Masked Warrior Novels & Stories

Damon The air was thick with sweat and pine as I ended my training round, the last punch landing with a dull thud against the padded dummy. My knuckles stung, but the pain grounded me. About thirty minutes before, I finished my training with my warriors. They were some of the best in the Dark Moon Pack. “Alpha!” a voice called out, breathless and urgent. I turned sharply. It was one of the gate guards, wide-eyed and panting. “There’s a fight at the border. A rogue tried to force entry. She’s—” He hesitated, swallowing. “She’s handling herself.”

she barely got out through her laughs, but shes right we should start our training for the day. After we finished up our little conversation we started with our warm ups and the 20 mile run, which seems like a lot but wolves have higher stamina and speed than a normal human so a 20 mile run only takes us about an hour. Once we got back we started on our hand to hand combat which we have to be seperated for due to our difference in strength and skill, She gets paired with one of the weaker females and I get paired with one of the stronger males. I am only 1 year off from being the strongest of all female and male warriors and I will do everything in my power to make it to the position and mak

Making my way to my room, I slipped into my black tactical shirt, pants, boots and gloves readying to head out to what me and the guys called the maze. Sending a text to Papa and Madre that I was leaving and to let Val know, I jumped into my Subaru WRX and took to the wild terrain of my back yard. The bumps and dips toggled me and loosened up my body so that I could enjoy the hunt. I grabbed my walkie and let out a howl, waiting for a signal to go at any moment. "The motherfūcker is back! You're clear to enter into the game Claymore." The nickname given to me by my brothers in arms was code for battle. I clipped the walkie to my Molle webbed belt and picked up my knives sliding them into the

Eira mentally swore that if she ever found this Armando guy, she might just do something nasty to him. For a second she wondered who he was and so she looked up to find the winner. And there he was. The referee held his hand up announcing him the winner. She couldn't see his face because his entire face was covered in a black mask except for his lips and dark brown eyes. His brown eyes. Dark, bloodthirsty and fierce.

I snarled, turning sharply, aiming for his throat. Tyce used the force of his massive frame to bulldoze through the warriors. He slammed his weight into an enemy, sending him tumbling. The wolf barely had time to recover before Tyce was on him again, his teeth sinking deep into his side, ripping flesh like it was paper. Another came at him. And another…

And I would make sure he regretted it when he came. The world shrank to steel, claws, and blood. Strike. Block. Tear. Shove the enemy back, again and again. My arms burned, my lungs clawed for air, but I didn’t let the line falter. Everywhere I looked, my warriors fought like demons, disciplined, ruthless. Camerin’s blade flashed to my left, dropping wolves before they could close the gap. Micah’s hunters loosed volley after volley from behind the shields, thinning the tide. But it wasn’t enough to push them back. Not yet.

While dodging the knife, I grabbed the wall for support forgetting that I wasn't supposed to touch anything. The tears stirred awake almost immediately under my touch, the light flooded the temple and I finally got a glimpse at my attackers, the five masked men were dressed in black and were armed with different weapons. They covered their eyes with their free hands as they shielded their sight from the sudden light. The green tears flowed towards me with a rush. They hummed as I stretched my hands to receive their powers, they molded on my wrists and stretched forward like a whip towards my enemies. I thought Natalí's tears were meant to heal only.

They’re filth, Mara—hunt, protect! Jasper stood at the ravine’s entrance, his burly frame a solid barrier, sandy hair tousled by the wind, blue eyes narrowed, his axe gripped in both hands, its blade gleaming, the knuckle scar on his hand glinting as he shifted his stance. His tunic was layered with a fur-lined vest, Sam’s fire his star, Mara’s heat his sun, the pack’s legacy his shield. The cold bit at his skin, but his warmth held steady, the wraiths’ snarls a call to battle. Boulder, his wolf, rumbled, his tawny form poised, head low, eyes sharp. Stone holds, pup—stand, fight!

The time for action had come, and this woman knew that only she could lead the charge. She rode towards the gates with her head held high, her newly-crafted sword gleaming in the golden light. The words "Mask Princess" engraved upon the blade were a testament to her power and her passion for justice. Her bow and arrows hung from her arms, always ready for use in case of attack.

Her heart leapt to her throat, making it almost impossible to swallow. “You! You did this! You enchanted the weapons!” he shouted, turquoise eyes burning with fury. Jaiyana held her ground, her golden eyes locking with his, refusing to break. Mahisar’s mouth foamed, his muscles twitching beneath his tunic as he lunged toward her. Pain exploded in his head, forcing him to clutch his temples. He doubled over, stumbling backward, his face twisted in agony. Screams clawed at his throat, trapped behind clenched teeth, while he raked his fingers through his hair, desperate to make the searing pain stop.