Oblivion Bound Armor Novels & Stories

I said. He raised a brow. “Different how?” “Less armored,” I replied. “Like you forgot to put something back on.” “That only happens with you.” “That sounds dangerous.” “It is.” I moved closer and rested my head on his shoulder. “Then why do you continue it?” “I see you anyway,” he said. “Armor, armor or not.” I traced just a minute line slowly along his chest with my fingertip, not seductive, just curious. I’d never had the room to be curious before. We were used to surviving with everything between us.

She sat with a posture that screamed defiance, but the way her silhouette softened in the lamplight betrayed the truth: she was on the edge of surrender, not because I forced her, but because I’d taught her to imagine that surrender might be sweeter than the fight. I crossed the room slowly, not because haste would ruin anything, but because every inch of that approach was a chance to build a new kind of pressure. Pressure that didn’t strike — it coiled. A low, deliberate conversation of muscles and air. My shadow lengthened over her, a gentle claim. “You wear your anger like armor,” I observed, keeping my voice level. “It suits you. But armor is heavy. It makes the wearer tired. People who

“Amputation.” Lorak’s mouth tightened—not anger, not offense. Fatigue. “Bonds are destabilizing weapons,” he said. “They compromise judgment. They pull people into harm they can’t see until it’s too late. I cut to contain the blast radius.” The bond behind Tharien’s sternum felt like a blade drawn along its edges—pressure skimming the thread without severing it. He breathed through the threat. “You don’t contain,” he said. “You hollow.”

The pain was different, it hurts so deep. It was at that point I felt happy that I disobeyed my father. I raised my sword up and headed to cut off the heads of the enemies, I wanted all of them to the ground, dead. The Lunar Dominion Pack has been at War with the Crimson fang Empire and it has been a blood bath ever since the war started. It was gossipped that the curse of death was upon our pack and we will keep fighting until we are all dead. " Are you okay, Princess?" My father's soldier rushed to me.

She was unflappable, like nothing about the situation surprised her. Like Nina was the only one out of place. Victor stood behind her. Steady. Controlled. It didn’t ease anything. If anything, it made the tension in the room sharper. Olivia looked around the penthouse, taking in the glass walls and the quiet luxury. There was no admiration in her expression. No curiosity. Just familiarity. Nina’s fingers tightened against her arms. The thought sat wrong. Olivia looked back at Nina, her expression unreadable. For a moment, neither of them spoke.

He turned toward the iron locker shattered in the corner—the armory storage for the dungeon guards. With a brutal kick, he took the door completely off its hinges, reaching inside to pull out fresh gear. He tossed a heavy, dark combat tunic and structured leather riding trousers toward me. They weren't an Omega's rags. They were thick, reinforced garments lined with flexible steel mesh, designed for high-ranking warriors of the Bloodmoon elite.

The man was like every other demon she had ever seen but his eyes held a bit of blue, Lilith would have to ask Adrian about that later. "Your Highnesses, thank you for coming." The man bowed his head before meeting their eyes, he was wearing armour that was made from obsidian she believed as she the colour was quite similar, on the armour was a golden badge, Lilith knew the meaning of it as many of her knights had it as well.

He pondered for a while and said, “There is a family that works with my clan, and they use Preitium from the deep sea to create Preitium Armor. Even at the highest temperature, this Preitium would not melt. Is it tough enough to withstand the hellish lava?” Blind Ivan nodded and said, “Maybe, but the odds should be fifty percent. If Young Master Vlad puts on the Preitium Armor and enters the Devil’s Eye, it would be great if he could block the invasion of the hellish lava. What if that armor can’t stop it? Wouldn’t it kill the young master in the Devil’s Eye?” Carwyn’s expression became more solemn. He said, “Your tone suggests that there is no other way to get around it?”

The tendrils layered into an armour-like shell, forming demonic shoulder guards, gauntlets, and chest plating. The crowd murmured in fear and confusion. “What’s happening to him?” “He’s… transforming?” From the VIP box, Elysia narrowed her eyes. “The Body Spirit Armour Technique,” she whispered. “He’s turning the tendrils into armour… drawing them from his spirit energy. That’s… not good for Danial." The black tendrils thickened, layering over Zyler like demonic armour. His form grew in size, taller, darker. A helmet-like cocoon masked his head for a second before peeling back, revealing his twisted smirk.

Holy shit! He was gorgeous, handsome in a rugged, Southern sort of way-unusually tall, solid frame with a firm build, but proportionate to his size. The tattered Georgia Tech hat was somehow attractive perched on his head. I realized at that moment how damn hot it was in this warehouse, in the summer, in the South. His skin glistened from the heat, showcasing the definition of his arms and an oriental tattoo on his bicep. My gaze slid past the navy T-shirt with the sleeves ripped off to a pair of well-worn, faded jeans that hugged his hips. They hung loosely down his legs, his knee exposed by the tattered rip on the left side.