Harden Quirk Novels & Stories

Fimrouck places the sword in front of him once again examining it. "When you were hardening the blade what did you quench it with?" He suddenly asks. I laugh at his absurd question. "I quenched it in water, what else should I have done?" I ask. "I see, explains why the blade was brittle. Adding salt or oil to your quenching water prevents the metal from becoming too brittle," he explains. "I've heard of that technique but never thought to try it," I admit.

[New Quest] [punches Felix and Hendry in the face.] [Every time you hit, you will gain additional physical strength]

After the meal with Cobalt, Matthew went to meet Shima again who was in his office with two of his royal guards, namely Hardy Sherry and Dzy Maddil. “So the Whale Clan and the Deep Clan are already affected, huh?” Shima rephrased his royal guards’ report as a question. “Yes, no wonder they didn’t report anything out of the ordinary.” Hardy said. Hardy was a merman with green scales and skin. His hair had a darker shade of green flowed majestically in the water. He wore armour on his torso and along his tail that was very muscular. He was probably a really good swimmer. His almond shaped eyes were yellow in colour and he apparently had a giant scissor on his back.

And now, I feel the strength of Cyra’s pack, shared with me. Quirin is a little different. He built his pack from the ground up. All of them are previous rogues, fighters. It makes sense that they would be drawn to an Alpha who is also a fighter, and it also makes it more clear to me why he’s so dangerous. His pack’s ferocity has made Quirin even more ferocius.

He didn't throw a punch; he slammed both of his vibrating fists directly into the brick floor. A localized earthquake ripped through the Warren. The brick floor shattered, sending jagged shards of masonry exploding upward like shrapnel. Baraka was thrown off balance, the ground beneath his boots literally rolling like an ocean wave. Before Baraka could recover, the woman with the bone spikes whipped her arms forward. Six razor-sharp projectiles of calcified bone shot through the air, moving with the velocity of arrows fired from a compound bow. Adapt. Survive. The military MREs Baraka had consumed in the Zenith bunker provided the fuel his body desperately needed. His forearms instantaneousl

It struck Quincy's hand like a bolt of lightning. Quincy barely dodged the attack in time, fury painting her face. She looked over and saw the lightning had embedded itself into a rock not far away, shiny white against gray stone. It was a white jade token. What incredible strength! Amid her rage, Quincy could not help but feel shocked as well. The white jade was fragile, but its owner had been able to embed it into a rock completely unharmed with sheer internal energy. That was a remarkable skill. Was it Darryl?

He hopped unsteadily and then plopped down on the bed, wincing as he shuffled up the bed, using his one good arm and the elbow of his broken one. I laughed at his absurdity. “Less of a man? Jace, you’re the manliest person I know. Helping you out of a wheelchair isn’t going to ruin that image I have of you, you know.” That was the truth. If I was honest, I actually quite liked fussing over him and having him need me for things. In a ridiculously small way, it made me feel like I was paying him back for what he did. “Manly is a much better word than sweet.”

“But you’re still pulling back. Stop hesitating.” As the session went on, Victor pushed her harder. Olivia’s arms ached from exhaustion and sweat was dripping down her face, but she refused to give up. If nothing else, she would prove to him that she wasn’t as weak. By the end of the session, Olivia was exhausted. She slumped against the wall, her breath coming in small gasps. Victor bent in front of her. “You’ve got stamina,” he said finally. “But you need to toughen up. This is just the start.”

He had known Quispe for years, worked with him, and knew the man's true character—unbending and utterly fair, every inch the 'Black Blade' he was known as. Then there was Howard. Hardin admired the man deeply and did not want to cross him unless he had no other choice. Besides, Hardin knew if Quiller kept up with this, he would have ended up biting off more than he could chew, and they would suffer for it. "We're here to work a case, not to shoot the breeze!" Quiller cut him off. "But..." Hardin began, a crease forming between his brows. "That's enough. This doesn't concern you. Go stand aside," Quiller snapped, then turned back to the Judge.

However, on the night of my 18th birthday, the first crack started to form in my carefully-crafted armor. I'd just gotten off work from the graveyard shift and was on my way back to my dormitory when I ran into a group of drunk street thugs. Just as they were about to force me to my wits' end, Vernon suddenly appeared out of nowhere. After chasing off the thugs, he gathered me in his arms even though my knee was bleeding from earlier. His hug threw me completely off guard. It felt like the strange yet familiar warmth of a father's hug—big, strong, and safe.