Oblivion Heavy Armor Training Novels & Stories

"I want to take back the part of me Arion stole. The piece that could end this." Ceres's voice was soft but resolute. "If Arion's flame was never his, then we don't just have a way to fight him. We have a way to undo him." Preparations for Vireloch By dusk, the training grounds burned with life. Xavier gathered a small strike team—Maera, Kato, and even Kaelenna, the Umbra defector, now trusted, though closely watched. They assembled enchanted armour, flame-resistant cloaks, and blades etched with protective sigils.

As much as I wanted to shelter him from the darkness that loomed, I also knew that he needed to be prepared for the realities of our world. In our training sessions, I began to incorporate not just physical exercises but also tactics for mental resilience. We practiced not only combat techniques but also how to support one another emotionally, reinforcing the idea that true strength lies in unity. Isolde took on the task of teaching our warriors about the nature of dark magic, ensuring they understood our enemies and how to counter their attacks.

It was vastly superior to the rusted iron pipe he had carried through the Sump, and lightyears ahead of the heavy, inaccurate rifle Rook had given him. He slung it over his shoulder, the familiar, comforting weight settling against his back. He felt like a piece of his soul had been returned to him. Leo reached into the locker and pulled out a massive, reinforced chest piece. It was "Juggernaut" class heavy assault armor, designed for point-blank breaching operations. It was the only piece of armor large enough to fit his immense frame. He strapped it on over his dirty tank top. He looked like an indestructible wall of black steel.

“Look here, Your Highness. The pauldrons look like shoulders only. But these are very strong but also comfortable to wear.” “We have soldiers assigned for heavy armories. The battalion whom Your Highness thinks are wearing the plain ones are specialized in mountain ranges. Taking heavy equipment in mountainous areas is disadvantageous. That is why this kind of battle gear gets made for them. After all, not all wars are on the fields.” “But as for General Daylam, let us just say that he is a great warrior that he can win a war with a simple armory,” Tali added, but it did not help Darina to cease her apprehension.

Ryatt is gone, and there’s someone standing at the edge of my bed cloaked in darkness and shadows. Commander Westfall drops a pile of clothing on the bed and says, “Get dressed. Your training starts now.” *** Ten fucking miles on foot in human form. I bend over, resisting the urge to vomit as I balance my hands on my knees and gasp for breath. The first five miles had been easy enough even though the leather armor over my chest, back, and forearms is heavy, my clothes underneath soaking wet. Rain pelts my face as I squint up at the sadist of a man who’d decided, when my cheeks weren’t red enough after the first five miles, that I needed to do it again.

Those two weeks I spent training with Octavia, and she didn’t go easy on me at all, but I tried my best to fight back even when, most of the time, she kicked my ass. It’s not like I can win against her; if I do, that means she allowed me to win. But if I can last a lot of minutes with Octavia, I should be able to kill some monsters and also fight with Alma if needed. I adjust my amour, looking at myself through the glass in front of me. I made a new armor that looks like the one Asher made for me. I packed my hair in a tight bun, and my weapons were ready. Octavia is wearing her signature amour, and she is so excited to kick some ass. Anything war. She is always ready, and Silver just wants

Dim overhead lights cast long shadows over the walls, which were filled with rows of weapons: silver daggers, guns with silver bullets, chains, cuffs, throwing stars, and even an entire wall of swords. I swallowed hard. This wasn’t just a training room. This felt like a war zone. Damon strode toward the centre without a second glance at the weapons. “Your gear,” he said, tossing something at me. I caught it clumsily, looking down to find a pair of black leather trousers, a bralette, a tank top, and a simple hair tie. I arched a brow. “Seriously?” Damon smirked. “You’ll need to move freely.” I opened my mouth to argue but thought better of it. The last thing I needed was to train in heels and

Like memory. This wasn’t paranoia. This was insurance. This was fucking justice. Outside, I could already hear the growl of engines starting. The low, snarling sound of warhorses waking up. My brothers were ready. Diavlo Scurri didn’t ask questions. They didn’t need speeches. They followed instinct. And tonight, instinct led to blood. I grabbed the body armor next. Thin enough to wear under a suit. Hard enough to stop betrayal. I strapped it tight, chest to ribs to spine. It felt like a second skin. Like vengeance made wearable.

Time: Wednesday, December 4 – Friday, December 6, 2024 Location: The Pantheon Penthouse, "The Sanctum" (Private Training Room) The air in the Sanctum was cold. It smelled of clean rubber mats and the faint, metallic tang of oiled steel. Ava stood in the center of the room, a black tank top and leggings her only armor. She faced Mikhail. He was a statue carved from shadow and lethal potential. Near the wall of antique blades, Damian watched, his arms crossed over his chest. His presence was a silent, heavy pressure.

Anything to get out of this room and away from his own thoughts. The training grounds were a sprawling open-air arena carved into one of the citadel’s lower plateaus. Magic and technology collided here in ways that made Lirian’s head spin. Different clans trained in designated fields: Nocthrim shadow-stalkers vanished and reappeared in bursts of darkness, practicing silent kills; Vyrkath warriors dove into a gigantic, glowing pool that seemed bottomless, cutting through the water with unnatural speed, tails and gills manifesting mid-dive; Kragvorn titans scaled vertical obstacle walls, adhesive pads on their palms and feet letting them cling to sheer crystal like insects, leaping impossible