Monarch Of Iron Body Novels & Stories

Even though I just saw Dain, that didn’t stop the air in the room from thinning when we locked eyes. He stood tall, with his hands clasped behind his back and those dark eyes of his locked on my every move. I wasn’t sure what it was—what had changed that caused such a physical reaction in my body. It made my blood sing and my pulse play out an enthusiastic tempo in my chest. I roamed his broad shoulders and muscular arms, all the way down to his slacks and expensive shoes. Only when I looked back up did I realize what had changed. Sitting on his head was a crown of the darkest metal, with gems so small and bright they looked like a network of stars. It brought out the otherworldly light in h

He was as yet stuck at the pinnacle of the Iron position. How he had lamented his choice in those days. For reasons unknown obscure to even him, he chose to utilize Ki-refining standards he recollected from his past life to develop his Battle Force. One zeroed in on the meridians pathways while the other zeroed in on the blood stream. One prepared the interior pieces of the body while the other prepared the outside. They were much the same as oil and water! His cerebrum more likely than not confined up for him to try and choose to do that! Eventually, even with the fashionable Blazing Battle Force procedure passed somewhere around his family all through ages, he wound up at an impasse and ha

“No, no, no—“ People thought he was grieving but in reality, he was confused. Yes, he grieved because of his affection for her, but the truth was far colder. Irene did her part. She carried the relic to the end. The door was opened but why? “Why was the monarch still alive?” He wondered. The monarch was meant to die alongside his mate and then he would take over and lead the survivors. That was how things should have unraveled. That was the intended outcome. He did what his heart wanted. He gave Irene the relic and she used it. Now the heart had recoiled, all the pulsing energy from the other dead Vrykolakas was fading and he could not understand why it was happening.

Behind them, stepping slowly through the smoke, came a tall, massive frame shrouded in a heavy iron mantle. His left arm was completely encased in a thick sleeve of articulated black iron, the fingers ending in long, sharp iron talons that scraped against the stone wall as he walked. His lower face was concealed behind a heavy iron mask forged with a jagged, black-inked brand across the jaw line. The Ashen King didn't look at Kian. He didn't look at Cassian. He didn't even glance at Isolde, who stood frozen near her broken lectern.

"Because Headmaster cannot protect you forever. If Azazel attacks border, human Kingdom blames Headmaster. Duel is excuse. If you lose, Headmaster says 'fate'. If you win, Headmaster says 'Academy's glory'. Politics." "I know." "So you need to win beautifully. Not just win. Crush." She dropped a black scroll. "Shadow Monarch's first training manual. From 300 years ago. Last Monarch. Before Academy burned his records." Jin opened scroll. One line: TO BE MONARCH, YOU MUST MAKE OTHERS MONARCH. [Quest Update: Train 100 ex-slaves to D-Rank - Progress: 0/100 - Time: 2 Days 19 Hours Left]

Every vampire in the hall shot to their feet, bowing as one. They bowed deeply. Even the proudest elders lowered their heads, their bodies trembling from the Monarch's sheer presence. I turned, holding my breath. Caspian Blackwood stood at the entrance to the hall. The legendary Monarch was more breathtaking than I could have imagined. He was carved from sin and shadow, a fallen god in the flesh. Long black hair fell loosely around his shoulders. His deep, dark-gold eyes seemed to see through everything.

She heard footsteps and turned her head to look who it was. "Dante! Oh my gods it is you!" Dante was the Crown Prince of the Northern Demon Citadel. He had bronze skin, like he had just got done tanning. His hair was indian long and black. He had beautiful blueish green eyes. Demons were almost pretty much like vampires. Their eyes hold the power rings. The more rings the more powerful. Their nails were just as sharp as well. Their ears were pointed and usually adorn with earrings. They had wings and an actual tail. Belle always made fun of Dante when he got mad at school because his tail would pop out along with his horns. Being a royal bloodline he could hide majority of his features in th

His left hand lay by his side limply as blood flowed freely from his shoulder. Orange Monk’s body crouched into an unusual stance. His robe was in tatters, and his skin was exposed to all. His skin was cracked all over, like a parched land without a drop of water, and blood slowly dripped down the cracks. His appearance shook the hearts of all watching, and they were scared for his health. However the man in question, Orange Monk was unbothered. Enduring the pain he licked his lips, his eyes still clouded with bloodlust, and charged at Blue King once again. But this time things were different.

Then came the screaming. Clawed hands, pale and rotting, broke free from the soil. Bodies grotesque and inhuman began to crawl out of the abyss. Not demons. Not vampires. Not anything I’d ever seen before. These things were older. Wrong. Their very presence made the air turn sour and thick with decay. The Void Monarch… he stepped back. For the first time, real fear crossed his face. “No,” he hissed. “They were supposed to sleep forever.” “What are they?” I breathed, the dagger trembling in my grip again, its edge now glowing silver-hot in my hands.

The weapons carried by these individuals were crafted from first-grade Black Iron, which was capable of withstanding ordinary attacks. Among the guards, the two black-robed men at the forefront had reached the formidable level of stage-seven martial monarch. "You little pest, you've caused enough trouble!" sneered the black-robed martial monarch on the left, his eyes glinting with greed. "You've slaughtered so many of the Dark Blood Guards. Today, even if you escape to the heavens, you won't evade death!"