Ruthless Creatures Novels & Stories

His eyes glowed faintly in the moonlight, sharp and dangerous. “You two stay back,” he said, voice low but commanding. “And don’t even think about interfering.” Alina’s stomach twisted. She knew he was serious. She had seen what he was capable of. But fear was mingled with something else—something reckless and defiant. The creatures emerged from the shadows—lean, terrifying, and inhuman. Their teeth glinted under the moonlight. Their eyes… cold, predatory, and hungry. Rhett moved first. In a blur, he intercepted one of the creatures, claws meeting flesh in a horrifying, silent impact. The others hesitated, snarling, sensing his dominance.

He wondered why someone with mischievous intentions would be considered life-threatening. Carla shook her head. "Not that simple, unfortunately. Rogues are shifters who have lost their humanity to their beast. They no longer have feelings or control. Their only target is to destroy and kill." The gravity in Carla's words hung in the air, emphasizing the peril that rogue shifters posed in their world.

Because whatever these things were, they weren’t just here for blood. They were here for war. I knew they were relentless. I knew it the moment the sky cracked open with thunder, as if the heavens themselves were warning us of the nightmare charging through the tree line. The rogues didn’t move like any normal wolves—no tactics, no communication, just bloodlust and chaos in fur and fangs. But that didn’t mean they weren’t dangerous. No, it made them worse. Because when a creature has nothing left to lose, not even a mind to hold onto, you realize just how much of a threat it becomes.

Shapes emerged tall, thin, faceless. Their movements were jerky, unnatural, and the cold deepened with every step they took toward the pack. Raven drew her blade, the silver catching what little moonlight broke through. “With me!” The creatures moved fast, darting in and out, always just beyond reach. When her blade struck one, it split apart like mist, reforming before her eyes. “They’re not flesh!” Ragnar shouted over the chaos. “You can’t kill them like this!” “Then how?” she demanded.

By the time I realized that he might be going toward the wrong way, he was already too far gone and there was nothing I could do to stop him at that time since I did not have a better active plan. Okay here is the thing, among the vile creatures that you do not want to cross, rouges topped my list. Apart from being just animals with no human instinct, they were wild and could do anything to get what they wanted. We fight to win and if we don't, we retreat and try again next time. Rogues have no "next time" in their dictionary. They fight until the last animal stands and would do all they can to win. They are wild, rough, and with the first instinct to just "kill".

They were abominations, their bodies broken and deformed, corrupted by whatever twisted magic had brought them to life. I slashed at another one of the beasts as it lunged, my claws tearing through its matted fur and into the sinewy flesh beneath. It screeched, a guttural sound that echoed through the night, but it didn’t fall. These creatures didn’t go down easy; they were resilient, driven by something primal and unnatural.

Jackson said. "That's a desert lizard. It’s the most dangerous animal on the planet. Even a single drop of that white foam that is dripping from his mouth can burn your skin. It is a pure acid." Jonathan said as they saw that the one who was fighting that animal was now half in his mouth and the crowd was booing. "Are they nuts. Who keep that in the house." Jackson said in disgust. "Andrew. He always said he'll make his own hell. And he did." They walked forward and saw the room where Andrew was keeping Aiden.

“The Elders, I think? I heard them say rogue wolves were rabid, stupid and bloodthirsty. I don’t know much about them aside from that.” “That’s right. But what you don’t know about rogue wolves is that they’re also cruel and ingenious, especially if they’re in wolf form,” I softly mumbled. “If their bloodthirst strikes, their cruel nature activates. They would hunt, and the unfortunate prey they captured would be tortured to oblivion, until death is the only safe haven they can think of. They are that cruel.” I heard him breathe shakily, gasping in horror. “They...” then he swallowed hard. “How did you know about it?”

He moved with lethal precision, his muscles rippling beneath his sleek fur as he tore through his enemies with savage grace. But it wasn’t just him. The field was littered with other wolves—larger than normal wolves, their eyes glowing faintly in the darkness, and each of them bore a crescent moon symbol on their foreheads, much like Adrian's. These wolves, however, lacked the power and presence that radiated from Adrian. They seemed monstrous, cruel—almost like killing machines without conscience, driven by a singular thirst for blood. I watched in stunned silence as they ripped through wolves and humans alike, leaving a trail of destruction in their wake. The brutality of the scene was bey

The Great Hall was a chaos of fur, blood, and shattered timber. The Blight-Wolves were unlike any enemy Rhea had ever faced. They didn't fight with honor or strategy; they fought with a mindless, suicidal ferocity. They didn't feel pain, and even as they were disemboweled, they continued to snap at anything with a pulse. ​Rhea was a whirlwind of silver steel. She moved through the crowd, protecting her pack members, her movements a blur of lethal precision. But for every monster she put down, two more seemed to take its place.