Madness Combat Hank Fanart Novels & Stories

Brody led a team to grill Daniel, while Elvis, hauling Hank, shadowed Howard and Nevaeh to the council chamber. "Sir!" They had barely settled into their seats when Yoel and Dragon barged in. Dragon, after a quick nod to Howard, zeroed in on Hank. "So this is Citrakuta punk? Got a death wish, coming to Rackaham and causing trouble. Doesn't know when he's out of his league!" Mid-rant, he booted Hank, sending him sprawling across the floor. His fiery temper was on full display. "Ah!" Hank's cry of agony sliced through the air. He scrambled to his feet, pleading, "Please... no more... I admit it... I was wrong..."

Looking ferocious, Hank pulled out a syringe and jabbed it hard into his chest. A low, thunderous rumble echoed from inside his body, muscles swelling and veins bulging unnaturally. His aura exploded, skyrocketing straight to the peak of the martial king realm. Theo's face twisted in horror. "Everyone, attack together! Now!" His men surged forward. Yet, it was useless. Hank's fists tore through the air like cyclones. With one sweeping spin, he sent a storm of force crashing through the group.

He thinks about himself and only himself all the time but is nice to most people. Did someone come to mind, because I know one did for me. There's this one fuckboy at my school, Connor Owens, and he's probably the hottest guy in my grade. At least that's what all the girls think. He's tall, has brown hair, tanned skin, and the most mesmerizing bluish-green eyes. He's a really fun person to be around, and he's a pretty smart guy. We're in all the AP classes together.

Nova's PoV: The underground gallery in Bushwick was packed, but my corner felt like its own little world. My name is Nova Kane. Twenty-six. Broke artist surviving on black coffee, cheap ramen, and sheer stubbornness. Tonight was supposed to be just another attempt to get my work seen — three large canvases hanging in the back, dark and raw, painted with so much heat that people kept stopping longer than they meant to. I’d never painted anything this sexual before. I remember how many times I hesitated before finally finishing it.

"Uhm, can I have your ticket?" Kane raised a brow, amusement flickering in his blue eyes. "Ticket?" he repeated, his voice deep, teasing. The redhead—Mona, according to her name tag—bit down on her plump lower lip, her gaze darting everywhere except at him. "Sorry, it's just... you look familiar." That made him chuckle. Oh, really? He tilted his head slightly, his gaze flickering to the large poster plastered beside her booth—a giant picture of himself, fists raised, the underground champion.

"Did you draw this? She asks in a weak voice. He nodded, and he let go of his baseball bat and sat beside her. "Amazing." She mumbles. He smiled, "You think that's amazing. Check this one out," he said while handing her another notebook. "It's a comic. I made it. It's about a crime-solving detective like Sherlock Holmes, but mine is French. The name is Hank Devereaux, and he has a dog named Yoda." He explains enthusiastically. She smiled, and he noticed her eyes finally conveyed emotion. His heart was filled with delight.

“You know what he just told me? He jerks off thinking about you. Sometimes when he’s balls-deep in me, he closes his eyes and pictures your fat tits bouncing, your big ass jiggling. Says it makes him imagine how fucking hot I’ll be in twenty years.” Irina’s cheeks flushed crimson. She crossed her arms under her massive breasts, pushing them higher. “Is that true, young man? You want to fuck me?” Hank met her gaze, still slowly pumping into Penelope’s ass. “You look fucking incredible.” Irina glanced down at the robe—short, clinging, barely tied. “It’s the robe you bought me. I’m glad you like how it looks… on me.” “Definitely.” Hank’s voice was rough. “Why don’t you come sit with us?”

"Not at all, Miss Callahan. I simply finished my morning patrol early and wanted a hot drink, so I had my pack mate bring two extra mugs for you. Besides, the clock just struck eight. Camden Whitaker will be here any second for our combat evaluations. We should prepare our mindsets instead of picking fights." Hannah’s jaw clenches in fury. She reaches for the clay mug on the table, her face darkening with rage as she turns back toward me. "This garbage smells completely foul anyway!" With a sudden, violent flick of her wrist, Hannah hurls the scalding hot brew straight at my face. I do not flinch. My training from the Ironfang Front kicks in instantly. My heavy arm moves in a lightning-fast

He left and asked someone to guard the door! "Do you think Miss Carter is a criminal? She is a living person!" Mandy was very angry. "Please don't make things difficult for me. Be quiet, OK? Luna Gloria is taking a nap," Hank said, feeling in a dilemma. Just as he was speaking, Mandy, who was pestering him desperately, suddenly shouted, "Smoke! Smoke!" "Please stop messing around!" Hank figured that she had come up with another trick. He became impatient and said sternly with a poker face.

Zarin’s fist clenched as his mind went to the suspect. Hank, that bastard. ~~~~~ A door burst open, cutting Hank’s humorous conversation with his friends short. They all turned their heads and saw Zarin stepping in, fists clenched so hard his knuckles had turned white. Hank smirked at the sight of the hatred and rage burning in his eyes. “Leave us,” he said to his friends. “My white-haired friend and I have some business to deal with.” The two other soldiers left. One deliberately bumped his shoulder against Zarin’s and laughed.