Savage Lands Novels & Stories

I laugh as he punches me in the gut and I bend, gasping for breath, when he grabs me by my hair and forces my head back. “You bitch! You will pay for that. I wonder if Savage will want you after I take you. But then again, it wouldn’t matter. You are …” “Damaged goods, yeah, yeah. We know. Besides, I wouldn’t want your disease riddled little dick near me. You see, Savage is a real man, baby. You know what happened to the men who raped me? Imagine what will happen to you.” I cackle like I’m crazy. He looks at me, unsure. Oh, doubt. How I love seeing that look.

She looked into the dark, oppressive depths of the toxic jungle, where the sounds of snapping branches and guttural roars indicated that the dead beast had not been hunting alone. More of them were coming. Dozens of them. Mwajuma rolled her broad shoulders, a dark, bloodthirsty smile creeping onto her lips. She wiped a streak of mud and blood from her cheek, her tribal tattoos flaring with bright, amber heat. Let them come. Let the whole world come. She had an ocean of grief to drown, and she was going to use their bones to do it. She cracked her knuckles, the sound sharp in the damp air, and began to walk deeper into the Savage Wilds.

He claimed the wilderness was full of vicious Rogues and that he feared for my safety. But the fresh, high-quality prey he sometimes brought back couldn't possibly have come from this outer part of the wilderness. I used to feel sorry for him, for all his hard work, and even offered to hunt with him. But he told me that the deep woods were filled with out-of-control Rogues and rabid beasts. The trap with the rabid bear had left me so terrified that I clung to his every word. Now, any rustle in the woods makes me flinch and instinctively cry out his name.

A cold, windy morning, at the desert of Coruscation, under the heavy rain at the home of the Rogogal tribe, white smoke could still be seen from afar from the burnt out large bonfire along torn grounds, fallen wigwams and destroyed branches of trees scattered around the wet desert ground--stood some distance away ‘The Unlucky’ among the greatly flapping wigwams in the strong wind, with all these going on, drenched Peirce quietly stared at the wigwam in front of him.

They decided to spend the night in the forest. They found a place to rest and Samudra started a small fire to keep them warm as well as to keep the wild animals away. He and Tanisi chatted for a long time. They had had a variety of wild fruits hence they atleast needn't think of dinner. Then they slept. Around midnight Samudra was woken up. He was a warrior hence always was better prepared to face danger. He was sure something was amiss. He felt he heard hooves. The fire that he had made had long ceased and he was sure there were atleast two people who were around. He stealthily got up and slowly taking cover followed the sound. He soon saw two people who weren't from his kingdom as their at

Gideon’s rogue warriors had completely crumbled under Lowell’s brutal interrogation tactics in the basement cells, spilling every single piece of information their brains held. The files proved Gideon had only sought out Sandra Ashbourne's scent after hearing rumors about her rare spiritual ability to soothe young wolves suffering from the wild, bipolar beast-mind disorder. Sandra’s mouth wasn't lying to my face during our hallway clash; her soul truly had no connection to Gideon’s rogue pack.

I moved to the next, my movements swift and calculated, tearing through their numbers. Together, we forced the rogues into a retreat, herding them toward the edge of the mountains. The climb had weakened them, and they couldn’t handle our assault. It took hours, but eventually, the rogues were dead or gone, their bodies scattered across the northern border. The last one fell at my feet, blood seeping into the dirt. I stood there, my chest heaving, taking in the carnage around me. Houses destroyed. Blood soaking the ground. The scent of death everywhere.

I screamed again until my tears fell and my lips trembled. "You treated them cruelly with your own hands. You two are indeed savages! Don't you think that the property you want is worth it for them huh? Because they lost their young daughter, who was supposed to take care of them until they were old." I stroked my chest, as tightness began to creep up, making it difficult for me to speak. "Leah—"

The colors light pink and orange-yellow meshed together perfectly in the sky as the sun touched the horizon. I looked at him, he wasn't paying attention to the beautiful scenario presented to us. He was taking things out of the vehicle we came from, which I just noticed was a truck. The truck was a 2019 Chevrolet Silverado 3500HD. I suddenly envy Adrien a bit now. "Hunter!" He yelled my name, immediately snapping me out of my thoughts. I looked at him a little confused on why he called me, and he motioned me to walk towards him. I obliged.

The company had the best resources and the best people, including PR general manager, Claire Eastly. Claire was a top-notch scorer in both PR and crisis management. There was once an ill-mannered celebrity who was renowned for her discourtesy and always bragged about her money. While she was a household name for her arrogance within the circle, Claire managed to spin up her celebrity image as ‘The Savage Queen’, garnering favor amongst the public.