Novel & Cerita Ironhand Book

He fought to push away the hazy quiet of darkness still drifting like a night fog inside him. "Welcome back, Randolph," a voice said from the darkness. A single light above illuminated him, and he stared down at his body. He was seated in some sort of chair, but his hands and wrists were clapped in iron manacles. The one metal that a dragon's strength could not break. Dragons were weakened by iron just as silver affected vampires, werewolves, and other magical kin.

"Upon him I will visit famine and a fire, till all around him desolation rings. And all the demons in the outer dark look on amazed and recognise that vengeance is the business of a man." - Patrick Rothfuss, The Name of the Wind * * * * Ren Shibasaki panted, his left hand clutching his right shoulder. There were several cuts on his body, and his clothes were also stained red with his blood. Blood was slowly dripping off Elvigar, and Ren winced slightly, as he was fairly sure that he had probably dislocated, if not fractured his right arm.

Whatever the Forgotten Hand was doing, they were close to succeeding. Elior dismounted, drawing his weapon. "We stop them now." They moved swiftly, slipping through the shadows. Myrra muttered a quiet incantation, dulling the sound of their approach. The figures in the circle remained unaware of their presence, until Bram, never one for subtlety, drew his crossbow and loosed a bolt straight into the torch of the nearest cultist. Chaos erupted. The Forgotten Hand turned, shouting in alarm, but it was too late. Elior and the others surged forward, weapons drawn. Steel clashed, shadows twisted, and the crackling energy around the key surged with a sudden, violent pulse.

Evans’ POV There was complete darkness in the temple. The burning pain in my hand subsided to a dull throb, and I began to breathe in shallow, short gasps. As if whispering secrets only I could hear, the hilt of the golden dagger, the **Blood Oath Blade**, was still firmly grasped in my fingers. Kieran was kneeling next to me, his hands firmly grasping my shoulders, his voice gruff with haste. "Evans! Speak up!”

I thought about Iris, probably pacing the floors, her face etched with worry, the book in her hands, praying for a sign that I was still alive. I thought about everything I had to protect. Everything I had to fight for. The power surged through me, hot and bright, and I let it flow into my hands. I pressed them against the bars of my cell and pushed with everything I had. The metal groaned, twisting slowly, inch by inch. I gritted my teeth, my muscles screaming with the effort. My hands burned, the cold iron biting into my palms, but I didn't stop. I couldn't stop. The iron screamed in protest—a terrible sound that echoed through the empty corridor—and then it snapped.

He is Lleandro vessel and Alice can't take that chance away from her. "Ekhlashan kirbavah," she whispered into thin air. A black book covered with a cloth suddenly appeared in front of her. She took the book and blew the dust away. It's the forbidden book she stole from the Elder witch back in her coven. She carefully opened it and read every single word written on it. She's ready to sell her soul to the devil if it means she'll have Lleandro back.

Intelligent, kind and courageous. His mouth turned up as Lizzy made a silly joke, but Abby was thoroughly absorbed in his sexy hands folding with confident precision. His long fingers so capable. Capable enough to take away life or to protect it. Well-trained hands decorated with a few rough calluses and light scars. Feeling them run down her back or stroke her arm always resulted in goose bumps.

“Follow me.” Her voice was deep but gentle. I grabbed her hand quickly because I really couldn’t wait anymore. As she led me through the hallway, I couldn’t stop staring at her armor. It was shiny even though we almost underground. The metal plates covered her shoulders and chest, and she walked like she was used to wearing it every day. I wondered if it was heavy. I wondered if I’d ever be strong enough to wear something like that. But mostly I wondered why she was being nice to me.

"But I feel it now. I feel everything. I’m not scared anymore, Anna. I’m just angry." Anna pulled back, nodding solemnly. "Good. Use that anger. We're going to need it." Anna turned toward the center of the room. The 30th had arrived, and with it, the "Jameson" identity dissolved forever. She reached into the air, calling upon the McKinnley inheritance that now flowed through her like a river of molten gold. From the empty air, her battle armor materialized—crafted from dark, enchanted leather and reinforced with Filigree Silver that wouldn't burn her, but would melt any Devonshire who dared touch it.

His eyes burned with a fervent, almost religious zeal. He reached for my face, his fingers, cold and long, extending towards me. I twisted, my bound body straining against the invisible bonds, a surge of desperate energy bursting forth. Flames, sharp and silver, erupted from my hands, arcing towards him, but he was terrifyingly fast. With a casual flick of his wrist, he deflected the fire, and then, with blinding speed, his hands shot out, catching my wrists in an iron grip, forcing me still, the last remnants of my struggle dying in a frustrated whimper.