Novel & Cerita Sci-fi Mercenary

I dropped it back on the tray, shaking my head from the disgust. As a mercenary, we had been trained to drink almost all kinds of drinks, sweet, bitter, strong, when it was necessary. I couldn't even get drunk no matter how much I drank, it was like a superpower of some sort. I sighed, there was barely anything sweet in this place. They were all so bitter and alcoholic that it hurt. Well, what was I expecting? I came to a place filled with drug lord, mafia lords and illegal business people. And worse, they all smelled of sweat.

His gaze was sharp, and his movements were calm, cold, and professional. He was the leader of the mercenary group... Shadow, Azura. "Miss Mireya," he said flatly. "This place has been completely destroyed. If there really were people inside..." He paused briefly. "The chances of survival are extremely low." "What are your orders?" Mireya held her breath. Her nails dug into her palms, forcing herself to stay conscious. She raised her head. The eyes that had once been gentle now contained only redness and a madness bordering on obsession.

Brand had forgotten what it felt like – the all-consuming need for the blood of his enemies to be spilled on the ground at his feet. Brand shook his head another scream was silenced as he ripped out another throat. The blood dripped from his long snout as he took a breath and looked around him. Leather-clad warriors lay around him, some with eyes open staring at the sky as if looking for the Valkyries coming to take them to Valhalla. Brand snorted. Good luck. He couldn't believe the gods would want any of these followers of a deranged leader in their feasting halls.

a werewolf announced. Zane Drocco is a handsome lad carrying the title of being the oldest among them despite the clear skin and youthful appearance. He's had visions of the past, present, and future. He's also laid out several prophecies that turned out to be quite true, and everything he envisioned had come to reality. Apart from that, he is also the strongest warrior who led battles to victory in centuries. A literal knight in shining armour.

They all roll their eyes again, probably used to Neil's weird threats of killing them. The coffee-holding guard looks at these men with something close to hysteria. These men wouldn't look all too different from the friends he had back home but they were capable of so much cruelty. They are mercenaries. They have done skin crawling and horrible things. They have so much blood on their hands all in the name of one person. mark. His hands tremble when the last person who hasn't spoken in the room notices him; he's the only one who seems to have taken notice of him. He tries to hold still under the scrutiny of the man who head's their operations.

"We ran their facial profiles through the central police database. Two of them came back with active flags. They are S-class mercenaries." I look at the first photograph. A man with a jagged scar running from his earlobe down to his collarbone. His eyes look dead through the camera lens. "They have active contracts on the dark web," Axton says. "The bounty is listed in untraceable credits. Someone wants the relic data, Penelope. Or they want you dead before the base locks down." I stare at the scarred man. My fingers tighten on the edge of the paper until it creases down the middle. A small, cold smile touches my lips.

Knowing that I, an Ashenfur, bore Gregor's mark on my skin? I picked up the plastic cutlery and ran the knife through the well-done fillet, trying to keep the plate balanced on my legs. I hadn't noticed how hungry I was-I hadn't eaten all day, and my stomach was starting to hurt. "I don't know." Her voice startled me. At least I wasn't completely ignored. "What does that mean?" I said, a little impatiently. "What do you do with your prisoners?" "I don't think you're a prisoner."

Several days ago too, were it not for this, that pervert Aljur would have killed him already when he ambushed him together with more than a hundred armed mercenaries and hitmen. Trained as an elite mercenary, he paid attention to his strength, but he made sure to pay more attention to his dexterity and speed which was now more than 20 points higher than his intelligence. Perhaps in the whole eastern part of the globe, he was already the fastest man under level 7! 'I have already explored half of this base... How are the others?' he asked the system.

a coarse voice roared over the wind. A dozen warriors leaped from the high rocks, clad in mismatched armor, bear furs, and marked with the branded scars of outcasts, deserters, and former Syndicate mercenaries. They moved with brutal, dirty efficiency, hacking through the remaining stalkers with iron axes and heavy cleavers until the snow was stained with black pitch and red blood. Kira stood her ground, blade raised, her eyes narrowed as the leader of the ambushers stepped forward. He was a hulking, scarred warrior with a missing left ear—Gunnar, a notorious mercenary commander who had fled the Southern Syndicate years ago.

Will was an eccentric man, I'd like to believe that he was humble but I've known him for a while to know that humble is not in Wills vocabulary, no doubt the little money he'd been saving up might be Maybe the size of a dragons treasure, and the contract work he’d no doubt do might end him back in the dungeons or worse dead. Mercenaries, I believe that was the word they used in the shifter society. We never really had a lot of them but there were those shifters who don't fit in society, the ones who were a bit broken on the inside and couldn’t became slightly savage, they were full of bloodlust, most of them were soldiers or warriors of war that couldn’t escapes the thrill of the battlefield