Flesh And Blood Armory Novels & Stories

PART ONE When he was nearly thirteen, my brother Jem got his arm badly broken at the elbow. When it healed, and Jem’s fears of never being able to play football were assuaged, he was seldom self-conscious about his injury. His left arm was somewhat shorter than his right; when he stood or walked, the back of his hand was at right angles to his body, his thumb parallel to his thigh. He couldn’t have cared less, so long as he could pass and punt.

" As he spoke, a layer of armor slowly condensed on Caspian. This was the ability that Caspian had mastered not long ago: Blood River Light Armor. However, when the person behind the Gates of Hell used it, the Blood River Light Armor changed again. At this time, the condensed armor was dark and dense with countless runes made of blood. Runes seemed to be formed from the blood of a group of Immortals and Demons. Countless souls swirled around the armor. After a while, many arms grew out of the armor. These arms held swords, hooks, flags, bells, and other magic weapons. Although these magic weapons were not real objects, every one of them looked extremely bloody and ferocious at the moment. Th

No, they touched down like cats do, quietly and wrongly. Through the haze, the Crimson Armada showed up, full on. There had to be fifty of them, maybe more. Sleek dark leather armor, pale skin like marble, and eyes that burned with a sharp, blood-red glow. Their bodies moved with this twitchy, awful speed, like predators on a bad speed setting, locked onto prey. In front of it all stood a tall vampire, all aristocratic posture, gripping a wicked, curved scythe. He drew in that freezing air, his red gaze snapping straight to where we were hiding.

My fortress, my legacy, my empire—under siege. Xavier was turning my house into a battleground. My home into his revenge poem. Not tonight. I strode into the armory. The warriors there stiffened as I entered, but no one spoke. They didn’t need orders—they were mine. Bred for war, carved from the same stone that built me. I threw off my jacket, grabbed my armor. Steel. Black. Fitted to my body like a second skin. Every buckle, every strap clicked with muscle memory. My sword slid into its holster across my back with a hiss that made my blood sing.

"The victor is entitled to legitimacy. Who cares about the tactics used as long as we get rid of you? You wouldn't fall into my trap if you weren't that confident. So just admit your defeat." After that, he activated his internal energy and dived down like a cannon straight at Ambrose. He punched Ambrose in the chest before he was even a few meters away. His right palm had turned bright red as if it had been soaked in blood for an extended period. Meanwhile, the air around them was thick with the odor of blood. The Bloodied Palm was a new skill that Forsythe had created. Archfiend Antigonus assisted Forsythe in redeveloping his muscles and bloodline a few months ago. Forsythe changed entirel

I sat there for a moment, staring at my reflection in the dark monitor. I stood up and grabbed my jacket. If I was going to take down Tulcero with the reinforcements, I needed better equipment than a standard Glock and raw strength. The Armory was forty minutes outside Ridgeway Oaks. It catered to a very specific clientele—supernaturals who needed weapons that could kill other supernaturals. I parked the Harley in the alley and knocked three times on the reinforced steel door. A panel slid open, revealing a pair of suspicious eyes. “Password,” a gravelly voice demanded.

Iris said, and Roger nodded. “Now, Arman, Dominic, Stavros… I need to have a balance of all the armed forces available… We need to know the headcount and level of training. Teams and designated commanders for each group,” I said, and they nodded. “Just so you know, in my realm we have worked on a special armour…” Dominic surprised me, “It is light and quite effective, but it is bulletproof, leaving very few vulnerable spots for our guys to get hit with a bullet… in this case, the serum,” he informed me, and I smirked.

The entire horde followed right behind it, a twisting, writhing mountain of pale flesh and flashing fangs ascending toward the ridge. "Fire!" the mercenary commander screamed in absolute panic. The night exploded with muzzle flashes. High-caliber, silver-tipped ammunition tore into the ascending horde, but the blood-born didn't even slow down. The bullets sank into their pale, rubbery flesh with wet thuds, the wounds closing instantly as the black, ancient blood in their veins rejected the metal. A pale hand reached over the lip of the cliff. Before the commander could scream again, he was snatched by the throat, his heavy tactical armor snapping like plastic as he was dragged violently over

The heavy steel doors of the sub level armory hissed open. The air inside the fortified bunker was freezing, smelling sharply of gun oil, cold iron, and imminent death. The blinding fluorescent lights hummed violently overhead, illuminating rows of matte black tactical rifles, heavy body armor, and thousands of rounds of armor piercing ammunition. Lucian didn't walk into the room; he stalked into it like a completely rabid animal.