Mordred Armor Novels & Stories

"But I feel it now. I feel everything. I’m not scared anymore, Anna. I’m just angry." Anna pulled back, nodding solemnly. "Good. Use that anger. We're going to need it." Anna turned toward the center of the room. The 30th had arrived, and with it, the "Jameson" identity dissolved forever. She reached into the air, calling upon the McKinnley inheritance that now flowed through her like a river of molten gold. From the empty air, her battle armor materialized—crafted from dark, enchanted leather and reinforced with Filigree Silver that wouldn't burn her, but would melt any Devonshire who dared touch it.

This frost must have belonged to her since she was the only one here in Drava who had such powers. Although the freezing of the fountain had surprised them all, it didn’t stop the fighting in the Alchedra. The shelves, books, wooden tables, and chairs—all burned from the fire blasted out by Myrdin and Raeherys. The Sun Guardes kept on using their purple capes to protect themselves. But this time, when one of them charged to attack Raeherys, Myrdin breathed in and blew another swirling fire—the guard covered himself with his cape, but the fabric burned out instantly into black … and then into ashes. He screamed out loud as the fire torched his entirety, melting down his golden armor and helm.

I turned my eyes back to Marcus and the warriors, seeing the light dimming down as their forms reappeared before us again. Gasps sounded, coming from me and our friends, as we saw them dressed in silver-white clothes, covering every inch of their bodies. They were dressed similar to modern army men, white with silver imprints, covering their combat pants and their jackets. The shirt that was peeking through, underneath their jacket looked like it was white, but I couldn't see very well. I walked towards Marcus, fingers tracing the fabric that covered his chest. I saw marking, the same one he got when he defeated Azrael, covering his left shoulder.

She nodded and gently let his hand go. She then glanced at the old armor in the rubble. Resolute, she stood up and conjured a different spell. After reciting the chant and performing the gesture, the gemstone glowed, and a red smokey hue wrapped around the shiny armor. Cassana motioned her hands and the plate metals that make it up peeled off one by one, humming and hissing.

“That’s what we are all thinking, that he’s gone crazy and is now capable of anything.” “Drugs are really bad,” Anika said, shaking her head. “It can turn a saint into a demon. What’s more with someone who’s already a demon like Allan? You need a bodyguard.” “I can’t afford one.” “I can provide you with one,” Anika stated, her countenance serious. Layla quickly shook her head. “No, ma’am, you’ve done enough for me,” she said.

Dorian's Pov The ceremonial armor was made from the finest material collected by the generation of the Draven wealth. As I wore the armor it felt heavier than I expected. This was Ronan’s armor—my brother’s legacy now resting on my shoulders like a stolen crown. I stood before the mirror in my quarters, adjusting the silver breastplate with our family crest. The wolf and moon park emblem on the armor seemed to mock me, a constant reminder that I wore borrowed authority. But soon, I reminded myself, it would all be mine.

At his side was a scythe, its curved edge wicked sharp. As stunning as Amora and Nyssa were, they were breathtaking when covered in armor. Amora’s was rose gold, the same pink hue as her cheeks, while Nyssa’s resembled a pearl, the material almost iridescent. The wolves that had joined us for the fight watched in awe as I dropped my glamour, my clothes morphing into armor a shimmering silver. While I wasn’t very skilled at using the thing, a sword hung at my hip. My skin was lit with an inner glow that turned my hair into a mess of writhing blue flames. I could feel my power pulsing within my eyes, illuminating the dark for all to see.

Up on the wooden catwalk, overlooking the misery like a bored god, stood Morde. He was dressed in fine, quilted silks that looked absurd against the grime of the mine. He held a silver goblet of wine, the deep red liquid catching the dim light. Beside him stood two strong warriors, their polished armor a direct insult to the rags and mud below.

Zuberi growls under his breath, typing another message with aggressive thumps of his small fingers. She is putting the armor on right now! He is picking her up at dusk! If you don't show your face at the Eclipse Den, I am personally helping the Northern Lord pack her bags! While Zuberi fumes in the corner, I step behind the dressing screen and fasten the moon-iron scales over my torso. The armor molds perfectly to my body, light as a second skin yet tough enough to stop a broadhead arrow. The flared silver greaves trail down like a sea-serpent’s tail, catching every flicker of the torchlight.

Moriah was gazing at his reflection. His tight black armor was made from iron, the breastplate was lined with transmuted thin craft of gold, the symbol of his army Wolf was carved in the left side of the plate. He saw his gesture in the mirror, as cold as always, two piercing and cruel eyes, small stubble around his chin. He blinked, slightly wondering why he was looking at himself, it was unlike of him. It was also a big day for him.