Hunterxhunter Ships Novels & Stories

His watchful eyes scan the surroundings, ensuring the safety of their journey. Hunter, adorned with his trusty spear and a dagger tucked into his wrap, takes on the crucial role of scout, swimming at the forefront of the group. His weapon of choice, a sleek and sturdy spear, is poised to strike at a moment's notice, ready to defend against any threats that may emerge. The gleaming blade of his dagger serves as a versatile tool for close-quarters combat or precise underwater tasks.

They’d joined the Seafall hunters when their search for a Knucker, a shape shifting water spirit, had brought them to our coastal town. They’d been disappointed to discover that none of us had seen the Knucker they were looking for; until Archer, a tall, willowy woman with skin so white that she looked pearlescent, had pointed out that, as Knuckers were shape shifters, any one of us could have encountered it and let it pass us by.

“But there are levels to this game, Henrique.” I took a step forward. “Return the shipment you hijacked. Or be ready to be torn alive.” Henrique spat on the ground near my boot. He laughed, taunting me. “Go on. I dare you. Do your worst.” I tilted my head. “As you wish.” I didn’t even have to signal. The clearing erupted into a total disorder. Bodies collided; the sound of fists hitting the enemy’s flesh; the snarls of wolves filling the air.

It wasn't the Holy Syndicate. From the fog emerged a fleet of "Ghost Ships"—commercial freighters, private yachts, and even fishing trawlers, all manned by people who had been "Decommissioned" by the Syndicate’s global seizure. They were the waitresses from Singapore, the coders from Geneva, and the soldiers from New York who had refused to go back to their "Stations." The lead ship, a battered Northwood icebreaker, pulled alongside the black sand. A woman stepped onto the deck—Mina, her eyes tired but free of the neon-green glow. Beside her stood a thousand others, their faces grim and determined.

My stomach dropped. "What?" He nodded. "I hired investigators to find you after you dared to run from me that morning. It took them a week to find you." Something was slamming hard against my rib cage in a really violent way. I knew what it was. My heart. "I found out who you were—Matteo Leone, a twenty three year old bisexual man, living in your father's house like a prisoner." He leaned forward slightly. "I learned everything about you—your urm... useless family, and your situation within hours of funding you."

I can see the plan I drew on the map as clearly as if it were etched into my eyelids. Vector One: The Ghost Fleet. In my mind, I see the three speedboats cutting through the black water off Pantelleria. They are running dark. No lights. No transponders. Just the roar of engines and the spray of salt. They are the bait. I imagine the Corsican spotters on the ridge seeing the wake. I imagine the radio call. Target acquired. The shipment is unprotected. I smile in the darkness. They think they are hunting a fat, slow cargo ship. They don't know they are chasing smoke.

I looked at Lucian, and his face went white. "That's not the gas," he whispered, reaching for his gun. The steel floor beneath us began to glow red-hot. The Hunters weren't waiting for the gas. They were cutting through the hull from the outside, directly into the engine room. If they hit the fuel line, the entire ship would become a bomb before the hour was up.

sectors. "The 'Sovereign' gunships are 'Calculating' our descent based on the last known 'Heat-Stain'," Ethan whispered, his "Chiseled" face tight with "Raw" focus. "Damian will expect us to use the 'Recycled' tunnels or the 'Crossover' bridges. He’s already 'Indexed' those as our primary 'Extraction' points."

"We're going to use it." "Use it?" Zephyr asked, leaning against the cabin. She looked better, though her hair still crackled with residual static from the flight. "How do you use a million tons of hostile iron?" "We need a new ship," Tristan said calmly. "The trawler is too slow. The Nightshade is dead. So... we take the Cruiser." Vane choked on his rum. "You want to board an Imperial Cruiser? With four people?" "Five," Tristan said, nodding at the empty air beside him. "If you count the hunger."

An officer at a terminal shouted, "Commander! Multiple locks! The destroyer and the Black Snake sub are moving into a pincer formation! They’ve synchronized their firing solutions! Landon Voss and Kai Reyes... they’ve officially formed an alliance!" The holographic screen split. One side showed Erik, while the other displayed the tactical feed from the surface. In the distance, the Zumwalt destroyer and the matte-black submarine were rising together, their weapons arrays fully deployed. Above them, thirty Black Hawk helicopters circled like vultures over a fresh kill. Landon’s voice cut through the localized frequency, sounding elegant, cold, and utterly lethal.