Demonic Warlord's Barding Novels & Stories

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.

"The erotic training feed is locked into the projector screen. Warlord David's primal beast is going to have an unforgettable, wild ride with your flesh tonight!" The second the door slams shut, I let out a low, guttural curse, searching the room for my original wildland hunting leathers, only to realize the treacherous hag has stolen them out of the chamber. My exposed skin shivers as a cold chill hits my chest. I have no choice but to meet the most dangerous warlord in the territory while dressed like a submissive, laced-up harlot.

There was no armor upon his body, no sword at his side, and no symbol of war accompanying him, only solemn ceremonial robes that spoke not of conquest, but of purpose. Instead, he wore formal black ceremonial robes embroidered with intricate silver thread depicting the insignias of every kingdom absorbed into the Black Dominion. Heavy silver chains crossed his broad shoulders, each one commemorating victories earned through years of conquest. Dark fabric flowed behind him like living shadow, while every detail of his appearance proclaimed both imperial authority and deliberate restraint. He looked like a man forged by war who had willingly laid every weapon aside before her throne. He waited

Just silence, the kind that comes before judgment. Across the broken vale, the Dustborn army emerged in tide-swells of shadow, obsidian-bone shields glinting with curse sigils, beasts wrought from the marrow of extinct gods, warlocks whose flesh was sewn with thread made of oath and agony. They didn’t march. They loomed. And at their core, the banner of Sirelia rose. A crown of thorns, spiked in spirals, pulsed with an otherworldly glow, bloodlight that had never known sun. It throbbed like a wound that wouldn’t close.

“ THE WAR... ” The time has come. On the battlefield stood the hunters and the demons. The night had already surfaced fully because that was the perfect time for wars like this especially when it has to do with this two creatures. Lucas sat on his black horse coated in pure golden armor with some other of his men who were actually his war front men. While the rest of his armies stood at the back. And from the gathering Lora walked silently to the front with her head covered with her coat cap, hiding her identity.

Barded twisted a smirk, raising his eyebrows. This stupid guy’s trying to get into her again, Larice noticed. “It’s none of your concern, Barded,” she replied with a glare. “It’s none of OUR concern?” He looked around. “Isn’t it our concern to have a member, a fool who only wastes her time being here … when she’s even scared of the enemies we’re fighting against?” He shifted his glance at Arien Homeli. “Grand Arien, this coward brings shame to our flag in front of the Dravalon Empire. Why’s there no one doing anything? We all know she’s scared of fire—“

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.

Their leader is Leomord whose zodiac sign is Aquarius as he is regarded as the strongest among all of them. Zodiac warriors march in unison and formed three rows. They remained standing until Prince Arthur arrived and they saluted him. He wore trousers, leggings, cloaks and tunic. The tunic, being the outermost garment, was decorated with embroidery and gold lacing. He has a long hair, bristly eyebrows, hawkish nose, defined cheekbones, titan masculine shoulder. His posture alone makes him even more handsome.

He is weak and angry. In a surge, he roared in anger and the rest of his rogues came in charging me and the rest of my guards who managed to survive the first fight with the rouges. This time, they are twice the number of the first set of rogues. Damien's eye color still looks very dangerous, he roared again and this time, a dark ominous cloak fills the room, accompanied by ominous noise. There is a dark smoke that centers around too and everyone in the room begins fighting something they cannot see.