Demonic Warlord's Barding Novels & Stories

His sinewed body making it readily apparent he was a warrior. “Harbinger!” Countless Firoque cries added to the crescendo until it was an echoing wail reverberating through the walls. Without his cloak covering him the strange lights he emanated that only demons could see, were nearly blinding to their eyes.

With a heart-wrenching scream, the purplish-red light in the void suddenly expanded and shook off all the golden-purple ‘Path’ characters. A brand-new supreme Demonic Body replaced the soul consciousness and the Demonic Spirit, revealing a mysterious and powerful, terrifying power emanating with vast evil. He had crimson hair, swaying without wind, dressed in a black and red python robe, with a blood-red flowing cloak draped behind him. He held a demonic spear that radiated daunting demonic energy. Thick purplish-red demonic clouds rolled above his head, and sixteen rapidly rotating skulls beneath his feet. It was like the arrival of a grim reaper, causing the world to change color.

The soldiers of Sloria line up in front of the castle. Every one of them is wearing white armor which are the same color as the snow while their armbands have Dmtri’s emblem on them. The emblem is a silver wolf standing on hind legs holding a pair of blue roses. Each soldier is holding a weapon and a strong armor made of iron and steel.

Their Battle-Mages began to chant, weaving a canopy of violet protective wards overhead. "Hold the line!" Elder Sterling screamed, his voice amplified by magic. "Purge the unclean!" The two armies collided with the force of a tectonic shift. The sound was deafening—the crunch of armor, the wet tear of flesh, the boom of magical detonations. Volkov was the tip of the spear. The Lycan Warlord, shifted into his massive, scarred war-form, hit the front line of the Wardens like a runaway train. He ignored the spears that poked at his thick hide. He swept a massive clawed hand out, shattering three shields and sending the soldiers behind them flying into the air like ragdolls.

The woman replied in a thoughtful tone her features hidden by the slight shadow cast on her face. Another man spoke up from his position leaning against the door of the room "What should we do now My Lady? What are your orders?" He asked. He was dressed in more conservative fashion, similar to those who tend to dress in to enter the temple. His outer robe were dark brown, and the inner grey robe was buttoned up to the top. He has a sword strapped to his side as well as a small bottle of wine hung be his waist. In his hands he held a wide rimmed hat, his posture shows that moments ago he was prepared to set off.

Banners snapped in the wind, crimson and black, bearing the sigil of the Northern territories. When Evander stepped out, he walked to the front of the formation and every eye turned to him. His armour was magnificent. Black as a moonless night, trimmed with silver that caught the dying light. Carved into the metal were the symbols of his bloodline, ancient and powerful. A crimson cloak flowed behind him like blood, and his sword hung at his hip, its hilt wrapped in dark leather. The warriors fell silent as he stopped and turned to face them. For a moment, he said nothing. Just looked out at the sea of faces, at the warriors who would follow him into hell if he asked.

Galatrina spoke calmly but with sweat on her cheeks. "I know, and one of them is going to be a pain in the ass." Alucard respond in a menacing way. Hiyojin then looked at the sky. "So we're facing him ha. Leomord, former number 1 of the 1st generation of warriors. If only Teresa is here." He looked down at the ground while sweating. Most of the warriors finally sensed the incoming demons. They braced themselves as the approaching hordes of demons trampled the ground and creating an earthquake within the earth.

I asked seriously. "When in the meeting a suggestion of having our warriors wear armor was given, I took it seriously. Each warrior and demon fighting now has an invisible armor on, its ability is to absorb the anointing from any weapon turning it into a regular weapon. Because of that, our warriors have an upper hand which makes them take down the human warriors easily." She answered and then gave a low bow. When I turned my head I found Ducan standing in front of me with the hero's head still In his hand.

I followed his line of sight. More demons, each adorned with dark red tattoos, were engaged in combat, slashing through dark ones with ruthless efficiency. There were thousands of them, scattered across the battlefield. The once-green grass was now stained black and red, and the eerie silence had given way to the cacophony of battle and slaughter. Living beings murdered, that's what war was. And there were more bodies here than humans in Europe. It was death and carnage. But that was not what caught my eye. There was one demon taller than all. One demon broader than all. A demon who demanded all attention, who looked like the god of war. And that's exactly who I was looking at. The god of wa

Clutching my thighs in some attempt to get them to stop moving forward. Once I stood before him, he lifted his head. Letting it fall back against the chair and staring down his nose at me. I was so close. Too close. He was as unmoving as a statue. “Take off your dress.” I shook my head. Lips tight. “If you want to save the dress, you’ll do as I say.” Warlord’s tone was cold and decisive. As unfeeling as the mage, himself. And despite that I knew I was trapped I couldn’t help my obstinate nature. I’m going to lose this.