Grand Master Varka Novels & Stories

) It’s as high as 2 Eiffel tower, It’s as big as a rich guy’s crib, and its wings are extending covering the sky behind it. "WHAT THE HELL ARE YOU DOING HERE?!" It enraged. "I’m here because I want you to be my Ribo," Varz said. "HOW IMPUDENT! I THOUGHT YOU'VE GIVEN UP ON THAT THING. DO YOU THINK YOU CAN TAME ME THAT EASILY?!" It exclaimed. "You will be my Ribo! I will protect this world!" Varz exclaimed. "I DON'T CARE WHAT YOUR MOTIVE IS! THE CONDITION IS JUST THE SAME AS BEFORE: DEFEAT ME, AND I WILL ACKNOWLEDGE YOU AS MY MASTER. I CAN SEE YOU BRING 2 GUYS HERE. I WILL CRUSH ALL OF YOU!" It enraged.

An ugly servant with a crooked face, who had taken part in the game of the few purple chefs pouring wine into glasses, approached old Vierone with a fake smile, the gentleman of the nation withdrew for silence in the corners and spoke in whispers, with their ears on the mad merriment of the few researchers at the feast, and the innkeeper's servants held their merriment in full with the bottles of wine perishing until they emptied on the table, the clay jugs in anger were broken in a noisy din, and the trumpets sounded songs and trumpets of the mother of fire, the gift of the one who worships his glass in honor of his noblest friends. Old Vierone expected much from such a perindau until they

I reached in under the folds of my dress to finish him quickly. He captured my hand, "it's fine, Love, you don't need to." He pecked my lips. "This was for you. To distract you." Biting my lip, I nodded and he gave me a small, crooked smile. "I'm sorry you had to sit through this. I'll let Vladimir know that we will not be attending the VARS from next year." "Thank you." Deep gratitude was etched in my tone. "The winner of the this year's VARS Gladiator Competition is....once again Slave Eliyah— our very own Spartacus!" Elder Orlando's voice boomed in the arena. The crowd went wild as they cheered and hooted.

She turned to the man the little girl had referred to as Grandpa. He was indeed a grandpa with white hair and all. "We will have to move to the small Mansion at the Eastern border." The man said with a small smile. The lands were divided into four different parts. The Nalish, Naborta, Bathon, and the strongest of all...Viscoria. Viscoria unlike the other lands was ruled by a cruel lord, Lord Wolfarine. Little Beatrice looked up at her butler. Even at a tender age, one knew who ruled the Eastern Border.

We could be bound to fail… But, thanks to that witch, Kalista, we had something Varek wasn’t aware of. The vial! My defiance glowed even brighter and I laughed. Varek instantly frowned. “You still think you can beat me?” “As long as I live, I will not relent until I find a way to destroy you, Varek!” “Uuh, such fire!” Varek exclaimed, his eyes dilating with excitement as he watched the anger on my face. And like a mad man, he grabbed my neck and slammed his lips over mine. My body stiffened in irritation and I tried to push him away. But he snapped his fingers, suddenly forcing my body into obedience.

Cynthia wondered why he stood below his stage, and also close to the wall like he was a servant. “Master,” she acknowledged and bowed her knee. “No. Not tonight,” the Master whose hand was outstretched to stop her from acknowledging him stated. He glanced at the entrance by the platform and looked back at Cynthia. Then he placed his hands behind his back again. “Bow, Cynthia,” he ordered and she bowed totally on the floor, facing the stage. She was scared before, but it had been tripled. The Grand Master of The Vrek Cult was the scariest and one of the most dangerous men alive. She had never even seem him casually standing alone before. He had never stepped foot below his platform stage befo

Athlea, his wife and mother of the Luna, stormed into the great hall, her blood red robe clung to her curvy body like a second skin. By the hearth, Varek sat slouched in a carved chair, swirling a goblet of dark wine lazily between his fingers as he stared outside the window. He didn’t notice her step in. He should have heard from the leader of the mercenaries by now. They were yet to return with Elora’s head to claim their reward money. “Old man!” Athlea roared, but Varek didn’t flinch at his wife’s rude entrance. In fact, he barely looked up.

Not a speck of dust clung to his clean clothes; only his long hair swayed in the wind generated by his own power. In stark contrast to his composure, two old men nearby were anything but calm. “Excellent! Now that’s my disciple!” boomed a hale and hearty old man. He was Raksa, a grandmaster of the martial arts. “That’s only because I taught him how to concoct the divine pills to support that training!” retorted another elder, reeking of strong spirits and still clutching a bottle. He was Mahadewa, a peerless, if perpetually drunk, master alchemist.

Dorm 13 never slept that night. Jin stood in the yard, black flame eyes reflecting 100 ex-slaves who could not even hold a sword properly. "Varok, left hand too low! You leave heart open!" Varok, ex-miner, D+ now, tried again. Sweat. His pickaxe hands shook holding iron sword Igris conjured from shadow storage. Mira healed Ren's bleeding knuckles for third time. "You don't need to be strong today," she whispered.

Monica She was tiding up the kitchen counter, her face lit up when her eyes landed on me. "Hi, oliva " Monica said eagerly. "Hi" I smiled. despite the situation, I missed her. "You are finally awake" she beamed," I was about to bring the food up to the room" "Thanks" "It's nothing, that's what I'm paid for. Master said you needed rest, so I wasn't allowed to see you." She said, pity clear on her