Good Rap Battle Lines Novels & Stories

Dear Eron, The battle line has just been drawn. I'm going to use your fatal attraction to me against you. Blood, for blood.

“Alright. Lance you and Dylan take the two alive rogues to the barn. Randy take the rest, patrol the area, make sure there are no more.” “Yes Alpha.” they all ring out in unison and disperse. Armi and I are left there with the dead rogues. We wait and watch as they shift back, then search the dead bodies. We flip over a couple and check them thoroughly. Sure enough, Lance was right. “There are Silver Rock warrior tattoos on each one of them.” Armi says through gritted teeth. “Not a bad play, they even smelled like rogues. They all have.” I voice. “Can’t argue with that,, unfortunately.”

At forty-three, his body moved without his permission. One step toward the ridge's edge. Toward the sight line that would show him the main street. Show him her. He caught himself. Stepped back. Counted again from the beginning. Slower this time. Each number a door held shut by force. --- At seventy, footsteps behind him. His Beta. The only one who knew where to find him. The only one who would dare. "Patrol found something." A pause calibrated to deliver weight. "North ridge." "Blood."

I walked over to the long line of glass mirrors hanging above the perimeter sinks, my hands trembling as I reached down to fix the hem of my twisted skirt and pull my oversized sweater back down over my hips. I looked up at my reflection, my breath catching instantly in my throat. I reached down, my shaking fingers pulling the waistband of my skirt slightly to the side. Right there, forming directly over my pale hip bone, was a dark, deep purple mark. It was shaped perfectly by the heavy print of Leo's fingers, a brutal, undeniable brand burning into my skin where nobody else in this school would ever see it.

“You sent us out hunting for a Gamma?! You stupid shit. I sent ten of my strongest warriors on a suicide mission for your sorry ass.” Justin’s eyes lost focus. They could tell his was mind linking with his warriors. When his eyes refocused, he looked at Zach. “We’re done. My warriors are packing up and returning home. You are going to fight your own battle.” Zach flashed a toothy grin at Justin. “We have plenty of help from Hoh pack. We don’t need you, and if you want help with your territory dispute, don’t come crawling to us.” Duncan looked at Justin. “What territory dispute?”

“You destroyed my empire. Killed my people. Stole what was mine. Tonight I take payment in blood.” I grabbed my own megaphone. “This would all have been avoided if you had given me Isabella.” “Today I wipe out your pack and your bloodline. Be ready to be vanquished.” “Talk is cheap. Show your might in battle.” Lars lowered the megaphone and raised his hand. His forces began to advance. They came in waves. The first wave, fifty fighters, spread across the field. They moved low, advancing toward our first defensive line.

“Yeah, no. All this travelling just took its toll on me. But I'm fine now. And I'm always ready for a good fight.” Charlie chuckled, shaking his head at her but one glance out the window wiped away the smile from his face. “We’ll be going in blind, Ilana. That alone just decreases our chances of success vastly. On top of that, we have limited weapons and we have to be in and out before local law enforcement can even hear of this.” Ilana nodded and whatever sleep that still lingered was now gone completely. “But we have the element of surprise. And I'm great at stealth,” she said as they got out of the car. “How do you intend to fight?”

Something in my chest that has been in one position for eleven days shifts. "Vienna reported in this morning." He crosses to my desk. Sets down a single printed page with the deliberate care of someone who has thought carefully about how to deliver something. "Prague went dark yesterday. Lisbon haven't responded to three separate messages." He pauses. His voice doesn't change — he's too good for that — but something behind his eyes does. "The degradation pattern is consistent across all five bloodlines. Starts eleven days ago. Simultaneously." Another pause. "To the hour."

Thomas's head snapped sideways, his cheek instantly swelling red. He stared in stunned silence for a heartbeat, then roared with rage. "You dare hit me? I'll smash your face in!" He charged like a maddened bull, slamming his palm into my forehead. Pain exploded across my skull, making my vision swim. The other volunteers finally snapped out of their shock. Some seized his arms; others grabbed his legs. He shrieked shrilly, thrashing against them. "Let go of me! Imogen will make sure every one of you regrets it!"

It dawned on her that Julian and Oliver were in the same category in almost all races, therefore they were rivals. "Guess that'd be me," Oliver replied with a practiced nod, not bothering to extend a hand. And there it was—the tension again. The kind of silence that made even the air feel heavier. Julian didn't flinch. He simply leaned back, one arm draped lazily along the booth, his body language screaming comfort. And then, almost as if on cue, his arm slipped around Sloane's shoulders once more—an easy, thoughtless motion. Except it wasn't thoughtless.