Rogue Soldier Novels & Stories

It might not be necessary to shift, and it will be much easier to fight if I’m not wearing a dress. As soon as I’m dressed, I step outside and immediately hear a snarl. I turn to the left and there is a brown rogue wolf stalking towards me. You can always identify the rogues because they look mangey and deranged, like a dog who’s been abused and beaten. His fur is filthy, with a few patches missing, and he smells like vulture vomit. The combination of death and decay mixed with the burning, acidic scent of vomit is the worst possible combination.

She’d taken them down so expertly that I wondered how she got into the situation in the first place, how they’d managed to ambush her. I thought about stories I’d heard about rogues. There were known to wreak havoc among packs. If she was a typical rogue then I could see how that would be. No wonder pack leaders usually hated them. So much so that if an alpha or luna crossed paths with one, their first instinct would be to kill. I thought about what this meant for my mate, and how my mother would take it. Would my mother try to kill my mate? Of course, I couldn’t let anything happen to her.

I ordered. Two soldiers swiftly moved into action, apprehending the rogue and escorting him toward the heart of their territory. ★ In the dimly lit dungeon, my piercing gaze fell upon the rogue, surrounded by an array of torture weapons. Tension hung in the air as I, fueled by a thirst for revenge, demanded answers. "Are you the one responsible for the attacks on my Soldiers?" My voice was firm and cold, my eyes scrutinized every bit of the rogue's movements. The rogue, his face marked by weariness and fear, vehemently denied any involvement with the killings, "I swear, I'm not a killer. I escaped after my village was attacked by hunters. I'm not a bad person."

Muscles jerked under pale skin that looked almost transparent. Dark veins pulsed beneath his flesh. Blue black lines spreading in twisted patterns. His lips were cracked and stained with something dark. His teeth looked too long. Too sharp. His nails were broken and bloody as if he had clawed at stone. And the smell. Rot. Metal. Decay. “This is the rogue we found near the perimeter,” one soldier announced. “He was violent. We had to use silver chains to hold him.” The rogue lifted his head and snarled. It was not normal.

The air was warm and natural, and it seemed as though many had heard, yet none would speak of it as they appeared to have considered it natural. Two days passed since tears had filled eyes and fear had gripped many at their weakest points. And unto the next day, what had happened at night had become a thing of the past as the smiles on faces sprang up out of sorrows of hearts. It seemed as though they had all adapted to the regular torture and torments of a rogued beast as such, evident in the rapid refurbishing of the damaged environments. The phantom's nature was specially chaos, that was knowledge known to all men and child. And its footprints were the massive destruction which could neve

He quickly slid down the staff and landed inside the dust cloud only leaving his silhouette visible to the others. “Who's that?” “Don't ask who he is, just kill him already. You do know that there have been attackers around the capital and the two gates have fell right?” “You inform lord Antares at once.” “Yes sir.” Rogue grinned as he heard the voices of the soldiers agently issuing out orders on what to do. He knew he had made a spectacular entrance and what was left was a simple mind game tactic. “Consider me your executioner.”

Another Rogue. Only that this one has no smell.

They weren't making much of a difference considering half of my kills were rogues who were about to kill a Bloodfangs soldiers. “Get your fucking act together or you gonna get killed!” I said to one of the soldiers, pulling him up from the ground after he had lost his stance just a few moment ago fighting for him life. He nodded hysterical, every muscle on his body visibly shaking. I turned back around, slicing off the wrist of a rogue who aimed his sword my way. He screamed out loudly and next I sent my dagger right into his skull. I heard some other scream and turned back around to find the bloodfang soldier i had just spoken to clenched tightly to his throat, blood gushing right out of it

The soldier stumbled back in pain just as Giovanni shifted. His bones snapped, cracked, twisted, his clothes tearing as black fur exploded over his skin. In seconds, the man who had pulled me from a hospital hallway was gone… And in his place stood a massive black wolf with blazing eyes, long claws, and fangs. “Shit! He is the rogue!” the second soldier screamed, stepping back just as Giovanni lunged towards him. He hit him forcefully, slamming his head against the SUV door. Blood spattered on the window. The other soldier shifted too. A sandy colored wolf with long claws and a smaller build, but Giovanni was faster, stronger, and already furious.

His golden eyes are always staring off into the distance, seeing something I can’t. Like he is reliving his own troubles. He walks like a soldier, always alert, always listening. His back stays straight, but his shoulders are tense. Like the weight of the world is pressing on them. Like he's waiting for something—or someone—to strike. I wonder what made him a rogue. Everyone has a story. And most of those stories don’t end well. So what’s his? I pick up the pace and jog a little until I’m beside him. “So… how did you end up being a rogue?”