Novel & Cerita Rider Skull

I scream, my voice echoing off the high ceilings like a desperate animal. The warm-up music dies. Skates scrape to a halt. Every head turns toward center ice where Ryder stands like a god among mortals—tall, broad, helmet off, dark hair messy and damp. That signature cocky grin stretches across his stupidly perfect face as he flips through my private notebook.

My back slammed into the boards so hard the whole rink seemed to crack open. For one blind second, all I heard was the thunder of my own body hitting glass, the sharp scrape of skates and the distant shout of someone calling my name. My helmet flew off, skidding across the ice like a useless piece of plastic while pain burst through my shoulder and down my ribs. Three cracked ribs last month. Concussion before that. If Jaxon Kane wanted me gone, he would have to kill me.

He didn't have it in him to stop us. But whatever. The doctor came by about an hour ago. He pulled open my wound and checked to see if the bone was cracked. I hissed and snarled, but none of them really got scared by that. Rupert actually snuggled closer to me. Big teddy bear. The doctor, Dr. Carrier, said that my skull was intact. My upper dermal layer would need time to heal, but I should be fine. He said to rest and drink and eat plentily. Dexter said he would make sure that I ate.

One minute, Ethan was struggling with the handlebars on his powerbike, and the next, the SUV crashed right into him from the right. SLAM! The impact threw him off his bike, and Ethan's body spun in the air before his helmet cracked against the asphalt as he hit the ground hard. The screech of tires ripping rang in his ears, and the breath knocked out of his lungs. Pain detonated through his skull, vibrating in his body.

I rasped, shoving Carter’s massive hands away from my shoulder pads. "Jeremiah, stay down." Talia slid onto her knees beside me, a medical jump bag swinging from her shoulder. "You hit the boards at thirty miles an hour. Let me check your neck." "I’m fine." Gritting my teeth, I forced myself onto one knee. Looking down, the problem glared back at me. The molded plastic chassis of my custom Bauer skate was completely intact. The steel blade itself was gone. It had sheared clean off, leaving a jagged, dangerous edge of metal flush against the plastic holder.

Dark shapes, moving fast, too fast, and the sounds coming from them weren’t human and there were people from the pack already running toward them and then Rider stopped at the edge of the light from the house. Jordan was beside him. Taylor on his other side. And others, men and women I recognised from the halls and the kitchen and the grounds, all of them standing at the edge of the dark with something in their posture that was nothing like the people I had been living alongside for these past months. Rider turned his head and looked back at me over his shoulder. His eyes were black, completely, fully black. Before I knew what was happening, I heard the snapping of bones.

That's when the real training began. We trained for hours, then we took a break. "That's tough" I said, heaving a sigh. He smiled. "Skull was much harder on me when he trained me. Each day, I would end up with bruises or a broken bone" he said and I stared at him, incredulously. "You're lying" I breathed. "Nope" "How many broken bones have you had?" "I don't know... maybe seven... It's usually my ribs that suffer it mostly. Other times, It's either my arm or my finger gets broken. Trust me, it was hell"

Without waiting for further orders, a dozen of them step forward and form a line in front of us, their rifles aimed at the newcomers. The motorcycle riders are a filthy bunch. Most have long, greasy hair held off their faces by soiled headbands. A couple of the guys are totally bald. All have beards that look like they haven’t been cut or trimmed in years. Each of them is wearing a black leather jacket, most of which are ripped and torn. I’ve never seen a rougher, more disreputable looking bunch of men. Even more alarming are the bleached skulls mounted in the center of the handlebars of every bike. A few are clearly from monsters, but some are unmistakably human. Survival can’t have been ea

The movement of the bone skull stopped almost at the height of human growth - above the place where Vic himself had stood a moment ago. - Farewell, brother, - the blades in the hands of Yarsi silently cut the vertebrae of the neck lowered down. The skull hit the ground, hitting its jaws, tumbled on its side, and began to paint in pieces. Simultaneously with a loud thud, the entire skeleton collapsed.

The Riders were armored primitively, but Keron had been in enough encounters to know that their protection was strong enough to withstand direct hits. The feet of the Riders were shodded in black boots with protruding spikes on the toe area. Above was their silver shin guards riveted in red bolts. Above were their thigh guards that looked like large skirts at first glance, followed by their utility belts where a pair of pistols are holstered, then the cuirass which were comprised of hexagonal iron-forged plates. They wore no arm guards, only pairs of leather gloves simply covered their hands and on their heads were pointed straw hats that fully obscured their features. Within, their eyes glo