Next Strike Novels & Stories

assistant"> The moment Elena committed fully to the strike, something shifted again. Not just in Kade, not just in the figures surrounding them, but in the space between all of them. It was subtle, almost imperceptible, but it altered the trajectory of everything that followed. Her movement was precise, driven by instinct sharpened beyond hesitation, but Kade did not meet it in the same way as before. He did not simply counter. He adjusted before the motion completed, his body reacting as though he had already seen the outcome.

He attacks in earnest. The Thunderstrike Scripture at full output is spectacular and brutal — he crosses the ring in two steps, a combination of five strikes flowing into each other like water, lightning element detonating at each impact point with a sharp crack that the barrier formation absorbs before it reaches the spectators. The first two strikes I deflect. The third gets through my guard and hits my left shoulder with enough force to spin me half a step sideways. My shoulder goes numb. Not broken — Stone Shell prevented structural damage — but the lightning element has left a hot, tingly disruption in the Ki pathway at my shoulder joint that's going to be annoying for the rest of this

The human traffickers sold me to a remote mountain village when I was young. My parents spent a fortune searching for me and even offered a massive reward for my safe return. They finally found me when I was 16. My parents and three older brothers held me in their arms and wept. After that, they did everything they could to make up for the sixteen years we'd lost. I had more designer clothes than I could ever wear, more luxury handbags than I could ever carry, and a place at an elite private school. On my first day, my oldest brother tied a rosary he'd personally prayed over to my backpack. My second brother bought me the latest phone. My third brother patted me on the shoulder. "Valeri

he demands she took a step close to him, looking him directly in his eyes, lips inches away from him, she glares at the man she loves the most before cursing at him "slimy, lying, good for nothing, selfish, little bastard" she starts off slow but as more words come out the more aggressive she becomes "That's it" he growls, pushing her so hard her body comes crashing into the floor. He folds the thick lather belt in too and strikes her with it, multiple times. *strike* i provide for you *strike* i feed you *strike* and this is how you repay me *strike* calling me a bas- *stike* -tard *strike*

It clearly wasn't over, not till I said so. Zane exhaled. "You're not done!!! Fine!!" The words were barely out of his mouth when I struck him hard with my claws. He ducked and rolled, avoiding my blow with mere inches. To counter, he struck hard, and with a swift swipe, his claws raked by my side and sent me tumbling to the ground. "You're no match for me Rowan, and never....." Zane started but he was cut short as he looked up and noticed an arrow shot towards him. With a sudden act, he caught the arrow but it's effect on him made him to stagger backwards.

I stepped toward him, anger boiling over. However, before I could get close, Nancy blocked my path. "Joshua, are you done making a scene? If you're not, you can keep going, but we're leaving." She yanked off her black mourning dress and tossed it carelessly onto the floor. As Gilbert walked past, he deliberately stepped on it, then glanced back at me, his eyes full of open provocation. My whole body trembled. The next second, I lunged forward and drove my fist straight into his face.

When another one of the girlfriends stopped me to get her some water, I dumped the whole glass over her head and strode right out of there. And with that, my resolve to leave Caleb grew even stronger.

Maya snarled and attacked again. This time, I didn’t dodge. I stepped into her strike, catching her wrist with one hand and slamming the sharp end of my broken staff into her abdomen with the other. She gasped. The impact sent another shockwave through her body and her knees bent beneath her. She staggered back. Around us, murmurs and whispers filled the air as the audience processed what had just happened. I straightened, rolling my shoulders as I gazed down at her. “One strike,” I murmured, just loud enough for her to hear. “And you’re already struggling.”

He came again. Harder this time - the second strike from a wolf who had not yet put down the opponent with the first and was just warming up. He was going for the throat, that’s the killing move, the one that makes it over quickly. I rolled over, took the blow on my shoulder instead, felt sharp, acute pain of it and went on. Third strike. This time, I didn’t take it. I faced it.

Serenya caught it awkwardly, fumbling at first, before her grip adjusted. “First rule,” Thorne said, circling her now, his steps silent as death itself, “a strike is not about strength. It is about precision. You don’t need to shatter bones to win. You need to place one cut in the right spot. One puncture in the right vein. One strike that ends the fight before it begins.” “Sounds… grim,” Serenya muttered, but her eyes stayed locked on him. “Efficient,” he corrected. “Grim is bleeding out because you swung too wide. Efficient is walking away because you didn’t waste motion.”