Mercenary Novels & Stories

" I tried to gaslight my own mind. After all, he was very handsome. I bet he already has many women groveling over him. I don’t think a man with that status would waste his time for me. Marc started ranting like a father, stating advice that tingles my eardrums. He also explained the terms of our contract regarding the mission and said that I would only receive half of the reward. But our little chitty chat was interrupted as we all noticed someone’s, no, a few people's presence nearby. "Duck!" Marc’s panicking voice lingered in my ears. "What the!" The rain of bullets interrupted the word I was about to say. "Oh damn it, my garden!" I screamed in annoyance, then pointed my gun, trying to fi

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."

Beads of sweat run down his forehead, and he’s turned pale. “When they were talking in the courtyard…” He licks his lips. “I heard something I didn’t understand then, but I do now.” “What? What is it?” And does he seriously think we have time to stop and have a conversation right now? The new wave of Silver Hunters is probably already in the main building. They’ll reach the pool house in no time at all, and I don’t have what it takes to defeat that many of them. “It’s an old relic.” Alec grabs my shoulder. “It’s all powerful. If they get their hands on it, nothing can stop them. I thought… I thought it was just a legend, that it wasn’t real.”

Andrius walked towards Simon. “Hmph!” Simon was not afraid at all. Instead, he scoffed and clapped thrice, “You guys are up.” As his voice subsided, a bunch of men jumped out and surrounded Andrius. These men had blonde hair and sapphire eyes. They were equipped with AK-47s, machine guns, and even an RPG rocket. They were obviously mercenaries from abroad. “You people… Grim Reaper Mercenaries?” Andrius saw the scythe emblem on their chests, and his eyes turned cold.

“You do not repeat that name to anyone unless you want this school to lose its mind.” I swallowed. “So, the rumors are true.” His mouth twisted. “More than you want to know.” “What is he?” I asked. Voss exhaled slowly, like the very weight of that question sat heavy on his lungs. “A mercenary. A butcher. A ghost even alphas and covens pretend doesn’t exist. He only shows his face before something catastrophic. Wards falling. Towns burning. Blood on the snow.” My gut clenched. Hard. “And the glaive?” I asked. “Dragonsteel’s not exactly easy to find.”

Tonight, blood debts demanded alliance. The SUVs rolled to a stop, engines grumbling low like caged beasts. Doors opened. Men stepped out—mercenaries, pale-eyed, movements deliberate, weapons slung low but not forgotten. They carried themselves with the quiet of wolves who’d killed too many times to need to posture. Then Marek emerged.

"A man with an ego as large as Malakor's doesn't arrive quietly. He wants an audience." Right on cue, the crunch of heavy boots on frozen gravel echoed from the upper trail. From out of the dense pine shadows emerged a tall, imposing figure clad in heavy dark plate armor bearing the insignia of the western mercenary syndicates. A jagged scar ran from the corner of his jaw down into his dark collar, and his eyes burned with the cold, calculating cruelty of a career cutthroat. Behind him stepped four massive, heavily armed enforcers, each gripping broadswords etched with suppression runes.

"They're just three people! Crush them!" But the badland enforcers were no longer an elite tactical unit; they were drowning in a technical blackout. Deprived of their HUDs, thermal scopes, and coordinated squad comms, the mercenaries were fighting blind against a veteran alpha wolf, a hyper-focused hybrid prodigy, and an apex architect who commanded the battlefield's digital pulse.

"Who hired you to blow up my medical facilities? Give me a name, and I will make your deaths quick. Lie to me, and I will keep you alive for weeks just to peel the skin off your bones." The mercenary on the left, a thick-necked man with a military tattoo on his forearm, spit a mouthful of bloody saliva onto the concrete floor. "Fuck you, dog," he rasped, coughing heavily. "We don't know shit. We get paid through blind offshore accounts. You can beat us all night, but you aren't getting a damn name."

The mercenaries are well-equipped, wearing heavy dark plate armor and wielding enchanted weapons that hum with malicious, synthetic energy, proving they are elite killers dispatched by our worst enemies. I leap off the stairs and land directly onto the back of a mercenary, my daggers slicing through his dark armor to reveal a brand of Dawn Mercer’s crest on his neck. The man lets out a choked gasp as my blades find the seam in his plating, and as he collapses forward onto the blood-soaked flagstones, the parting cloak reveals the unmistakable mark.