Glutton Berserker Mga Nobela at Kwento

General Abtez was lucky because as one of the Berserker generals, he was popular with women, and he didn't risk losing his immortality if he had sex with someone. Berserkers were sexual beings and loved the challenge of convincing a virgin to bed them. They were the strongest warriors in Odin's army; they wore the furs of wolves and bears and when they went berserk, their muscles would grow and they would become bigger and ten times stronger, with claws shooting from their fingers and fangs protruding from their mouths, taking on animalistic qualities. Their eyes would glow an ice blue, which gave them the ability to see in the dark. Some of the stronger Berserkers could even shape-shift int

Ganzorig was much taller than the average Salamander. His hair was in a top knot and he had a long thin nose that was aquiline and raptorlike. His skin was bronzed while his eyes, always half-open, belied his violent nature. He wore chain mail on his huge arms and steel gauntlets on his hands; wide chains crisscrossed his bare chest. This was the trademark attire of the Kanebori-shu or Gold-diggers. They were fire Slayers lured from distant regions by the gold rush, renowned for their skill in demolitions and explosives like nitroglycerine. Many of them had been recruited by the Khaganate to become siege-engineers and sappers in wartime.

he sneered, raking his claws across a guard's chest. Gluttony's laughter echoed as he grabbed one of the fallen guards, his grip draining the man's vitality in seconds. The guard's lifeless body crumpled to the ground, and Gluttony sighed with mock satisfaction. "Delicious." The remaining guards regrouped, their fear giving way to desperation. They hurled coordinated strikes at the spirits, their swords glowing brighter with each attack. Wrath met them head-on, his fists blazing with fiery energy. He shattered their defenses with brute force, the clash of steel and raw power ringing out in the night. A guard managed to land a hit, his blade grazing Wrath's arm, but the spirit barely flinched

Heavy footsteps echoed out from the ruined main hall. Every step split the white jade floor tiles across the square. The Dark Blood vanguard general known as Butcher stepped into view. Nearly three meters tall, his body was built of rock-hard bulging muscles, scarlet tribal tattoos covering his bald scalp. Most terrifying of all, a tangible dark domain hung shrouding his frame. The mark of a Sixth-Rank Marquis Realm warrior — an innate elemental domain. "Quagmire of Gravitational Weight."

The silver claws bypassed the thick ribs and found the lung. "This is for the ravine," Joshua whispered into the rogue’s ear. He twisted his hand. The sound of tearing muscle was loud in the sudden silence of the clearing. Joshua ripped his hand back, a spray of dark blood hitting his face. He didn't blink. He didn't wipe it away. The Berserker tumbled backward, his massive body hitting the mud. He tried to shift back to human form to heal, but the silver was already in his system, blackening his veins. He gasped, his chest caving in, and went still.

Kaelor’s roar reverberated off the frozen canyon walls as he threw his massive body into the center of the city square. ​His blade was a wheel of absolute, terrifying crimson destruction. Every swing tore through three corrupted mercenaries at once, his royal Lycan aura flaring with such blinding heat that the black fluid in the attackers' veins boiled away into harmless steam before they could even draw their daggers. ​"Form up on the High King!" Jaxon shouted. Appearing from the smoke with a group of fifty surviving frost-guards, his iron spear driving through the chest of a massive gray berserker.

"Please listen to me. Those beings are truly... idiotic. Just calm down and follow my instructions. Trust me." The green being infront of her started to grunt. It spoke of something she couldn't understand. ❇❇❇ The orc had just finished swooping down the last soul from the gas station. He and his comrade, Schnek were incharge of this whole area. As he was about to walk forward, he saw a figure slumping down a few steps away from him. "A normal!" "Lucky me," he thought as he licked his lip. "Another soul added to my capsule."

Grisha mumbled under her breath before yelling, "All those who are not heart seekers… BACK OFF!" Several horrendous outbursts erupted from the site soon after. The scream of somebody being whipped, crushed, or pounded into the ground accompanied every single outburst. The remaining clan members who were the closest to him were shoved to the ground before they even had a chance to gasp. Agenor's—clocked under a darkest shade of pure entropy—moved all over the area like a living breathing chaos. Under the effects of berserk skill, his resistance to physical pain and his appetite for carnage had reached a point of no return.

like flies. Thousands upon thousands of fat, mutant, yellow flies. “Join us,” he buzzed with a chorus of voices, “accept His Blessing. Be remade in His Image. Join in Communion with us.” I stared at him, mouth hanging open. His eyes glowed a yellow twice as bright as his suit. His teeth glimmered a sickly, unnatural yellow. His face sagged, the flesh loose around the eyes and mouth, like an ill-fitting rubber mask that no longer held the shape of a human face. A nauseating thought bubbled up in my head: If I were to pull off the man in yellow’s face . . . what would I see, underneath?

“You do not repeat that name to anyone unless you want this school to lose its mind.” I swallowed. “So, the rumors are true.” His mouth twisted. “More than you want to know.” “What is he?” I asked. Voss exhaled slowly, like the very weight of that question sat heavy on his lungs. “A mercenary. A butcher. A ghost even alphas and covens pretend doesn’t exist. He only shows his face before something catastrophic. Wards falling. Towns burning. Blood on the snow.” My gut clenched. Hard. “And the glaive?” I asked. “Dragonsteel’s not exactly easy to find.”