Rouge X Knuckles Novels & Stories

The obstacle course was worse than fighting Zara. Much worse. "Move faster, Tracker!" Jax shouted as I pulled myself over a wall for the third time. My arms screamed. My ribs throbbed where Zara had kicked me. Blood still dripped from my split lip. But I kept moving. The course was designed for experienced Rogues. Walls twice my height. Rope climbs over muddy pits. A section where you had to crawl under barbed wire while wolves threw things at you.

My head rings, and my vision blurs from the strike. My ears ring as I fumble on the ground. What the hell? His hits are hard, too hard. I look at his gloves and notice the tape around his knuckles outlining more than knuckles. Faint gold shining through split tape I realize why he's hitting with such force. He has fucking brass knuckles on! "Hey!" I yell at the guy standing outside the ring, trying to inform him of the knuckles. I run to the other side of the ring, wiping and smearing blood from my eye from my face.

Before he can realize what's happening, Knox knocks him down with a punch. “Keir!” I wince at the impact, trying to move but Ryan holds me back. I try to free myself, screaming but his grip is strong, just as strong as the punches that Knox delivers to Keir's face. “You imbecile, you dare touch her?” Knox grunts, catching Knox's punch. He tries to get a hit in but Knox never lets his opponent hit him. He throws Keir at the wall and stomps on his hand. “Ah!” Keir's screams.

ROSIE Punch. Swerve. Block. My fist connects with my opponent's jaw, the sharp impact jarring through my knuckles all the way to my elbow. I let out a sigh, my gloves rising to guard my face as I pant. Sweat trickles down my temple, sliding along my cheek. With the back of my hands, I wipe it away. "Come on, Rosie! Is that how you plan on fighting your enemy?" Xylus's voice interrupted my thoughts. It's one of those familiar tone of his, the one that says I'm disappointing him again.

Zachary rolled up his sleeves, showing his strong forearms, and clenched his fists as his metacarpals and phalanges gave off a cracking sound. It seemed that a fierce battle was about to take place. All of a sudden, a deep baritone suddenly sounded out of nowhere.

I watched the smirk fall from one of the brother’s faces, but another guy called Knuckles had the guts to stare me down. “Who believes this crap? She’s a wolf-hybrid, can’t you smell it?” Knuckles spat with contempt. In a split-second reaction, I lunged forward and swung a punch at his jaw. I must have made that fucker see stars because his eyes rolled to the back of his skull, then I hauled him upright by his vest, bringing us nose to nose. “You wanna say that again? Go on, I dare you?” I goaded, hoping he would repeat it.

I flinched at his action. His knuckles were bleeding. He was growling in anger and pain. Seeing his knuckles bleed, my heart dropped in my stomach. His fist was bleeding very badly. I started sobbing more loudly. I tried to take it in my hands to see the damage but he snatched it. “Don't touch me,” he shouted. I started sobbing and tried to control the hiccups but it was not in my hands.

She says. I removed my hand from the light and what seemed to be a skeletal blueprint before, it immediately materialized the moment I removed my hand. Now, there was a shear glove over my left hand. I tried making a fist and saw micro scales moving. I even feel my knuckles hardening just enough but it was not too constricting. “You said you don’t want your knuckles to turn soft. The shell is hard, but it doesn't protect your knuckles that much so you can still keep your calluses.”

ELARA’S POV The three knocks came two hours later. I’d been sitting at the table, staring at the door, my fingers still tracing the scar above my knee. The sound made me jump despite expecting it. I rushed to the door and slid the bolt back. Knox stood there, with a rifle slung across his back, holding two dead rabbits by their ears. Blood streaked his hands and forearms. And dirt smudged his jaw. “Dinner,” he said simply.

I mutter, hatred still flowing through my veins instead of blood. I wrap the garrotte wire tighter across my hands, getting into stance as my eyes follow a subtle movement from the bushes. The signal is a howl from Ryker. Ragnar has us all briefed. My hands are covered in a pair of knuckle dusters. I had my leather jacket over my gear, which was actually a crop top and slick black pants that allowed me to move around, a utility belt with a series of knives strapped to it, and military boots. A howl sounds some distance in the front, just at the same time a group of rogues leap out of the bushes.