the vision. And now, It was time for the War Immortal to appear, riding his majestic Agalariept. He carried his sword on his back, still dripping with blood from his enemies. The helmet on his head was topped with twisted dragon horns. And the armour he wore was made from the dragon's impenetrable scales. This appears to be his latest victim.

Argadon left at dawn, and his army with him. They were a gruesome sight. Well, they hadn’t been nice to look at from the get-go, but clutching pieces of bloody flesh in their claws and paws and fangs and teeth, all smeared in blood, some of them wearing human guts as bandoliers, they could creep out anyone. Ak-kvir stayed, baring his bloody teeth at me. “What are your orders, Master?” I made sure that no other demon other than him was nearby and broke the protective circle. I came out of the pentagram and dusted myself off.

“From my admittedly cursory examination, it looked like Jonathan Hawthorne died from magical electrocution. I was wondering if it might’ve been your signature Unimpressive Finger Lightning.” Ouch. “You know, that’s not really my preferred name for it.” Dor shrugged and started to rummage in a pouch he’d pulled from some unknown recess of his robes. “It killed one of the more skilled warlocks in this part of the world. I’d say it’s not so unimpressive after all.” He looked up, his eyes gleaming an opaque, otherworldly silver in the moonlight. A shudder went down my spine, the kind of instinctive fear that made my brainstem want to crawl out my ear and slither off in terror. What the fuck was

As Roland galloped through the streets, his elegant linen garments billowed in the breeze, offering glimpses of the sturdy chainmail and armour concealed beneath. The sight of the armour caused the citizens to widen their eyes in recognition. It was clear that Roland's attire was of the highest quality. Their assumptions were spot-on. For this particular outing, I had equipped Roland with Grade III magic chainmail and armour, meticulously refined by the system. His attire was tailor-made to complement his class as a Demonic Monk, ensuring unrestricted movement and durability in battle. "Did you see that guy? There's something about him that's just captivating. It's like my eyes are fixated o

By the time twilight painted the snowcapped peaks in shades of deep indigo and bruised violet, twenty dark-clad warriors assembled in the subterranean stables of Frost-Ridge. I had stripped out of my heavy wool dresses, dressing instead in tailored dark-leather riding trousers, thick fur-lined boots, and a heavy wool tunic dyed deep grey. Over it, I wore a dark iron breastplate custom-fitted for my broader frame by Julian’s master blacksmith, topped with a heavy midnight-blue cloak lined with thick wolf fur. For the first time in my life, I felt fast, grounded, and formidable. Julian rode beside me on a massive, pitch-black warhorse whose breath billowed like white smoke in the freezing air.

Dom’s broad baritone echoed off the canyon stone, carrying the terrifying, double-toned roar of a prime Alpha warlord, "this pass is closed." For a second, silence hung over the gorge. Then, the cultist commander—a hulking, scarred Lycan wearing plate armor forged from crimson glass—raised his jagged broadsword. "Tear him to pieces!" the commander shrieked. A wave of fifty shadow-mutated warriors charged forward, their blood-red eyes gleaming as their claws scraped against the rock floor. Dom didn't back up an inch. He moved forward to meet them, a tornado of platinum-gold fire and lethal precision.