One Man Army Novel Novels & Stories

He wasn’t messing around. But little does he know. He was alone. “Really? You and what army?” I blurted. “As we speak, the only guards you have left are the ones in this room, the only mistake you made, was not locking me and my comrade up.” “You fucking____” the door burst open, Court walked in, cutting the man off. He walked, neatly dressed even though sweating, it must have been tough taking down the men at the mansion alone. “That was a crazy workout.” Court blurted as he walked in majestically, standing next to me.

His hand went limp, dropping beside him on the hospital bed. In an instant, my parents’ cries echoed through the hospital. Amid the chaos, a hand, slender and cool to the touch, grasped mine. “Let’s go home,” Isolde said. I murmured a soft “Mm,” tightening my grip on her hand. Stepping out into the autumn sunlight, I squinted instinctively. Isolde shifted me to her side, letting her shadow shield me from the glare. Thayer’s death was like a stone tossed into a lake: it rippled briefly before the surface returned to calm.

This was the first time we met after I got discharged from the hospital. During a break in the first period, Ian cornered me in the substitution zone. He looked somewhat weary, his eyes filled with complex emotions as he looked at me. "Claude, I have something to say to you—" "I'm busy, Captain Bradford," I replied calmly without stopping. "You won't win this round. Mark my words," Ian said, reaching out to block my way, his voice tinged with urgency. "The Yorkson Bears are stronger than ever compared to last year.

Blood sprayed across the concrete. Dante stood, accepting a handkerchief from Massimo. "You're going to deliver a message. Some of you, anyway." He pulled his gun. The men tensed, but Dante didn't fire immediately. Instead, he pointed at the youngest one, he couldn't have been more than twenty. "You. What's your name?" "M-Mano." "Mano. How long have you worked for Caruso?" "Six months."

By chance, Fate, or just the divine intervention of Zeus, I ended up with this incredible man who is hot, great in bed, and so damn sweet. I still don’t know how, in the thousands of men that live in NYC, after only finding assholes, I found such a keeper. And trust me, I know all about the assholes that live in NYC. Between the assholes I met in college, like Alden Zachery Greenwood the Fourth. Insert snort and eye roll here. And massive line-crossing creeps like Trevor Hildebrant. I am beyond lucky to have Clay.

I sat next to Roman, with Astrid in a little bassinet beside me, sleeping peacefully. Everyone dug in, the noise of forks and chatter filling the room. Roman’s cousin told a funny story about his dog. His mom laughed, her hand over her mouth. I took a bite of turkey, feeling content. Then the front door opened. It wasn’t a bang or a slam. Just the soft click of the latch, followed by the creak of the door swinging inward. But the sound cut through the noise like a knife. Everyone went quiet, heads turning toward the entrance. A man stepped inside. He was tall, thin, with long, messy hair that hung over his shoulders. His clothes were wrinkled, his beard unkempt. For a second, I didn’t recogn

He fell with a roar of pain and surprise, and I was on him in an instant, my sword a quick, merciful thrust to the heart. I stood over his body, my chest heaving, my lungs burning, my body a symphony of aches and pains. I had killed four of them, wounded two more, but there were still more, a dozen or more, closing in from all sides. I was a one-armed man in his sixties, fighting for his life against a small army. And I was just getting started. The press of bodies was relentless. I parried a vicious chop from a House Ares warrior, the impact shuddering up my arm, and drove my boot into his stomach, sending him staggering back.

He snickered, “Porter, hurry up and give Homer a shot too. We can’t let him just watch and enjoy the show! Look at all his sweat!” Homer had an emotional breakdown, and he wailed, “Mr. Wade, I’m sweating from fright... I’m scared!” Charlie told Porter said, “Ignore how he got his sweat. Let’s give him a shot first!” Porter immediately answered, “Understood, Mr. Wade!” Charlie asked, “By the way, Porter, are there any men who like men in Ten Thousand Armies?” Porter awkwardly nodded, “Mr. Wade, there may be some... This is indeed more common now.”

"Here's the deal: Clear out the riff-raff, and bring all the ladies from this bar to me for some fun." "Who are you?" Layton's eyes narrowed. "Cut the chatter if you value your life." The man drew a combat knife, skewered a piece of fruit, and took a bite. "Follow my lead, or by tomorrow, Mendorra will be minus one Mr. Holt." Layton scoffed. "You think I'm scared? I've got an army of thousands. You're good, but are you 'beat thousands of men' good?" "Wow, that many?" The man feigned shock. "Terrifying!"

The man, consumed by rage, sprinted towards Jacob, screaming at the top of his lungs. “Come on!” Jacob roared. The man dashed towards Jacob with all the speed he gained, and then halfway through his course, the mound he stepped on suddenly collapsed and brought him down together with the leaves. The man wailed in agony. Jacob went over to him and dropped his gaze at the man. Bamboos tore through his body and blood came out from his gaping wound. Jacob crouched and reached down for the man's tactical army knife and holster which he wraps around his waist.