Demonic Warlord's Barding Novels & Stories

Barzil Ashfang stepped inside. He was transformed. Gone was the battle-scarred armor. In its place, he wore a formal military dress uniform of charcoal grey and deep crimson. Medals gleamed on his chest. A history of violence written in gold and silver. A cape of black fur hung from his shoulders. Making him look even broader than usual. He looked like a king. "Commander," the stylist stammered. Bowing low. "We were just... applying the accessory." Barzil walked onto the podium. His heavy boots echoed on the marble. He looked at the stylist. Then at the collar in her hands. His expression was unreadable. But the temperature in the room seemed to drop.

The witch resurrected back the warlord through a passage door that was suddenly brought out from the magical mirror Lucy had stolen from her lover, Queen sekina. The skull and the heart joined together and the warlord appeared from a dark mist which had suddenly covered everywhere. He stood up naked from the circle with a staff in his hand and a crown on his head. He was clad in a long brown animal skin attire, covering his nude area just with a hand he stretched out .

The Witch King did not dare to look up at him. The fake emperor’s eyes were narrowed into slits with a glint of coldness flashing within. “Relay my decree! Central Warzone Master Baron Von Doom, Northern Warzone Master Caestus Rembrandt, Eastern Warzone Master Gaia Amatsu, and the Third, Fourth, Fifth, Sixth, and Seventh War Gods are to leave five million troops to confront the Lycantroops marching from the west! “In this battle, victory is the only option!” The imperial guards immediately sent out the orders.

This was Sinners, where werewolves came to lose all inhibitions. "Fuck!" I cursed, my heart pounding loudly as I tasted real fear. A male's hand grabbed my waist and I flinched away. Someone cupped my ass and squeezed and I cried out in outrage. "Get the fuck away from me!" Suddenly, I felt a dark looming presence rise up behind me and all the eager werewolves froze. A huge jacket slid over my shoulders, smelling of leather and sandalwood and money. "You heard her." The dark, smokey voice said softly, daring any of the men to challenge him. To my surprise, they raised their hands and backed off hastily. That voice was so familiar... I spun around and gaped at the rude, handsome stranger.

He was one. Massive, motionless, and terrifying in his stillness, the warlord looked nothing like the court's whispered portraits. His armor was made of scales—real ones, black and dark crimson, char-bound and ancient. They looked as though they had grown from his skin rather than been forged. Long hair, coal-black and streaked with silver, hung unbound around sharp, beastlike features. His eyes… Her breath caught. They glowed. Not gold, not amber. Firelight, caged behind the thinnest veneer of humanity. When his gaze landed on her, she felt it like the kiss of an open flame.

After he undressed the warrior, Daemon changed into the warrior's uniform. As he pulled it on, Daemon felt the thick tunic material against his skin and the strange weight of the armour over his shoulders. He smiled to himself when he realized it was his perfect size. He adjusted the bindings and tightened the leather belt until he felt safe. Then he put his own clothes on the dead man's body which were now ripped and filthy. He used a rough cloth to cover the dead warrior's face. He knew it would be a matter of time before the warrior would be discovered.

The aura of power emitting from him was so frightening Omotola knew he was an Orisha. “My lord.” A young warrior strode over; he was massive and black as soot. He had nothing on except a blood-red hand-loomed fabric kilt covering from waist to his knees and belted with a solid band of some unknown metal patterned with sigils that radiates black power. Sheathed cross-wise across his back; two swords of iron and brass. “Still nothing, perchance he has come to some sort of mishap down there.” The Lord mused; the young warrior said nothing as he watched him lean dangerously close to the deep fissure to peer in. “Perhaps he is in need of assistance.”

His knights struck their chest plates and roared: “Arden Retis! Uyan Taesil!” I saw green tinged black smoke explode amongst the enemy forces, tossing bodies high, casting limbs and torsos in different directions, ripping soldiers to pieces in sharp, brief explosions designed to demoralise and confuse. Warlock magic. To my left, Daerton stood amongst the rear guard, his hands aglow, his dark hair whipping in the backdraft of his power, his cloak snapping at his heels, and his eyes unseeing as he spell-cast. His lips curled back as he snarled out the invocations.

There was a flash of jealousy in Derek Alexander's eyes. "There is no shame, Ethereal Warbringer is indeed a lot of good stuff!" Ethereal Warbringer is a terrifying old monster from the era of The Phantom Bandits that has existed until now, still lost in the hands of countless strong people, and the treasures in his hands are as many as buffalo hair. "Ethereal Warbringer, I want to see when you can put it on!!" The Dragon God Emperor appeared from the void, opened his mouth to spit, an incomparable light that could destroy all dragons descended from the sky, and attacked Ethereal Warbringer.

The Black Tortoise King took in the cheers and compliments of the crowd with a smile on his face, but internally he felt torn. Soon enough, Oliver had gathered close to a hundred warriors and took off for the new camp. A few minutes later, they reached a place that was a little over ten kilometers from the new territory. Oliver and the Demon Warriors gasped at the sight that greeted their eyes. They could see an army of fiends making their way forward. There were only a few thousand of them, but their aura was terrifying. One of the twelve Fiend Martyr, Yooda, was at the front of the army. He was clad in black and red armor and emanated a bone-chilling force.