Krogan Without Armor Novels & Stories

A deep growl rumbled from Kieran’s chest. “Stay close to me,” he muttered. I gripped the dagger tighter. My fingers were sweaty, but I forced myself to hold firm. If I wanted to survive in this world, I had to learn how to fight. The rogues emerged from the trees, looking filthier than i expected. Their fur was matted with dirt and dried blood. Their yellow eyes glowed with hunger. Hunger for fresh wolf blood and meat. “Be repentant,” Kieran said, not even trying to make them change their minds.

Weapons, armor, food, and various supplies lined various shelves all along the walls. Every single Drogar in the hall wore blood red robes and incredibly angry faces. Among them was a female Drogar, a little taller and more muscular than all the others. She too had the same robes, but hers was hooded. Mostly to hide her alabaster scales and sensitive pink eyes from everything else around her. An elderly Drogar entered the room and shook his head when he saw them all watching an arena fight. “Colviss,” he said. “You shouldn't be watching that. You didn’t get Reborn Anew just so you could rot your brain on ‘Cast trash.”

armor worn by Hakon and Ranek. Others wore undecorated copper skulls covered in blood-red armor, but the design was eerily similar to gray male armor. In the cold light of the pale white sunlight, men in gray robes fought men in red. Ragnar saw him sitting on a pile of corpses. His protected head rolled off his feet. His limbs creaked under his boots. He was wearing gray armor and he could tell it was torn in several places. He carried one of the strange magical swords that Haakon always carried in both hands. One stopped working. His face was broken and his teeth were cracked. The other worked non-stop, trembling in his hands, surviving for a while, then stopping as if the spell that had c

he added as he stood with his Creations that had finished the last of the meat. “The creatures are hungry, aren’t they? I’m sure they’d like some meat.” “That does sound good” Cosmo noted then promptly left, with them close behind. We wasted no time and all marched down the stairs. Eagle opened the door to Soul Stealers running around; with fully armed people swarming inside. They all wore matching bright white armour with full-faced helmets. I could only see their eyes as they scanned the area around them. They all had shotguns strapped to their backs and strange guns hooked to their left arms, a tangle of wires embedded through the armour.

He said, his eyes locked on the rogue, “But a good warrior doesn’t abandon his team. A real warrior dies with honor, not in cowardice.” The rogue’s eyes widened in terror as Alpha Czar lifted his hand, his claws slowly elongating, turning into deadly weapons. The rogue barely had time to comprehend what was happening before he struck. With lightning speed, Alpha Czar’s claws slashed through the rogue’s neck, severing veins and spilling blood onto the floor. The rogue gasped for breath, his hands flying to his throat, but it was too late. He collapsed in a lifeless heap at his Alpha's feet.

In the distance, he saw figures. They weren't drones. They were avatars. They were standing in a circle, frozen, flickering like ghosts. Ren walked toward them. His footsteps made no sound on the mirror floor. As he got closer, he recognized them. A Knight in silver armor, missing an arm. A Rogue in green leather, with no face. And a small, hooded figure sitting on the ground, hugging its knees. Ren’s breath hitched. He recognized the hooded figure's gamertag floating above its head.

I mutter, hatred still flowing through my veins instead of blood. I wrap the garrotte wire tighter across my hands, getting into stance as my eyes follow a subtle movement from the bushes. The signal is a howl from Ryker. Ragnar has us all briefed. My hands are covered in a pair of knuckle dusters. I had my leather jacket over my gear, which was actually a crop top and slick black pants that allowed me to move around, a utility belt with a series of knives strapped to it, and military boots. A howl sounds some distance in the front, just at the same time a group of rogues leap out of the bushes.

In the end, the humiliation that they felt was replaced by immense rage. “No matter what happens today, I will take away the Cooter Armor! Whoever obstructs my path must die!” Grenn let out a resounding roar. Waves of billowing dark air burst out of his body. At the same time, those behind him also let loose of their strong, explosive auras on the spot, as they glared at their opponents aggressively. Vulcan let out a low growl when he saw this. When he raised his arms, the clothes on his body exploded, revealing the iron armor inside. He looked the same as an android warrior.

They emerged onto a grated balcony overlooking a massive, sunken concrete combat pit. Down in the sand, the fight had just ended. Standing victorious over the twitching, sparked-out remains of a heavy combat cyborg was a woman who looked like she had been forged in a volcano. She was a Kroltan—standing nearly seven feet tall, her skin a deep, hardened crimson laced with natural, jagged bio-armor plating. She dropped a massive, blood-stained kinetic hammer onto the sand, raising her heavily scarred arms as the crowd screamed her name.

Ones they had never seen before. They wore armor. Real armor. Not scrap-metal bullshit or stitched-up rags. Bulletproof vests, plated shoulders, boots laced with spikes and tied tight like soldiers. Their eyes glowed green—not like normal rogues. Not even feral. Enhanced. “What the actual fuck...” Eric muttered, rising slowly. Renox’s gunfire paused for just a moment as he caught sight of them. The Alpha’s jaw tightened, and he signaled to his Beta. “Rina. We’ve got company. Level 2. Switch to armor-piercing.”