Inquisitor Cod Skin Novels & Stories

The doors hissed open, and five figures stepped out, dressed in the sterile, white-and-silver robes of the High Inquisitors. They didn't carry weapons. They carried Sovereign-Cuffs—devices designed to lock onto a frequency and drain it until the host was a hollow shell. "CEO Vane," the Lead Inquisitor said, his voice amplified by a neural-link. "You have caused a significant disruption in the Global Revenue Stream. The 'Zero-Point' event has cost the Board trillions in lost mercury-credits." "I don't care about your credits," I said, stepping to the edge of the helipad.

The cold air of the lab touched my skin as I unraveled the silk bindings that had hidden my identity for so long. Dorian turned briefly to a cabinet and retrieved a thick glass jar. Inside was a viscous silver liquid that seemed almost alive. “What is that?” I asked, uneasy, crossing my arms over my chest. “This is Skin-Alchemist,” Dorian explained, slipping on thin medical gloves. “A high-level synthetic skin. Once applied, the liquid will harden, flatten your chest, and perfectly blend with your natural skin tone and texture. Even the sharpest wolf’s sense of smell won’t detect the difference.”

Within the first hour of his arrival, the first ten had perished, their bodies left as a grisly warning, blood seeping through the cobblestones. The High Inquisitor herself emerged from the shadows, her presence commanding, cold, and flawless. She wore a sharply tailored black uniform, insignias of rank glittering, eyes like twin daggers that pierced Samuel’s soul. Despite the years, her beauty had not faded; it had sharpened, adoring, hardened into something lethal.

Her pulse thudded in her ears, the mark on her palm tingling like a warning. The doors opened with a heavy groan. A figure entered, tall, cloaked in black, the seal of the Church embroidered in white over his chest. His presence pulled the air taut. Every murmur died. The man’s face was long and angular, his eyes pale gray beneath a hood that cast deep shadows. His steps echoed softly as he approached the dais, bowing with mechanical grace. “Your Highness,” he said. His voice was even, smooth as polished glass. “I am Inquisitor Lucien Vale. His Holiness sends his blessings for your upcoming union, and his concern for the recent disturbances reported near the capital.”

The trait must have considered my second martial soul's ability before forming mission difficulty and rewards. Once Chen safely walked to the opposite side of the pond, he slowly removed his clothes. The first to be removed was his cloak. The cloak fell on the ground gently and unlike Chen's usual appearance, he looked extremely different, slightly feral, too. His black hair was now silver in color. In the middle of his brows, a tattoo of green, vertical pupil appeared and would release a soft light every now and then. Not just that, Chen's ears were elongated and carpeted by a layer of fuzzy fur. His feet and hands were the things that changed the most. His fingers were bundled and then lay

When he sits up, panting with the effort of his shift, I gasp, and I’m not the only one. Iniko looks nothing like the small man he was in his first life. Now, he looks large and muscular, someone who could rival Ancalagon in size and strength. I watch as Iniko closes his eyes and takes a deep breath of air, then he looks right at me. “Mate!” I turn and look behind me, certain he’s looking at someone else. Everyone behind me is staring at me. Holy shit! Iniko just called me his mate.

The inquisitor was naked as he sat cross-legged on the ground, whereas Bea’s body was covered with the inquisitor’s clothes. He did not even bother to look at Alex. “Lord Inquisitor?” The warden said, “Lord Inquisitor, the Nine Yin Heavenly Ruin has been opened in advance.” The next second, Alex launched an attack and instantly stabbed him in the head with the Immortal Butcher. To his surprise, however, that man had been vigilant, and he tilted his head abruptly and dodged the thrusting sword. After that, he grabbed Alex’s wrist with one hand. “There’s really something wrong! You actually regained your strength! D*mn it!”

His pale skin gleamed in the candlelight, highlighting the powerful muscles of his torso and arms. As he approached the dais, Isla could see that intricate patterns had been painted on his chest and shoulders—symbols similar to those carved into the stone of the Den, rendered in what appeared to be dark blue pigment. His hair, usually perfectly styled, hung loose around his face, giving him a wild, untamed appearance that sent a shiver of anticipation through her.

I reached out into the dark, my fingers meeting the freezing, slick surface of a stone platform that vibrated with a faint, subterranean pulse. A tiny, pale blue light flared from the ceiling above us, illuminating a single object placed perfectly in the center of the exit path. It was a pristine, white porcelain mask belonging to the High Inquisitor himself, its surface cracked across the eyes and weeping a steady stream of thick, un-coagulated blood onto the flagstones.

He had the unmistakable air of a murderer, even in the eyes of someone as inexperienced as Viktor. The Inquisitor did not wear the wide-brimmed black hat with silver buckle characteristic of members of his order, nor did he sport the collection of talismans and sacred symbols of his faith. He was dressed simply as a warrior, in studded leather armor. A sheathed sword hung from his belt, as did the various tools of his trade, including a coil of rope and a set of thumb screws. He didn't need ornaments to intimidate or prove his worth. An almost tangible aura surrounded him that suggested that his actions and prowess would more than prove that he was the best man for the job he performed. "Vik