Oblivion Heavy Armor Training Novels & Stories

He took Damian’s hand and pulled him up. "But you still leave your left side open," Damian noted, tapping Leo’s ribs. "I'm working on it," Leo smiled. THE ARMORY We geared up. The Sanctuary Guard wasn't a ragtag militia anymore. Thanks to Seraphina’s funding and Ironclaw’s logistics, they were a modern army. Matte black armor woven with carbon nanotubes and silver thread. Assault rifles modified to fire depleted uranium rounds (for armor piercing) and hollow points filled with wolfsbane (for rogues). But for the Hollow Men, we needed something else. "Bone," Silas said, walking into the armory with a crate. "If they are anti-magic, metal might conduct their Null field. We go primitive." He op

There is no one I trust more. The guards serving as our opponents in the exercises strap on training armor to protect them against the random bite or clawing that sometimes can’t be helped when we’re all in the throes of exertion. We normally wouldn’t bother with it, instead choosing to take our chances and heal as we normally would, but Dad doesn’t want to take any risks at a time like this. We can’t afford to lose a single fighter, even for the short time it would take to recover from a grisly bite wound or a set of claws to the chest. There’s no way of knowing when a new attack will come.

The training yard hums with energy, steel ringing against steel in sharp bursts that scatter across the courtyard like flocks of startled birds. Sunlight burns overhead, bright and merciless, turning armor into mirrors of flashing brilliance and casting hard shadows beneath every pillar, every wall, every moving body. Perfect conditions. Too many shadows. Too many places to vanish. Amara stands across from me, bare arms marked with faint bruises earned honestly over the past week, her breathing steady but focused, golden eyes locked onto mine with the sharp intensity of a warrior who refuses to be underestimated. Sweat beads lightly across her skin, catching sunlight like scattered diamonds

POV Aria The next day. The underground training hall looked different today. The walls were reinforced with special glowing runes that Dad drew himself, preventing any damage from leaking outside. Dad stood in the center, wearing his combat gear. His aura was heavy and serious. "Today, we are not just training your muscles or your energy control," Dad said, his voice echoing in the large room. "Today, we are training your senses and your combat instinct. You need to learn how to fight without using your powers first. Because an enemy can block your energy, but they cannot block your skill."

Hundreds of eyes rise. “I have fought Leo. I have fought Damon. I have walked through Morwein’s illusions and I have risen from the ruin of two wars.” … and two lifetimes, I don't say that out loud… I tighten my grip on the blade. “I am still your Alpha. And I will not let this darkness take a single one of you.” A hush of reverence sweeps the field. I continue: “For the next weeks, you will train under three divisions: Scent Trackers, Spirit Warders, and Shadow Scouts. You will learn to detect magical corruption, to resist illusions, and to fight enemies you cannot see.”

The one he was to wear one day. He didn’t like the weight of armor, so he generally wore his chain mail over bare skin, which I’m sure pinched and bit. But he didn’t care. His thick, tanned arms jutted from the metal, and he’d duck, swiping with blades. Puncturing holes in the padded tunics of those he trained with. Teaching them how to evade while also practicing his attack. He swung up a leg and kicked the man across the padded chest, making him stumble backward.

"Are you going to keep making yourself less than who you are? I will not let you. No one gets it right the first or the second or the third or even the fiftieth time. What matters is passion, consistency and self confidence. You need to train to be able to control your shape shifting abilities and also train your mind to avoid being mentally manipulated." "But everyone is experienced already." "Which is why you'd be joining the junior team. I want you to get ready for this evening's training." "I don't have a costume. I've seen them train." "I will make sure two exact combat clothing are provided for you. Athena, once she settles all tomorrow will have your time because I'll talk to her, oka

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.

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.