Ear Rumbling On Command Novels & Stories

My strange response to his command puzzled him. “What are you looking for, Ann?” “Oh, you are talking to me?” I pointed my finger at myself and laughed, “Actually, you didn’t mention any name last time. So, I thought you were thinking out loud!” Demrid’s eyes blinked with incredulity as he waited for an explanation, my clear statement failed to point out the issue with his prior order. So, I didn’t hold back and spoke. “In case you’ve never heard about it, but ‘get ready, we will go out for dinner’ only works when you address your subordinates, Demrid.

The straps clicked shut with finality. That's when the real squirming started. I took my sweet time wandering over to the control panel, running my fingers along the buttons glowing in the dim light. "What's what?" I asked Rolin. His smirk could've cut glass. "Red's boiling water. Blue's ice. Yellow's—" "Let me guess," I interrupted. "Acid?" "Got it in one." His eyes glittered. "Green calls in medics to patch them up. Black's... creative mode."

“On your knees.” Roman’s voice cut through the grand hall like a blade drawn across silk. The command was quiet, but it carried , over the murmurs of the gathered pack, over the clinking of goblets and the heavy scent of wine and cedar smoke. Luna froze. Every eye in the hall turned toward her.

Soren growled, his voice sharpening into a true commander’s strike. Beside them, Garick let out a deafening, blood-chilling howl that echoed across the entire valley, signaling the pack to drop into the trenches. Down in the muddy valley, the engine of the lead armored excavator roared with a mechanical, industrial violence that shook the ancient pine needles from the trees.

He raised an eyebrow, clearly unimpressed by my outburst. “Watch your tone, Riley,” he said coolly. “I don’t like having to remind you of your place.” “My place?” I repeated, my voice rising despite myself. “You humiliated me! Do you have any idea how embarrassing it was to tell a stranger that name?” Jaxon leaned back in his chair, swirling his drink lazily as he watched me with a calm, calculating gaze. “You’re here because I told you to be here,” he said, his voice sharp. “I don’t care about your embarrassment. What I care about is obedience. And I expect you to follow my rules without question.”

And the silence protracted. When he slammed the glass down for the third time, he ordered in a headmaster’s tone, “Sit. I’ll tell you all about it.” He shoved his face into mine and whispered in a low, threatening voice, “So you’ll stop bothering the hell out of me.” ***** “We move together in packs,” Rum began. We were settled in the living room—Rum slumped against his favourite couch that was facing his flat screen TV, the size of a pool table, while I was on the edge of the other couch, next to his.

I will see you tomorrow okay. [some loud, high pitch screaming, shrieking voices were coming from the backgrounds] Jerika: What’s that? Is someone’s… puppy dying? Martin: No… it’s a g… girl Jerika: Why is she making such voices? Martin: Apparently she is crying Jerika: Why is she crying? Is she in pain? You know what you should help her Martin: I really can’t Jerika: Why? Martin: Well because I am making her cry Jerika: Why would you do that?

He takes off running. Caden snorts. “Does he really think he’s getting away?” I shrug and step forward, pulling on my aura until it radiates through the clearing. Once it peaks, I shout, “STOP!” Everyone around me freezes. Even Dad, mid-step, stands completely still, staring at me like I’ve grown horns. Caden shifts uncomfortably but isn’t fully frozen. “Shit, sorry. EVERYONE BUT TIM CAN MOVE!” Dad gasps as the command lifts. He breathes hard, his expression a mix of amazement and confusion. I’ve never used my command on this scale before—just enough to get rogues to talk, usually.

Placing the black rock a few metres away I took a deep breath. “Berlarot,” I commanded and the rock quivered. Black ooze and oil bubbles, the fizzing stench of sulphur stings my nostrils as I wave my hands. Then as it grows, the haze around his form is dazzling. The haze makes me squint as Berlarot grows bigger, blacker and stronger every time I summon him. “My queen,” he rumbles, at least the size of a cow now, and still oozing, pulsing with black oily life.

The room inhaled with it, as if the structure were breathing. Dorian exhaled. “It’s alive.” “Alive and lonely.” He grimaced. “That’s worse.” I stepped forward. The floor rippled like water under glass. The Throne’s runes flared. The weight hit before the sound. > KNEEL. My pulse roared; my legs locked. The command didn’t arrive as words, but as recognition of the memory of obedience, trying to breathe again. Hollowflame climbed my spine in answer. The pressure doubled.