Hand Of God Series Novels & Stories

“Black Hand and the Orange Team greet Mane Harbinger, the God Slayer” Their thunderous voice shook the City Lord’s mansion, and the faces of the warriors in the hall with them switched when the heard their proclamation. Steel Fist and Maggie were taken aback for a while, before their brows furrowed in suspicion. Black Hand and the others were strong warriors, so why were they prostrating before another who wasn’t their King? Black Saga was also wary of the entire situation, remembering that even his own City Lord had remained still in the presence of the man now being hailed as a god killer. This wasn’t so with the other Black Team members however. Before Mane could ask Vital Orange and the

Damian Marshall, Ian, and I had just arrived at the border of Navarro’s land when the air became electrified. We had Penthesilea and Phlegyas with us. They were supposed to be dead but thanks to Shade they were still alive. Shade had given them a serum to make it seem like they were dead. The gods had taken away their powers and immortality and they were set to be put to death but Shade came through again. To everyone, it did look like they died. After the gods had left them for dead, the three of us came and got them and took them to Shade. She was able to restore their immortality but not their powers. Only the gods have that kind of power. I could see Navarro was back, so I knew

But, Elika was ready, she smiled once more, pulling the storm back for a slit second before forcing it to ripple, launching it into the black magic with all that she could; the power clashing. An explosion ripped through the mansion, sending both the goddess and the guards soaring through the air, the young immortal acting without hesitation as she caught a sword, slamming it into Hades lower stomach; his eyes widening in shock and regret. She watched the light in his eyes flicker, as though his entire existence was playing out within his mind in the moments that blood gushed recklessly from the wound; knowing that he had been defeated. Elika twisted the gold plated handle of the elegantly c

To his annoyance, Zachary remained standing where he was, lips lifted in a condescending smirk. A few meters before he hit him, with lethal precision, Alexander jumped a few feet in the air and went down slicing the fucker's arm, blood spouting everywhere from the severed limb. The blow should have made the enemy weak but it didn't. He watched in astonishment when the wound closed and another arm grew in its place, the new hand was caressing a ball of fire, which unceremoniously Zachary threw at him with a deadly force hitting his torso, burning his skin.

He had his hand holding up his chin with his elbow on the table like this was the most interesting meeting he had ever attended. Everyone started to look around to see who had their hands raised. There were only a few Gods who raised a hand. Boreis looked at the 4 Gods who's hands were raised and raised an eye brow. Exodus and Luther were the obvious ones but The God of Fortune was a complete surprise. He already assumed that The God of light would say he could. All Boreis could do was roll his eyes while freezing The God of pain and sufferings drink. As Algea The God of pain and suffering looked up at him with a menacing smirk, Boreis froze Algeas hands solid before teleporting next to The

"The messenger of the gods is the one in the womb of that young woman you saw. A strong warrior, well equipped for battle. The messenger will be delivered after ten full moons. Lift the child and give her a name." "A girl?" "Yes a girl, a strong one. The gods have planned everything for her, so do not be dismayed when the drama begins to unfold." "Please what of my daughter, will she be alright?" "The gods are watching over her." "Thank you, old woman." Ezeudo left with mixed feelings. The gods did not carry out the plan as he expected. He felt disappointed.

THE heavens never spoke in whispers. They roared. Kael knelt at the edge of the celestial dais, his skin stripped of its golden glow, blackened now with the mark of divine betrayal. The air around him shimmered with judgment, each breath thick with the rancid stench of mortality. Above him, the gods loomed, their faces carved from the cold light of eternity. Their eyes held neither pity nor forgiveness—only a cruelty as infinite as the stars. “You, the god of storms, who once commanded the skies,” boomed the All-Father, his voice rattling the cosmos, “have desecrated the sacred laws. You dared to love what is beneath us. A mortal. A fleeting ember among our eternal flame.”

I was lost in trance, lost in a world of my own with the sound of my heartbeat the only thing I could hear and feel. But, then again, it lasted only for a few seconds before a voice filled with whimper and pain pulled me out. Rough and harsh without any care. “I…won’t die alone, Vincenzo.” The voice muttered, his voice trembling and filled with so much anguish and resentment. “I must kill your wife. I have to carry out my duty assigned to me by the Italian Mafia.” After the voice, came a hand, filled with blood reaching out to me. Fear shot through my spine as I instinctively crawled backwards, away from the red hand covered in blood.

It respected my choice. The infected werewolves around me roared madly, tearing at the chain-link fences. But as I approached, they fell silent for a miraculous moment. Perhaps even these mindless beasts could sense my grim resolve. I stood on a high point of the ruins and closed my eyes. I summoned all the power within me. Not just my spiritual energy, but my life force itself. This was the final gambit for a werewolf with the "Hands of God" gift—a life sacrifice.

How would she correct the impression? Moreover, she slapped him. He had never raised his hand on her. He did threaten but he never followed through with his threat. She raised her hand first and slapped him. Yet, he was restrained enough to retaliate by slapping her bum instead of her face. She tentatively laid her hand on her sit spot. It was smarting and she was still heavy with regret. She winced at the ache and prayed for the sting to die down. She stayed there buried in cycles of the same thoughts about everything leading up to the present moment.