Invisible Military Cloak Novels & Stories

The forest was still, too still, and that silence carried the promise of danger. A figure emerged, cloaked and hooded, gliding through the trees like a shadow detached from the storm. My pulse surged. I recognized the insignia on the cloak instantly—the Veil. This was no ordinary operative. This was someone higher, someone sent to ensure we paid for surviving the last attack.

He went to a hidden stone niche behind the hearth and pulled out a bundle of shimmering, midnight-blue fabric. ​“This is the Cloak of the Void,” Caleb said, his voice hard. “It doesn't just hide you; it makes you part of the shadow. We can’t hide anymore, Elara. We have to fly.” ​Elara stood up, her robe falling away as she reached for her own tactical gear. She didn't look like a princess. She looked like a general. She grabbed her Ice-Fire rapier, the translucent violet diamond blade singing with a silent hunger for justice.

He added, his words waking the others up. “He called them ‘his’ people. Does Hidden Cloak respond to him?” the commander could not help but wonder. The members of Hidden Cloak used to walk around with masks to hide their identities. That had continued until Zandor was destroyed and the North had betrayed them. Their identities became inconsequential after that. They abandoned their masks and revealed themselves, but those who had faced them from the time before Zandor was conquered remembered that the leader’s number was always absent.

My weapon would speak for me and make sure Riccardo’s clan would pay for their sins, as Riccardo himself already paid. And then there was the camo suit, my invisible cloak for surprise attacks. The fabric was tough and blended in perfectly with everything around it. I slipped into it and felt like a whole new person. With this suit, I’d be a sneaky shadow, creeping around in the dark like a hunter after its prey.

I was just about to comment on the progress of the new seedlings when a flicker of movement caught my eye. “Malcolm, stop,” I said, my voice low and urgent. He hit the brakes, his instincts immediately on high alert. “What wrong?” I pointed toward the far end of the compound, where the medicinal herbs were grown. A figure, shrouded in a black cloak, was moving with unnatural speed, darting out from behind a row of greenhouses and vanishing into the thick treeline that bordered Black Widow territory. It was the same cloak from the footage. The same one Kael had worn.

I ran like crazy as if I was being chased by the henchmen of the underworld, and almost flew over the fence when I realized that I had missed the grand event, namely the arrival of the inspectors. In the yard of the shelter there were several carriages, and some people were scurrying back and forth. Among the strangers, one man with blue-black hair stood out in particular; a cloak of the same color was thrown over his shoulders, on which a raven was embroidered with silver threads. Such cloaks are worn by members of the Order of Darkness.

From Xialn’s side of the tree, he gets a good look at them as they entered and notices that the two following the taller one is women as well but their armor that covers their body and faces reminds him of something that his late wife once told him, a tale of how she came to be within the wildlands and married to a dark elf like him. Through his mind, Xialn speaks in a firm tone so that Butcher and Catarina can hear the depths of his voice. “The dreadknot is a vessel with a main purpose of colonizing. The armor that they wear is the same that my wife once wore back before the floods. It protects them.” There is a brief silence within his mind with no responses until the druid speaks. “What d

"Brought you something." "If that's what I think it is," "It's a cloak. Made it myself. You're wearing it over your dress." Alerion turned slowly. "She's not wearing a cloak." "She's absolutely wearing a cloak. I spent three weeks making this." "I don't care if you spent three years. She's not wearing it." "Why not?" "Because cloaks are impractical for a ceremony where she needs to move freely and quickly if something goes wrong." "It's not that heavy. Look," Zane shook it out. The whole thing was covered in tiny embroidered wolves. Silver thread on blue fabric. It was actually really pretty. "See? Lightweight. Easy to move in. And it represents her bloodline."

“Hey! I thought you were the enemy? What gives?” Marjorie chuckled. “They’re part of the organization—” “Oh, so that’s why all of you are wearing the same cloak? Is that supposed to be your uniform?” Pursing her lips, Marjorie sighed. “No, Boy, it’s not! But with the current situation, we cannot afford to expose who we are, so we’re wearing these—” Her brows furrowed. Turning toward her underlings, she blurted out, “Why didn’t you know it was me? As far as I know, not everyone wears the same cloak as we do?”

Sometimes, the vehicles itself were occasionally seen by civilians in broad daylight when there were no secret routes available to take. He heard from the privileged few included in the Personnel Exchange Program with the Agency, that their vehicles were modified using the organization's advance tech that allowed them to reach point A to point B in a short span of time. In addition, their vehicles were also fitted with a cloak tech that made it looked like a normal civilian vehicle in the eyes of regular people.