Roast Battle Words Novels & Stories

“Bad management and unoriginal dialogue. You guys really need HR.” They lunged. --- The Roast Fight Wolf #1: lunged straight at my throat, sloppy. I ducked, stabbed his ear. He howled. “Oh nooo, your ear modeling career is ruined! Guess you’ll never be on the cover of Pointy Ears Weekly.” Wolf #2: came low for my legs. I kicked him in the jaw, teeth clacked. “Ouch! Somebody’s gonna need dentures. Good luck explaining that to your wolf dentist—oh wait, you don’t have one.”

BOOOMM ROAARRRRR AWWUUUUU ARRRRRRR RAAAARRRR Various roars filled the battlefield, and the great battle continued to rage even more fiercely. And casualties on both sides continued to fall every minute, dying in various ways on the battlefield. Showing how brutal the battlefield truly is, there is no brotherhood, compassion, or forgiveness on the battlefield. No matter if they are women or old people, they will die in various ways on that battlefield. But neither side cares about any of that; they only care about killing the enemy in front of them. In a distant corner of the battlefield, a group of men in blue robes with dragon head symbols on their chests watched the war from afar. They wer

The Rogues at the front had already surged to the edge of the camp, and fierce combat erupted. One of the Rogue leaders, a burly man with a fierce grin, wielded a massive battle axe. Leading his group, he charged at the wolf warriors with reckless abandon. His axe glinted menacingly under the moonlight, each swing brimming with raw power, as though it could cleave the enemy in two. "Block them!" I roared, my voice resonating with authority and resolve. The wolf warriors concentrated on their leader, delivering their attacks with precision and lethal force.

I shout, my voice echoing over the clamor, a beacon for the weary fighters of the pack. They rally around my call, drawing strength from what they believe is a noble alliance. Little do they know, they're rallying around their downfall. I stride through the melee, my presence a rallying cry as I direct the fighters with commanding gestures. My rogues fall back in strategic retreat, their movements deliberate, feigning defeat. It’s all a carefully choreographed play, designed to win the trust of Red Moon’s warriors.

“You got it all wrong! I didn’t mean it that—” “There’s really no point denying things at the moment, dear. My words, your words, everyone’s words wouldn’t matter in the face of death. Only those who outwit this creature had the right to speak for what he thought is right because then, only his words prevailed.” A crude smile curved his lips. Although invisible for Z, she sensed his bloodlust growing steadily. “Now’s the deciding battle, Z. It’s your words against mine. Know that mine won’t go down that easily!”

I slammed my right leg into the ground and took a deep breath. Behind me, Dorothy muttered nervously, “If something happens to me, I’ll kill you, Danial.” I smirked, stared at the leader, and said, “You chose the wrong person, buddy.” The leader’s face twisted with rage. “Brat! Let me teach you some manners!” I inhaled deeply and spoke softly, almost like a whisper. “Dragon Abomination Art—Dragon Roar!” ROAAOOOOOOAAAAARRRRR—!!!

Instead, we walked into a celebration. It didn’t register at first. The drums were too loud. The firelight is too warm. For a moment I thought it was a delusion, some trick of smoke and exhaustion. But then the cheers rang out, and the aroma of roasting meat crammed the air. Not burning, Not death, But feasting. Adolph reined in beside me. "Is this some twisted funeral?" "Doesn’t smell like mourning," Basten said. He sniffed, then nodded ahead. "That’s spit-roast. Something big."

He faced the rogue, fierce protectiveness transforming his posture into unyielding stone. My inner wolf was restless, aching to defend our thrown-together pack. I locked eyes with Brock, and without words, we understood I would safeguard Bethany, he would confront the danger. It pained me to part from him, yet his voice pierced the urgency, "Go save your friend—RUN! I've got this!" The rogue's growl sliced through the chaos of battle, a defiant cry that electrified my senses. Brock charged forward, his growl a deafening rumble across our ranks. His ferocity ignited, a beckoning fire within, commanding me to escape with Bethany, to endure.

Noah smiled at her mischievously, “Finally, a worthy opponent.” “Oh is this a competition? I didn’t know” Margaret chuckled. “I didn’t say it was…” “But you did say it though, you said and I quote “finally, a worthy opponent” An opponent is used during a battle, a challenge or a fight!” Avery stressed, Noah covered his face with his hands and ran out of the room yelling, “Jordan! Jordan! Tell me you have some slow burns in you right now please!” “In fact, I need deep roasts. Follow me!”

"Divine Lord, should we just withdraw?" Voices advocating for retreat continued to come, and Rogart's face was gloomy. His eyes flashed with anger. 'F*ck!' Rogart cursed and roared. "Shut up, all of you. We must win this battle. I'll show no mercy to anyone who dares to retreat." Then, Rogart threw his head backward and shouted, "Where are the Nine Saint Oracles?" Waves of aura surged, and soon, eight charming figures appeared in front of everyone.