Omegamon Merciful Mode Novels & Stories

Her fingers twitched once—a nervous reflex—before falling still as she devoted every bit of focus to seeing. "Yet the Omegas are not far behind. They possess the strongest mental fortitude, allowing them to freely control their minds and making them less susceptible to the mental degradation that sometimes plagues Alphas. This strong mental defense is often seen as compensation for their inability to shift into a beast form. However, this does not make them fragile," Milo recited, drifting toward Lev. "Omegas like your other dad can exhibit formidable mental strength that can be used freely in battle." Lev lifted his hand. The leaves scattered across the ground trembled—then floated upward.

“As your friend… I can’t believe you became that cold.” I couldn’t answer. Emon was crying quietly now. “Omegas feel each other’s pain,” Osen said softly. “Find him.” “I’m granting you full access,” he added. “I need to take him out of here.” Osen put a heavy hand on my shoulder. “The feed is yours. I have to get Emon settled.” He looked at his mate, who was now openly crying, his small frame shuddering. “He’s hurting for your omega. We all are.”

Elder Rowan stepped into the Moon Oath Sanctuary, his ancient eyes locking onto the center of the stone room where the absolute submission of an omega was being put on display. The heavy musk of pine and dark winter forest rolled off Caelum Frostbane in massive waves, driving Michaels Masterson onto his knees on the white leather ottoman. Michaels kept his eyes raised, his omega core pulsing with white-hot heat as the supreme alpha’s thick length leaked a pearly bead of precum onto his trembling lips.

Rowan's POV The warm air of the study filled the air, the soft flickering lamp illuminated the room as the soft flipping sound of papers disturbed the silence. My eyes scanned the scroll thoroughly, unable to really grasp what it meant. “A moon born Omega?” I raised an eyebrow. It said here about an old legend of the Moon born Omega, born once every thousand years, believed to be capable of a lot more than being just blessed by the mood goddess. This was new, and really interesting.

"And they have something no one else has. Nullifying wolves. Bred specifically to resist omega auras. Immune to the calming effect that is your greatest weapon." I pressed my hand to my chest, where the bond web hummed. The omega calm had saved me in the cave, in the pit, on the Conclave platform. It was the one weapon no one else could replicate. And the Frostmarch had bred wolves specifically to counter it. "How long do we have?" I asked. Corvus shrugged. "Months. Maybe weeks. They don't announce themselves. They just arrive. One day the border is quiet. The next day it's on fire."

Everything turned dark and silent. *********

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He noticed the crystal on its forehead briefly gleamed and shined after it healed itself. A while ago, its body had already been bathed with its own blood of muddy black color from all the wounds it took. Yet now, it completely returned to its original color, like nothing happened in the first place. Feeling suspicious, Yman knitted his brows. Although he was not sure, he could still remember some of his teacher's teachings. He said that the monster with '+' on their rank tend to have a crazy mode that will be triggered when the monster's health points dropped at a certain percentage.

he taunted that made me look at Caya and Deborah endlessly exchanging attacks with each other while Coazen lost her consciousness at one corner of this realm because of too many injuries and wounds. I looked at Angel and she was bleeding badly. If only I can use my Divine Magic so I can heal all their wounds instantly. Caya was struggling to block Deborah’s attack. She's almost on her limit. D*mn, I feel so useless. “If you really want to save your friends, I have a deal for you,” Mammon suddenly proposed that took me aback. “What is it?” I asked desperately.

She turned to face them, expression unreadable. “Welcome,” she said in a voice that was both mechanical and musical. “I’ve been expecting you.” Damien stepped forward, Aurora beside him. “Seraph, it’s over. Monroe is dead. You don’t have to follow his programming.” Seraph’s head tilted. “He is never truly dead. His design endures. As do I.” A panel on the far wall hissed open. From within, hostiles emerged—autonomous guardians, half-human half-machine, with limbs reinforced by alloy and neural links to Seraph’s command node.