Rogue Mc Novels & Stories

My trembling hands pushed away the curtain, and the blinding morning light made me squint, but I struggled to keep them open to take on the grand sight outside this carriage. Towering ivory walls reaching up to fifty meters, seemingly reaching for the horizons, and a luxurious blackwood double-door gate embossed with a ruby-eyed ebony wolf howling to the heavens highlighted by golden lines, as if the giant black wolf with blood-red eyes is ready to leap out of the gate and massacre its enemies. The entrance to the core power territory of the Rogue kingdom exudes a terrifying momentum of bloodshed and carnage. It perfectly fits the image of the Rogue werewolf race that I have learned and hear

A howl sounds some distance in the front, just at the same time a group of rogues leap out of the bushes. I spring into motion immediately, all my training kicking in. I knock the first one down just before he shifts into his wolf, wrapping the wire around his neck and pulling hard. Suddenly, the clearing is a battlefield. Weapons clash against weapon, rogues fall down. I roll to the side, avoiding the snapping of fangs as a wolf lands where I stood a second ago. From the corner of my eye, I see Ragnar watching it all from the sidelines, like a messenger of death himself.

Damian asked as he walked toward the rogue, who merely looked away. Damian observed the rogue: a man with long black hair, a thin frame, and signs of days without proper sleep or food. Yet this rogue still found a way to enjoy a bar in this small village. Had they taken over and terrorized the villagers, or was someone footing their bar tab? "Who's your master?" Damian asked, determined to discover who led and controlled the rogue werewolves in Summergrave. "Do you hear yourself, Alpha Damian of Nightraven? Master? We're rogues; we answer to no one but ourselves," the rogue replied arrogantly, glaring at Damian.

“Then you can send him mine.” The rogue chuckled darkly. “He knew you would follow.” Of course he did. That was the entire point. Ronan stepped beside me, his own claws gleaming in the dim light. “You talk too much.” The rogue’s grin widened further. “Oh, but we must. The master enjoys games.” Marcus roared. “I don’t.” I moved first.The forest blurred around me as Marcus surged forward. The first rogue barely had time to raise its claws before my hand tore through its throat.

Unlike how I found him unconscious and butt naked. "Why did you leave your pack, Peyton?" He questions, eyes never leaving mine. "Stepping foot into this land as an exiled wolf makes you nothing but a rogue. And we do kill rogues, or lock them up because they're never to be trusted." The lines on his forehead are furrowing as he makes this known to me.

He grinned and charged right into the monsters. He punched, and slaughtered every monster in the dungeon with his barehands, the system everytime he killed a monster registered it's soul inside of his inventory, Rogue knew he had little time and he needed to unlock his powers before he can help Lucifer within a few days. He stopped at the boss and looked at the wraith with a smile, he charged at the dungeon boss and they began to fight it out, Rogue being nimble was always a step ahead and would get several critical punches in on the wraith reducing it's health slowly but steadily till he landed a deadly punch successfully defeating the dungeon boss.

Alpha Brice doesn’t respond, but keeps his eyes on her. “Who is this guy? We heard his voice in your memories, but we didn’t see his face.” I turn to Alpha Tamiyah. “He’s the rogue Alpha -” Jamorea is cut off by harsh laughter before she can finish. “This is all a game, isn’t it? Rogues don’t have an Alpha. Rogues are never even organized. What are you playing at, little traitor?” I’m on my feet before I can even decide to do it. My hand slams on the table, and I’m turned toward the disrespectful Alpha. He has his arms crossed and is looking at me with one eyebrow raised.

Former Lycan Court warriors, rogues, anyone who ran when everything fell apart. Only about forty of them were left. All that remained of the fight against the Council. “We need to attack soon,” said Drake, a scarred warrior. “The longer we wait, the stronger the Council gets.” “Attack with what?” Amara, a rogue who had joined recently, replied. “We’ve got forty fighters. The Council has thousands. That’s suicide.” “So we just hide?” Drake snapped. “Let them win?” “We’re not letting them win. We’re surviving.” Amara gestured around the group. “Every one of us is a loose end the Council hasn’t tied up yet. Our existence is proof we’re still fighting back.”

The Rogue whimpered as he laid on the ground, the brick cracked behind him from the impact, before he went limp. That was two Rogues… But there had been three. I spun around then to see that the final Rogue, a smaller and scrappier one, was hungrily sniffing at Moana. A low, thunderous growl rumbled in my throat as I stalked closer to him. At the same time, a loud lightning strike lit up the sky. The Rogue slowly lifted his head, his dopey eyes shifting back and forth. When he realized that he was the only one left and that his leader was possibly even dead, he quickly turned tail and ran like a coward without even a moment of hesitation.

This is like a mob visit. "You wish you could handle me. Besides, I don't like weak, frail, and disgusting old men. They don't have enough backbone for a ROGUE like me! " I growl, my grey blue eyes glowing with purple flakes. I yelled through the door. I knew challenging his manhood and telling him I was a rogue knocking on his packhouse door would draw him out. Stupid Alpha.