Heyoka Mask Novels & Stories

It was, before I went and ruined it, leading him on a wild goose chase across the roguelands. I pull the mask from the box. It looks like a piece of costume jewelry, like something I’d wear to a masquerade ball. Without my powers coursing through it, it looks and feels… cheap. Empty, and cold. ‘Carefully, Princess,’ Ryatt hisses into my mind. I put the mask on as fireworks crash overhead, turning the sky a vibrant, electric blue. Poppy was right about the celebration being a perfect distraction from what’s about to take place.

This mask isn’t just fashionable, it was designed by Black Eagle and must be handled delicately. Unlike any of the other masks mine has been outfitted with a transmitter, as well as a small computer system designed to send information through nearly invisible lenses. It's so specialized that I know Katelyn Rose had to have crafted it, even though it was “Ms Smith” who handed it to me.

Zane continues before ending the call. I ran to my bike, opened the compartment behind and put on the leather jacket I kept inside just in case. I took out my mask, which is enough to cover my mouth and one of my eyes, leaving a hole for me to look. I drew a mouth and other designs on it to make it look cool and it's safe to say that I'm proud of it. If you've ever watched Tokyo Ghoul, you might have an idea or two. It looks just like kaneki's, but mine is better.

I knew it’s where he and that fucking bastard Rokurō would be. Their guards scrambled, trying to stop me. I narrowed my eyes before bringing my Kitsune mask to my face. Fear clouded their features at the sight of my mask. They knew what it meant. This wasn’t me, Hatake Yūri, heir of the clan, coming after their boss and second. No, this was Kitsune, a blood-thirsty fox spirit. “Stand down or perish.” I warned, unsheathing my blade ready.

“Try again!” Zayla’s second attempt wobbled… but this time it landed, precariously, on the edge. She gasped. “Ha! Got it!” she exclaimed. Irene cheered loudly. “See! You can do it!” After the games, they wandered toward a row of mask stalls. The masks glittered, painted with feathers, beads, and gold accents. “Pick one,” Irene said, pushing a particularly ornate mask toward her. “Tonight’s about fun. Don’t be shy.”

"Do you take this woman to be your wife, to stand by her through thick and thin?" "I do," the man said, his voice muffled by the mask. The guests whispered in awe. Howard Larson, the Larson family's big shot, was so in love with me that he would not let a bad cold stop our big day. He did not want to disappoint me. "Wait a second." The man's eyes darted around, and his forehead was dotted with sweat. I smiled and asked, "Howard, you're looking a bit pale. Too busy with the wedding to remember your medicine?"

I quickly placed soundproof headphones on the patient and quietly got up. Opening the door, I slapped her twice across the face until her cheeks were red and swollen. "Have you lost your mind, Kate? I'm doing hypnotherapy on the patient. You can't interrupt us at this time! Are you really trying to kill him?" Kate clutched at her swollen cheeks, looking tearful. The medical staff around us stared at her with disdain, whispering among themselves. "I told you she was up to no good!" "This is her being kind-hearted? I'd call her a menace!"

"Don't stand up yet, Sameera." That voice— Mama? My breath hitched. What is she doing here? I flinched when she reached for me. "Don't touch me," I muttered, pushing her hands away. And that’s when I felt it— The mask. It was on my face. My fingers traced the smooth fabric before I slowly pulled it off. I actually got the mask. A whisper of awe escaped my lips as I took a proper look at it. It was black, sleek, and fierce, with intricate golden embroidery tracing the edges. At the lower left side, my name was written in elegant Arabic letters.

I snap back, just as the door swings fully open. The man in front steps inside, holding a cattle prod, its metal tip gleaming ominously. He moves just enough to allow another man to enter, who silently sets a jug of water down on the rickety table before turning to leave. “Wait!” I shout, my voice sharp and urgent. The men pause, glancing back. “We will negotiate. What do you want?” I ask, trying to keep my tone calm despite the tension in the air. The man at the front turns his masked face toward me. His expression is hidden, but his posture radiates control. “We want nothing,” he says, his voice distorted, processed through some kind of modulator. It’s deliberate—a calculated move to ensur

Elias grabs my face, forcing me to look at him through the mask’s slits. “Not done,” he says, and moves between my legs, replacing the stag. He thrusts into my pussy in one deep stroke, the toy still buzzing in my ass, making me feel impossibly full. Another figure—a fox mask—takes his place at my head, shoving his cock into my mouth, fucking it with the same rhythm as Elias. The hawk woman, still trembling from her climax, leans down, licking the cum off my breasts, her tongue swirling over my nipples.