Masked Rider Black 소설 & 이야기

Viktor crashed into the ground hard, and Ryker was on him immediately, teeth at his throat in a position that couldn't be escaped. "Last chance," Ryker said. "Submit or die." Viktor's eyes showed panic for the first time. He was trapped, beaten, and everyone watching knew it. "I submit," he finally gasped. "You win." Ryker released him and shifted back to human form, swaying from blood loss and exhaustion. "The challenge is ended," he announced. "Viktor Dorian submitted. I remain alpha of Nightrider Pack." The pack erupted in cheers while Viktor's supporters looked stunned. Dorian's face had gone white with shock and rage at his plan's failure.

Ruby's gaze was glued to the screen, her body shaking as if she had seen a ghost. "You don't have to sign," I said, my voice a chilling whisper. "But if you don't, this unedited, crystal-clear video will be tomorrow's sensation, plastered over every news site. I'll even send a copy to your parents, all your relatives, friends, and colleagues. "Think you'll see a dime of that settlement then? Think you'll have the dignity to walk this earth?"

They were twitching and shaking rigidly as he felt his death was near. Now, he stared at the man. A mask was in his face, shielding him from being seen by Okwudili. The masked man reached forward for his hip and drew out a machete from his scabbard. Okwudili's heart was throbbing and rolling like drumbeat. He then opened his mouth and made the biggest mistake in his life. He shouted. The masked man replied and moved closer to him quickly as he heard the shout. He raised his machete towards the sky and slashed Okwudili's neck. Okwudili fell down.

The rider had a black mask when he took off his helmet. “What is going on here? Are you shooting a movie?” he playfully asked and stared at me, “she looks tired, why don’t you play her role?” he turned to the woman and asked. “You can’t see us like this and continue to live!” the man dropped his camera and jumped with his right leg leading in the air, “Ahhhhh!!” he yelled, as he hit the ground after the motor rider instantly and tactically held his leg and smashed his head against a big fat tree.

Madam Amelia seemed to know this as she nodded her head at me. “Now what? You can’t break your vow. What will you do? You can’t have a Wolf Rider running around Astoria.” There it was. She knew what her daughter was. The half human part of it was the least of it. The fact that she was a Rider—a creature that could control a werewolf with a simple command. A creature that ruined my family's life. A creature, who must be destroyed before it gains power. There hasn't been a rider born in half a century, and even before, there was only one that ruled Astoria.

He sat perfectly still, but every line of his body screamed power. ​He wore a polished silver mask that covered the left half of his face, where the worst injuries were rumored to be. The mask was cracked in one place, giving it a brutal, shattered look. His visible features were sharp: a strong jawline, and one eye deep, icy black that was currently fixed on the patterns in the carpet. He looked like a fallen king, ruined but still terrifying. ​"Anya," my father mumbled, shoving me forward. "Meet Alpha Ronan."

The strike came sooner than expected. At the Riders’ gathering, where warriors feasted and celebrated the victories of patrol, Lyandra stood suddenly, goblet in hand. Her voice rang out, silencing the hall. “I cannot sit here and watch our pack bow to a Luna unproven. Raven Blackthorne, your blood is tainted, your fire dangerous. You do not deserve him, nor the crown you wear.” Gasps rippled through the den as Axel rose, a growl rumbling low, but Serenya’s eyes glittered with triumph.

Midnight had already gotten out of the window, squatting on the canopy. When Ryder looked out of the window, she was momentarily dazed. There was a full moon tonight and a gentle dim light fell upon Midnight, highlighting his figure. He was dressed all in black and the mask on his face looked bewitching. The skin of that bit of his face that wasn't covered by the mask looked extremely pale and soft under the moonlight. For a second, Ryder forgot how to breathe.

Our pack was outnumbered, that much was clear. The tourniquet slowed the bleeding in my leg, but the silver prevented proper healing. Each heartbeat sent fresh waves of poisoned blood through my system. My vision began to blur at the edges. Then I heard it – the distinctive roar of a motorcycle, cutting through the sounds of battle. The rider appeared like a wraith through the smoke, clad entirely in black. He maneuvered the motorcycle with reckless precision, weaving between combatants and debris. With each hand he held a silver-loaded pistol, firing with deadly accuracy at targets I couldn't see.