Marvel Mercenary Novels & Stories

He could not help but feel a little angry. Immediately afterward, he said arrogantly, “Ten Thousand Armies is a mercenary organization that has gathered all of the top mercenaries in the world together. Many of our soldiers are soldiers who have served in the special forces in their countries. More than half of Hamed’s soldiers are illiterate. So, how can this possibly be the same thing? The difference between these two is even bigger than the difference between the United States and Zimbabwe!”

Maruk cursed once again, saying, "Damn you! If only Martin didn't exist! Despite the vast gap in our numbers, that cunning human has been winning fights left and right!" Martin had little more than a thousand troops under his command at the time. And with such a little force, they were able to repel attacks from their tribe of over ten thousand warriors. This was certainly no easy task. All of the tribal members desired the death of the Mercenary Guild master. Maruk reasoned that if he continued to upset one of the Guardians, he may perish. Maruk and the tribal members were gloomy and sombre in the hall when the door opened and a smaller beastmen entered.

I noted. ​"He did," Marcus confirmed. "He plays the ruthless mercenary, but he takes care of the men who bleed for him. It's a rare trait in a Warlord." ​Because she's not a Warlord, I thought, the phantom thread in my chest pulling taut. She's an Omega who knows what it feels like to be abandoned by her pack. ​"General Vesh!" I called out, my voice carrying over the clash of shields. ​The Warlord paused, turning the terrifying visor toward me. The entire yard fell silent. Two hundred Blackwood wolves and five hundred Legionnaires snapped to attention, waiting to see if their Alpha and their General were about to tear each other apart.

“That sounds… intense.” “It is,” she said, rocking the pot. “But it’s also why the company is the best. Everyone works hard.” I swallowed. Hard work I could do. I can deal with stress. But working under him… That was something else entirely. Asma glanced at me again, noticing my silence. “I know you’ve heard about him before, even if you don’t admit it.” I froze slightly. “What do you mean?” I asked too quickly. She stiffly lifted an eyebrow. “Alpha Xander Marco. King of Nightmare Pack. Even humans know his name now because of his company.”

With that in mind, he was prompted to growl, “Who the hell are you guys? What’s your objective? Let her and my son go, and I’ll meet any of your conditions!” Smirking in response, the blond, blue-eyed man simply walked over to Zivon before scoffing, “We’re just part of a mercenary organization, and someone’s offered us a massive paycheck to deal with you. Regardless, I’m sure you know that we mercenaries always finish our jobs, and that we don’t ever reveal who our customers are, correct? We’re only doing business here, so please don’t make things difficult for us, Young Master Burton.”

But when the time came for real brutality, they would all be reduced to clinging whelps running from an apex predator when they discovered my bestial rage. No, their pathetic bluster would not do much to counter the power I had unleashed. "Mercenaries," I spit out, looking at Sienna, like a curse through gnashed fangs. The best freelance warmongers and sellswords from throughout the realms. They were raised only to inflict uncontrolled destruction upon anyone who arouses their wrath, so expect no mercy from them."

"If she truly is a tribrid, that would explain so much." Vincent says. "Like what?" "Like why several mercenaries were hired to kill her." "Wait.. what? Mercenaries? How do you know for sure?" "All mercenaries are either rogue-born or ex-pack warriors. They are rogues for hire that have no moral ground. They will accept any contract. The only thing they ever care about is money. We were able to identify them through their strong wild scent. It's a smell most rogues have, however, Mercenaries are typically more subtle, as it allows them to enter a pack without being detected."

"You send pack warriors after her again, Ethan will kill you himself." "I'm not sending pack warriors," Vivian sneered, stepping closer to her vanity table and pulling open a hidden velvet-lined drawer beneath the mirror. She pulled out a small, encrypted burner phone, turning it over in her fingers. "We don't need wolves bound by honor or territory treaties. We need monsters who only care about one thing." Damon's eyes widened slightly as he recognized the insignia scratched onto the back of the phone. "The Bloodpelt crew? Vivian, are you insane? Those bastards are rogue mercenaries. They don't answer to any Alpha council. They slaughter women and children for sport."

The loud crash shook the floor beneath my boots. Marcus spun around to face the next guy. His gray eyes were glowing bright. He ducked under a rifle barrel and drove his elbow hard into another man’s chest. The man folded over, coughing and gasping for air. Marcus picked him up and tossed him through another glass wall just like the first one. It was a total mess of flying glass, broken bones, and terrified shouts. The highly trained mercenaries were falling apart in seconds. They couldn’t fight back at all. Marcus was just too fast. He was breaking them and throwing bodies like they weighed absolutely nothing. I felt a deep, warm wave of pride in my chest. My mate was fighting for us. But I

The linguistic scholar died. Before we could even reach the secondary stairwell, the massive, tinted glass windows of the living room shattered inward. A hail of high-velocity tactical rounds tore through the air, punching violent holes into the dark velvet couches and marble walls. Three heavily armed mercenaries, clad in matte-black tactical gear and Vance syndicate insignias, breached the shattered ledge using high-tension ziplines from an adjacent rooftop. Malakai returned fire instantly, his sidearm barking three times in rapid succession. The lead mercenary dropped hard against the broken glass, a tight cluster of crimson blooming across his chest.