Orochimarus Novels & Stories

“Well Sachi told me you’re no fraud, but just know I’ll want a demonstration later on” He nodded his head. “Good” and she stood up. Takashi’s eyes went wide, but he was subtle. No one seemed to notice, but Geiru was giving him a dirty look, and he could feel the anger radiating off her. But it wasn’t his fault. When the woman was just… “I’m Megumi Hirose leader of Phantom” she said rounding the table and in her hand was a gun. “What’s your name?” “Geiru”.

He shivered at the thought. Caius was in trouble, battling a hulking behemoth in black camouflage that made it difficult to identify his race. There were two shorter minions on either side of him, and they seemed to be sucking Caius’s magic while the larger one hit at him with a sword that glowed flame-red. Orin used his magic as Marek and Kriss stepped in as well. Between the three of them, they managed to shake off the power leeches and incapacitate whatever large creature hid under the camouflage.

I must have been gaping for God knows how long, because he suddenly cleared his throat, snapping me out of my "trance" "Did you even hear a word of what I said?" He dramatically sighed and face palmed. I stood up from my crouching position and blinked twice, getting into my fighting stance. He merely turned his back to me, clicking his tongue in disapproval. "My name is Okiro. A warlock of the five white clans of Duna. An endangered specie and the one of the last of my kind... thanks to your father's good work." What the fuck now? I'm pretty sure my eyes were as big as saucers now.

Tahr She'll return soon. She is mine and will not be able to stay away. Plus she has nowhere to go. I will give her this time of adjustment because I need time to think too. I'm still in shock that she transcended. Even more so that she's yellow. It makes no sense. She should be silver like me-majestic silver to represent the royal silver dragons. Bastian's mate is red and Laryn's is blue-end of story. Or it should be. My mate is yellow.

The prince of the rouges growled. Drake was panting, gasping for air. He closes his eyes, feeling the presence of the beating heart. As he opened his eyes, it was blood red. He wore the devil's eye. It was cold, dark, mysterious, and dangerous. The prince of the rouges steps backward, trembling. He didn't try to struggle off the chain; he just wore his dangerous lopsided grin.

Sasha was referring to errant sister tribes on the eastern islands, who shared their water element minus its crystalline frozen form. “Toyotamahime ocean lizards,” he continued, “are one of the oldest species of animals in the world, older than even the Great Serpents, and we learned many things from them. They have warm eyes and brains that stay alert in our cold waters. They’ve also honed a kind of sixth sense that detects minute electrical fields, from the slightest twitch of a muscle to prey that’s buried under sand. “The problem is when they get sensory overload. The same thing I told you that I’m apt to experience when I’m in Kuma-wani form.”

He fought down a smile. Liv's breaths came quickly as her eyes locked on his body. He had muscles she hadn't even known existed. He was like a marble sculpture, all hard planes and valleys, veins popping out from his extraordinary muscles. When his thumbs tugged down his briefs, her breath caught in anticipation, but he shifted before Liv could even get a glance at what was under the black cloth. She jerked in surprise. Between one blink and the next, he'd gone from a muscled Viking warrior to a huge, white wolf. He was so large she thought he looked like one of the Dire wolves from Game of Thrones.

He tore another hunter, ripping through his abdomen with sharp claws so hard his ribs shattered under the brutal force of his attack, but none of it was enough, not when the creatures kept getting back up. They just kept coming back and reanimating before Orion’s eyes, much to his chagrin. ‎ The once white snow churned under them, quickly soaking into a dark, steaming red. Orion’s fur went from grey to crimson in minutes, his breath leaving him in heavy bursts of white mist. His muscles burnt, each movement slower than the last, but he ignored it; he needed to keep fighting, because even though he’d torn through a number of hunters, only a handful lay dead, there were still too many of them.

a gelatinous form of the Sombra that moved like mercury. "They aren't 'Sovereigns' and they aren't 'Refugees,'" Tommy observed, pointing to the swarms of Abyssal-Shrimp and Giant-Tube-Worms that were moving in a "Macro-Pattern" that defied standard predatory behavior. "They are 'Integrated.' The entire trench is a single, 'High-Pressure-Cerebellum.' It’s the 'Hydro-Symmetry.'"

He carried the water-bearer’s cup, a jug of finely crafted clay, decorated with rich blue and white hues. Then, beneath the ripples of water at the foot of the mountain, something else moved. A dark, elongated shadow. Pisces. A giant oarfish over twenty meters long, the beast glided effortlessly through the waves, its silver body gleaming under the light, marked with deep red stripes and scattered black dots. Its head was crowned with a crimson crest that slanted down its spine, tapering into a thin, rippling tail. It moved with an eerie fluidity that defied its massive size.