روايات وقصص ضمن Lords Of The Fallen Bloody Glory

He had blood stained clothes and fur, and his movements were slowing down. The clash of the two forces was brutal. Wolves clashed, teeth and claws flashing in the moonlight. The growls and howls of pain and fury filled the air. The ground was slippery with blood, making footing treacherous. Warriors from both sides were thrown to the ground, only to scramble back to their feet and rejoin the fray. The Storm Pack warriors used their superior tactics to their advantage, flanking the rogues and cutting them off from each other.

The heat around him woke him up, he was drenched in his sweat from fear and of course, heat. Dordin wasn't in a good state of mind, he didn't have time to figure things out because Generosasis had just released fire on her sister, the smell of burning flesh filled the air, this time, the people already knew things were about to get ugly and that was when they got scared. Really scared." Mrs Grassroots paused, sipping the bottle of water in her left hand.

a cold smile appeared on his lips as he spoke and his eyes narrowed with a sinister glint that made both men tense up. “Yes, you’ll both fall at the feet of Alexander Guerriero, but that doesn’t matter,” he said as he put on his leather jacket he’d held over his shoulder the entire time. “You all are nothing but pawns in the councils’ game but now, the game has finally come to an end,” “You…” the old man got up and pointed his shaky fingers at the blue eyed man, “What the fuck are you actually saying?” “We are the council you fucking bitch!” The red haired man growled at the younger man and attempted to reach for his collar but the blue eyed man easily eluded the attack.

Jeremy, Philip, and the others started to move towards the fighting wolves but Gloria raised a hand, stopping everyone. “Leave him.” Gloria rasped with eyes filled with so much confidence and pride. The battle that ensued was hands down one of the best the pack members gathered had ever witnessed. The rogue was huge, strong, and relentless. But the golden wolf was agile, precise, vicious, and bloody furious. Unlike the warriors and assassins who engaged the rogues just for the fun and sport aspect, the golden wolf went in for a deadly combat. Troy didn’t just seek to pin down the rogue to show dominance, he went in for the kill. He gave quick-killing bites to any vital area that got exposed

Largo and Oscar snorted harshly when they saw that the two people who were potentially dangerous to Lilly were actually paying attention to their mate. “You have a very pretty mate,” Nero commented. Along with his comments, Oscar roared loudly and attacked. Whatever Nero said now, whatever facts that he brought along with him, can’t make them forget what he did to Blue Moon and the death of their parents in the past. Oscar attacked, and Largo ran to help him. And a second later, the Glyn broke. Lilly felt like the world slow down. She managed to escape from Declan's arms when she witnessed it all. Ear-splitting war cries erupted in all directions. Both the Lycan troops outside Glyn, and the

The air hung heavy with the scent of victory and the lingering tang of blood. The battlefield, once a scene of brutal carnage, now lay silent, the moon a crimson orb casting an eerie glow upon the ravaged landscape. The Blood Moon Pack, once a symbol of fear and tyranny under Mateo’s rule, was finally free. And at its heart stood Draven, his silver hair gleaming under the blood moon”s light, his eyes burning with an intensity that spoke of the battles waged and won.

"She'll kill you first." His laugh was devoid of enthusiasm. “Oh, I'm dependent on it.” The fight was breaking up above. Our flanks were giving way. The BloodWolves were falling ground. The fighters of Nightfall were dispersed. And the rogues were closing the circle. Darkness started to settle in. Magic broken across the clouds. Pushing back on the final defensive line. Desperate, commanding—a familiar cry across the hills. It wasn't me, though. They required someone to lead. Then I vanished.

Lira (POV) From my altar of chains and rot, I can see him. Draven looks like a king carved from the pages of some fever-dream fairytale—a black leather jacket wrapped tight over a crimson silk shirt and silver buckles gleaming under torchlight. His honey-brown hair is still damp, slicked back from either snow or bathwater. Clean. Impossibly clean. The kind of clean that makes the blood dried under my nails feel louder. He looks almost innocent—like he didn’t order the flaying on me last week.

Camillia and Marco ended up dying in an accident. It was suspected to be a revenge killing. When the news popped up on my screen, I was rushing to complete my thesis in the library. The comment section went into a frenzy. [An accident? Please. Camillia is the Colene family’s spy! That child is Marco’s! The Don despises traitors, so he took them both out himself!] I stared at the screen, and my fingers trembled. This was not how it happened in my memory.