Demonic Warlord's Barding Novels & Stories

She loves coating her skin in wild, dark ceremonial ash and heavy smokey warrior paints, but right now, her sweat and tears have smeared the black grease all over her muzzle. And Dilios looks like a complete rogue delinquent. He has dyed his thick fur a bright, unnatural violet tone, wears a single heavy silver ring through one ear, and darkens his eyelids with charred wood. One look at him and any High Alpha Lord would mistake him for a lawless omega. Terry is the only normal-looking warrior among our little pack circle. He refuses to paint his skin, wears no silver trinkets, and leaves his dark fur completely natural.

"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—“

A warrior- a person in charge, Mereiah realized after Lycia did, already limping to them. The Warrior faced them as they approached, and started. At the sight of Lycia Mereiah stopped caring about the introductions as her gaze landed on the battlefield. On the army— another army—marching on them, half veiled in darkness. Six demons, upper ranks at their front lines.

A masculine voice said behind her. Immediately Meagan turned surprised that someone had heard her mumbling to herself amidst the commotion and loud music. Her gaze locked with a tall handsome man, his hair packed in a bun style, his wrestlers shoulders were part of his muscular physique and his well chiseled chest was bare only a double crossed whip on him. He had a dark bristly mustache, dressed in a khaki pant and black leather boots with detachable whips dangling from the belt on both sides. Meagan recognized his outfit. “Warlord Baron?” Meagan said.

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.