Krogan Without Armor Novels & Stories

I’m hoping that it’s actually from the rogues and not his. Kylo is a massive wolf. Not as big as Kage, but almost. And while Kage was an all dark gray wolf, Kylo was more of a mix of colors – gray, brown, and white. Kylo whimpered as the rogue behind his back managed to bite his neck and I writhe behind the tree out of worry and panic. Shit! I need to help him! I hated seeing him like this. This is the worst attack out of everything we’ve encountered. The rogues were clearly not just passersby, but they were bloodthirsty. Their eyes were looking everywhere like they were on something, too.

He just kept coming. Another came at me fast. I barely blocked his claw with my forearm and spun to kick him in the back. He stumbled, but didn’t go down. I slashed his throat—and he still tried to crawl toward me. “What the hell are these things?” I growled. My team fought fiercely, but these rogues weren’t normal. They were faster. Stronger. They didn’t bleed like normal wolves. They didn’t scream when cut. One of my warriors went down with a cry. I saw blood spray across the ground.

When the guard let the chain fall, the weight of it pulled a soft clank out of the metal, a sound that seemed too small for a hall this size. Rogues crowded the perimeter like carrion birds waiting for meat to stop twitching. Their armor was a patchwork of scavenged plates, dented greaves, leather stiff with old blood. Torchlight picked out feral eyes and teeth gone too long without a civilized table. They stank of wet fur, of old smoke, of impatience.

“Tresspasser over here! Tresspasser over here!” Out of nowhere, guards sprang out of the snowy bushes, the frozen trees, the tall icy grasses. I didn’t notice them earlier nor picked up their scent. It seems they blended with the snow-white fur cloaks that they wore. I was probably too preoccupied by the river to check my surroundings. “Please. I didn’t do anything!” I explained, lifting my hands open to the air. “You did!” The one in front of me growled. He’s wearing an armor with a black-and-gold insignia. I know that symbol. I’ve seen that before. “You’ve trespassed the Blackwind Pack territory, Rogue.”

I'm so fucking dead. "ROGUES!" he shouted and a flurry of footsteps gathered. Over a dozen leather-clad rogues stared at me. Hungry, angry people. The four rogue women were all in their twenties, bright-eyed with thick plaits and braids piled high, acting like hats. The men were all chunky, draped in black leather jackets. Apart from one. Built like a grizzly bear with huge shoulders, maybe a foot taller than the rest. He wore a pelt of thick brown fur, under a thick black body warmer shirt.

Then— They dropped from the branches above. Three of them. Masked. Armored in scraps of dark steel. Eyes glowing with that unnatural sickly red that Gregon’s soldiers carried. I stumbled back, my heel catching on a root. One stepped forward and sniffed the air. Then his gaze fixed on me. “Old,” he rasped, voice sharp with hunger. “But not useless.” Another tilted his head. “She could be useful.” They moved in unison, predators that had been hunting far too long.

It was definitely not children. Guards. "They're patrolling the area," Liora whispered, reading their pattern. "They are disciplined and professional." These are not your regular rogues. These are trained fighters; rogues are not organized or disciplined, simply because they are not subject to leadership and have no pack. I met Marcus's eyes. This was more organized than we'd expected. We gave the patrol path a wide berth and continued north. The old compound should be another ten miles ahead. Aeliana's POV

Another charges straight at me with a spear, but my dagger meets his throat before he can lunge. Huts collapse in showers of sparks. Others burn, filling the air with thick, choking smoke. I’m slick with blood but despite the workout, breathing is steady. My movements are sharp. I do not intend to use High Heal but Professor Sloane’s voice is still ringing in my head, reminding me about the drones overhead. A shadow falls over the flames. The largest hut’s door slams open, and he steps out. Towering, broad, wearing blackened armor that looks stolen from fallen warriors. His skin is darker green, his eyes brighter, more menacing. In each hand, a curved sword gleams.

I asked again. “You’ll know soon enough. He will capture you and peel your skin off your flesh!” The other Rogue said. He seemed to have tapped boldness from the first one. Good for him then. Boldness is a good trait for— Focus, Isla. “So, Gregonn is a guy?” “We are Gregonns!” They both recited, startling me in the process. “Geez, guys.” I clutched the left part of my chest. “Save the energy. “

Out stepped a figure that defied description. He was seven feet tall but hunched over so severely his knuckles grazed the ground. His skin was gray and patchy, covered in coarse hair. His face was elongated, rat-like, with yellow eyes and teeth that were too big for his mouth. He wore a tattered security uniform jacket that was sizes too small, adorned with bottle caps like medals. This was Grog. The leader. Behind him, dozens of other figures emerged. Some looked like him. Some had scales. Some had extra limbs. They were a carnival of mutations.