Novel & Cerita Dwarves Blood Guts

There was a pause and then Evand said, “It takes all three of us working together.” “That won’t be happening anytime soon,” said the other dwarf. “You know I’ve got dwarf number three inside me, right? If I swallowed you two, would I be able to control the elf?” “No!” they both said together. Sometimes when a dwarf says no, he means yes. “Just remember, even if it doesn’t work, I can swallow you and disconnect you from the gem. That means a lifetime stuck in my head. Believe me, you wouldn’t like it.” Neither said anything, but it felt like both gems shuddered in my hands. I put them away and took in the view. Beneath us were thousands of troops marching in square formation. Lizardmen and hu

They failed to gain allies, even though they had come all the way here. These dwarves are black, that is thorough. Only their teeth are slightly yellow. Their bodies are as high as an adult's waist. Don't underestimate their physical strength, one dwarf is said to be able to lift 100 kilos. Also, their race is one of the best at making weapons.

Zen took step and block my figure, as he was ready to do action if something happened. Thank you so much Teacher Fernando for your history lesson. I laughed and step aside to smiled gently at the dwarf. He was looking at me like he wanted to kill on the spot. He took my provocation, so I was right about the bait. It’s been recorded through the history on how much the dwarves suffered in the hands of the vampire race and from the ancient magic empire. Dwarves who have always valued their precious blood, kinship, and weapon more than their very own life.

“Then bury us both.” The lower vault wasn’t made for men. It wasn’t built like any modern architecture. There were no cables. No panels. No angles that matched. The floor curved slightly, the walls seemed to bend away as you approached them, then close when you turned your back. There was no mold. No decay. But everything smelled old. Older than the bloodlines. Older than the wars. The vault bled now. From the seams. Dark fluid. Not red. Not brown. Something in between.

Because I also planned for that. The gate finally opened and the rogue behind me pushed me hard, causing my back to scream in agony. Unable to stop myself, I fell to my knees and emptied my stomach. The wolfsbane I was fed last night causing more than a little blood to mix with the water, making the scene look quite disgusting.

“You and her are coming with me. You’re going to return what you took from Keilah.” The dwarf let out a nervous chuckle, then quickly shook his head. “That’s a problem,” he said, his voice tinged with false regret. “I already used it.” My fists clenched at his admission, but he wasn’t done. “Your girlfriend having fae blood in her made her the perfect candidate for what we needed.” Fae blood? His words slammed into me like a freight train. I frowned, the weight of his revelation pressing down on me like a stone in my gut.

The second thing I noticed was the smell. Iron. Smoke. And… sweetness, that I couldn’t just place, more like rotting fruit. And the third thing? We weren’t alone. Figures moved in the distance, silhouettes against the skyline. The very tall towers pierced the fog, and black stone bridges stretched between them and intertwined. A dark river cut through the valley far below, and was glowing faintly red under the moonlight. “This is…” I trailed off, not sure what word to use. “Ravenhill,” Davorin said simply.

Blood sprayed. One of them—larger than the rest, bearing a crown of stitched scalps—shattered through the front line, tossing two dwarves aside like dolls. He roared, swung his axe like death itself— I met him head-on. My golden axe clashed with his. Sparks ignited like falling stars. The force of the blow drove us both back a step, the ground shuddering under our boots. He leaned close, tusks inches from my jaw, his breath reeked—a mix of rot, ash, and sulfur.

Toby cut the chain with a pair of bolt cutters, and we drove the ambulance into the throat of the earth. The darkness was absolute. The air was thick with the scent of damp dust and sulfur. "Welcome to the basement," Toby muttered, flicking on a high-intensity tactical light. The tunnel stretched out before us, the timber supports rotting and sagging under the weight of the granite above. It felt like walking into the gullet of a dead god.

My mother screamed—the correct reaction. “What the fuck?” Sara, my sister, gasped as she walked into the room and squatted next to our father. A large puddle of blood had formed by his face, seeping out from his mouth and nostrils. She pulled a dart out of his arm and smelled it. “Wolfsbane,” she said. “How ironic,” I responded. “What?” She looked at me, confusion on her face. “Well, it was his idea to use wolfsbane darts in battle. It’s pretty ironic that that’s how he dies in the end, eh?”