For Honor Mercy Novels & Stories

"Oh. I was talking to a corpse all this time." Clyde shrugged it off and stepped over his dead body, aiming his shotgun at another approaching raider. Before he could recognize whose corpse he just walked over, he already planted a hole in his chest. Bloodshed wasn't new to Clyde. He'd witnessed it too often and even did it himself multiple times. He believes that this world does not deserve his pity for those who have sinned. He shows no mercy or even humanity—who even said he had that? He's not even human. Benevolence rarely makes it past his violent walls.

Do not let anyone limit your happiness. She hugged the letter to her chest and cried. She didn’t hate her father. He was her father and even though her childhood and their family had been unconventional, it was all she had known. Her only bone of contention with him was selling her off in marriage. She still had to know why. She carefully folded the letter and replaced it in the envelope. When she picked up the last envelope in the group she knew without a doubt that it was from Avenge. He was contacting her directly now?

Two days have passed and still no sign of Collin, Mercy has made is her mission to pray to the Mood Goddess every night for his safe return, which was hypocritical on her part because she knows how powerful Collin is and for her to only pray for his safe return and not those that will die by his hand, was a bit selfish. But which mate isn’t selfish? They all are because naturally it’s instilled in them to care and love their mates and Mercy was no different.

Recognition, again, like the two of us were discovering a shared language without the words for it. “You can’t promise that,” she whispered. “I can promise me,” I said. “That’s all anyone can do.” Mercy appeared behind us, as if she’d stepped out of the air itself. She carried a small pouch at her hip, herbs and needles and other quiet weapons. “Stop,” she said. We stopped. Mercy crouched and pressed her palm to the ground, eyes half-lidded. The gesture looked like prayer until you watched her fingers, the way they traced patterns too deliberate to be reverent.

“Good. Then answer this— The mercy you’re asking from me… is it worth more than the one Mother gave you?” Her words crack something deep inside me. Mercy? When Mother cast me out, banished me before the tribe—was that mercy? The memory claws open again. Maybe it was. Maybe exile was her mercy. Nyvrae leans closer, voice cutting low. “Will your mercy restore our pride? Our honor? Our peace? Our land? Will it put Mother back on her feet?” The weight of it crushes me. My foolish heart—every breath I spent loving Varyn—turns to stone inside my chest. Every ecstasy, every promise, ashes.

And still I held back, shaking, my teeth hovering at her throat, knowing that one heartbeat more would damn us both. Somewhere, in a softer part of the world, a siren complained about a different man’s mistake. The sound dragged a thread through my hearing that caught on a nail of memory: the boy in the alley the night before, the way his breath had paused when mine continued, the way my mouth had refused to stop until my will had arrived late. I have learned too many sermons to pretend I don’t know the text of this one. Mercy is not nice. Mercy is breaking yourself where it matters to save someone else’s music.

And me? I just stood there. Because what was I supposed to feel? Relief? Shock? Gratitude? Or fear… deep, cold fear. Merrin wasn’t a man who forgave easily. He wasn’t a man who spared lives. He ruined lives. He destroyed families. He killed without blinking. And now he was suddenly… wise? Merciful? Praising me? Something was wrong. Very wrong. Merrin lifted his hand again. The cheers softened. “There has been confusion these last few days,” he said. “Let me clear it.”

I laid my hand on hers. She scoffed. "Who do you think you are, Blaire Quincy? A martyr? Trying to save everyone all by yourself, you'll die. I know you're hurting from three years ago and you don't know how to move on from this unrequited love but Fabian… you know what it feels like to not have your feelings reciprocated. "You were led on by Jacob, don't do the same to this handsome rich billionaire. You both deserve better than this situation. So make your decision oh great Martyr, will you love him or leave him? Know that you are only human and you are allowed to be greedy sometimes."

Grace cut her off firmly. Mercy swallowed hard. Her gaze slid back to the triplets, lingering on Adan. He was busy on his phone, but as if sensing her stare, his frown deepened. His cold eyes suddenly lifted and locked onto hers. Mercy’s heart skipped a beat. She snapped her head away quickly and typed a message to her team with trembling fingers: “A big problem may be coming for both the businesses and the mafia worlds.” Then she scrolled down and sent another text to a different contact.

she said. He smiled faintly. “You notice everything.” “I notice what matters.” Elias hesitated before asking, “Do you believe what Cale said? About mercy?” Seraphina opened her eyes. “Mercy is not forgiveness. It's a choice. To show mercy is to choose to stop the world from becoming what it fears most.” He nodded slowly, committing her words to memory. “I’m writing down what you say. The people listen to you, even when you don’t mean them to.”