Metal Gear Novel Novels & Stories

A young man stepped out, assisted by two servants, dressed in embroidered gold brocade and wearing a jeweled circlet. I'd recognize that face anywhere—even if it turned to ash. It was Matthew, my brother, who was supposed to be dead for over a year. The brother I'd given my life to atone for. He was back. Alive. Radiant. Dressed like a true prince of nobility. I hung there in the air, struck dumb as if by a bolt of lightning. My ghost trembled on the verge of unraveling.

He should be riddled with disappointment. But why does he- Mykhol only now noticed something in his hands. A flash of a black leather-bound book. Something that looked immediately too rich and fancy for a man like Admiral Nuegen to own. But not something that Mykhol hadn’t seen before. He was too familiar with it. And it immediately straightened his spine and locked his knees. How- why do you have that? “Son?” Funda leaned over, noticing Mykhol’s state, “Son, what are you-” her head turned sharply as the door opened once more.

Trent snarled, through his bloodied rag he kept on his face. "Each joke, something breaks," War whispered lowly as he smelt Trent's anger stinking up the car. Rot...a disgusting rotting scent that War had quickly gotten used to a long, long time ago. He was sure that his little mate's nose wasn't as developed, so he was surprised when she began to stir awake. He was momentarily frozen as he watched movement behind her eyelids...then her eyes opened. The air drained from his lungs and as her molten chocolate eyes peered up at him in confusion. He could see the wheels mentally turning in her head as a look of realization suddenly dawned on her.

The buyers who had been ready to pay fortunes now clawed at malfunctioning implants as their own security turned against them. Riven swept through a wall of incoming fire, plasma wings flaring. Bullets dissolved in light. He didn't even blink as he crushed a guard’s skull in his bare hand. Lucien whispered and three mercenaries dropped, clutching their heads, bleeding from ears and eyes as nightmares fractured their minds into jelly. Mae staggered back. Her collar sparked, dead. Her cage door flickered. Glitched. Open. “Run,” she whispered. But her legs did not move. Not because of fear. No, because of something worse. Something primal. Every gaze from the five was locked on her. Not the gua

The air vibrated with gunfire, screams, and the rhythmic thunder of boots pounding against the cracked asphalt. The war had begun. Mikhail, the ruthless leader of the Monadikos, stood atop the ruins of an old industrial complex, his sharp gaze cutting through the chaos unfolding below. His fingers clenched into a fist as he watched his men swarm the abandoned shipyard where the Cartel had foolishly stationed their latest shipment of illicit arms. The plan was simple, wipe them out, seize the weapons, and cripple their operations.

The criminals who now realized that they were caught in the middle of an ambush scattered. Bryan could see one of them reaching under his shirt to pull a gun of his waist band, but he was quick to fire a shot before his opponent had the chance to. Within seconds, there was a cacophony as gunshots sounded from different directions, as the drug dealers returned fire to the agents. In the midst of he gum duel, a few billets which hit the containers ricocheted, causing sparks in the dark night. After two minutes, three of the criminals laid dead on the concrete ground, while the others knelt down on a straight line with their hands raised up.

Cat followed to the landing, her vision still flickering between the physical world and the golden grid of the ley lines. Five men in tactical gear burst through the ruins of the window. They weren't normal soldiers. Their armor was etched with protective runes, and they carried silver-edged blades that hummed with a sickly green light. Elias met the first one mid-air. It was a display of beautiful, horrific violence. He didn't just punch; he dismantled. He caught a silver blade with his bare hand—the metal hissing against his skin—and snapped it like a dry twig before driving the jagged shard into the soldier’s throat.

I was comple⁠tely alone. I‍ sank to the floor, leaning my bac⁠k aga‍inst the cold titanium wall. I placed the Glock o​n the​ ground bes​id‍e me. O‍n the monitor⁠ a‍bo‍ve,‍ the m‍ercenaries took their final steps towar​d th‍e kit​chen island. Lore​nzo braced himself, gripping a shard of broken glass. He​ was going to fight to his last breat⁠h.‍

The white sand shifted under fifteen thousand pairs of boots, creating a low-frequency rumble that traveled through the bedrock and into my marrow. The air was thick with the scent of unrefined fuel and the metallic tang of kinetic rifles. Rogues in scavenged leather sat atop rusted water tankers, their muscles tensed for the coming impact. Nulls in grey rags kept a rhythmic, heavy pace alongside defected Highbloods whose torn silk robes were stained with salt-sweat. They carried lengths of rebar and Barzil-scrap weapons that hummed with an unstable, electronic heat. I stood in the gunner’s hatch of the lead command vehicle—a heavy, six-wheeled crawler. The vibration of the engine traveled t

Each piece of armor was heavy, functional, a stark contrast to the flowing garments I usually wore. The feel of cold steel against my skin, the scent of leather and polished metal, grounded me. I picked up the rifle that lay on the table beside the bed, its sleek, dark form surprisingly heavy in my grip. I checked the clip, confirming the special silver bullets gleamed within. I knew it was useless. A single bullet, even one laced with silver, would do nothing against the monstrosities Daisy had unleashed. They were dead, yet they moved. They were broken, and yet they rose again.