Light Armor Trainer Oblivion Novels & Stories

The Descent. Dawn broke not with light, but with fog. Heavy and unmoving, it settled over the landing strip where Aria, Jerry, Helena, Isabelle, and Echo Team stood, dressed in matte-black combat gear. No one spoke. Each carried only what they needed, compressed pulse rifles, neural inhibitors, and embedded comms. Argos, now deployed through a custom bipedal drone with sleek silver plating and glowing cyan optics, hovered silently behind them. Helena adjusted her gloves, her gaze distant.

No one could harm us here. The total First Light Pack troops ready for battle were about 300 men. Plus about 100 troops from the Crescent Moon Pack. The remaining Silver Moon troops who joined were 50 men. Although still far fewer than Alastair’s forces, we were ready to fight to the last drop of blood. All so we could destroy the Lord of Darkness. I sat at the edge of the field, panting. A red drinking tumbler had become my new training companion lately. I gulped some water until the dryness in my throat disappeared after the full training.

Different clans trained in designated fields: Nocthrim shadow-stalkers vanished and reappeared in bursts of darkness, practicing silent kills; Vyrkath warriors dove into a gigantic, glowing pool that seemed bottomless, cutting through the water with unnatural speed, tails and gills manifesting mid-dive; Kragvorn titans scaled vertical obstacle walls, adhesive pads on their palms and feet letting them cling to sheer crystal like insects, leaping impossible distances between platforms. In the central ring, holographic beasts roared and lunged, simulated predators drawn from Zephyria’s wilder regions. Some trainees fought in pairs, weapons materializing from Aether fields: spears of light, blad

His face was emotionless, except for a flicker of a storm in his eyes. Gary then offered me a training blade, which I accepted eagerly. Its weight was familiar, but my muscles already protested—this blade was heavier than those we used in real fights. This training blade had been made by Alpha Lucien, who said it would help the warriors train their muscles and agility. Gary raised his blade in a defensive stance. "I'll try not to make a fool of myself in front of you." I smirked. "Don't hold back. I'll know if you do."

Octavia Pov Right now I stand in the training ground looking at what is in front of me. “Are you guys serious?” I asked, looking at them Helena, Lillian and Jared were there too. “Yes Octavia, now let me explain it to you. You start by carrying these very heavy tires to that end. The tyres have heavy stones inside so it will be more heavy, you need to build up your strength. Then you move onto the next one. You see that rope that is connected to the other big tire. You have to drag it with all your strength, and move it out of your way. The next and final one is that punching bag. It is sand and stones that are inside. We will all throw it at you, you have to avoid it or push it with all you

Tristan screamed. The white light consumed him. He became a beacon on the front of the train. He didn't just drain the field. He reached out with a tendril of pure negation and touched the gate’s power core from a hundred yards away. OBLIVION. The force field didn't just turn off. The generator exploded. The feedback loop shattered the physical plasteel gate, turning it into a cloud of shrapnel. The Last Rites plowed through the debris cloud. Shards of plastic and metal pinged off the boiler. Tristan and Saoirse ducked low, shielding their heads.

Mechanics—both baseline humans and Actives with metallic or thermal mutations—were stripping the vehicles down, repurposing the armored plating to forge heavy riot shields and fortified barricades. But the true heart of the Free North was not the forge. It was the training ground. Baraka walked down the carved basalt stairs to the central dirt ring. It was no longer a simple sparring circle; it had been expanded into a sprawling, meticulously leveled dojo encompassing the entire center of the cavern.

a deep, booming voice commanded from the mouth of the alley. Nomo turned his head slightly. Standing there, silhouetted against the neon red light of the Crimson Chalice, was Somito Hargreaves. The old trainer looked different. He wasn't wearing his usual leather armor; he was in a simple grey tunic, his arms bare and corded with muscle that seemed to thrum with a hidden energy. He didn't have a staff. He had nothing but his bare hands. "Hargreaves? Get out of here! You’re human, you can’t take these things!" Nomo shouted, even as he parried a strike from the creature in front of him.

I said, reaching up to touch the dark circles under his eyes. "I was running drills with Echo Squad," he said. "The new stealth armor from the lab is... finicky. The seals leak if you submerge past twenty feet." "Did you fix it?" "Mara fixed it. I just broke it in the first place to find the flaw." He offered a small, crooked smile, the first one I’d seen in days. "We're ready, Elara. The Legion is ready." I looked out the reinforced glass of the bridge. Outside, the Ghost Isle was living up to its name. A wall of fog churned against the atmospheric shield we had erected. Inside the shield, it was dry, illuminated by the harsh industrial floodlights of the base.

I felt some pains in my heart, and these pains stimulated my desire to kill and made my tussle more frantic. This is the war between wolves, sacrifice is inevitable, and when the clan sacrifices, grief has no effect, but it can turn that grief into the power of anger! I watched the trainer's breathing getting weaker and weaker, but just at this time, a silver-white light seemed to flash above the trainer's head. Livia's POV; After taking care of the Sigma Pack fighters, we arrived outside the cave on the mountainside. The glow stopped here, and it was so dark inside that no one would even know from the outside that it was actually a safe house containing a lot of supplies.