Scoundrel Sans Novels & Stories

Scion’s words were taunting and sarcastic, and he was going beyond disrespect when he referred to Juste as the ‘wolf prince’. Juste didn’t care about the slur. His mind was quite occupied with their aim at hand to get some southern thorny wolfsbane, a possible ingredient for the Remedium. “So what are you here for? Don’t tell me you’ve given up and want to join me for the search.” Scion laughed hard at Juste’s sarcasm. “I’d be insane if I believe such child’s tale. That book is a worthless piece of sh*t!” Then he spat on the ground.

Greg got the message, because he didn't say anything after. My eyes began to itch. I could tell the tears were gathering up fast. Just in that moment, Freddy walked in. He had some branded club t-shirt on and a duffel bag strapped across his chest. His blonde hair looked damp and disheveled — carefree like he had always been. He walked casually to the dining table, settling into one of the chairs like he couldn't see any of us, his eyes scanning the content of the table — through every plate and glass until they fell on mine.

He finally had her. THE END

Johnny’s gaze swung between the marked scarlet enemy and his sickly angel at the corner of the screen. Jesus, she looked bad. Limp hair clung to a sweat-soaked brow. A vicious bruise marred the right side of her face. Her uniform—torn and filthy—exposed torn-up knees and elbows. Shivers racked her tiny frame, and fear glittered in her dazed blue eyes. The Scythian ranted in Arabic. As usual, he wore a shitty throat mic—a voice modulator—that made it hard to follow. It was the Scythian’s go-to speech, and from analysis of previous videos, Johnny knew the evil-ass words by heart.

"I know we need to leave. But would you mind if I...?" "Take your time," he said, rising. "I'll be in my room. Come for me when you're ready." He left, and I was alone with the quiet and the heavy book. I slid it closer, its stiff cover groaning in protest. The first page I turned to held a chillingly precise ink illustration of a "Silent Scourge." The text described a skeletal horror with unnervingly long, scythe-like claws. Though deaf, it could sense the faintest whisper of mana, possessed blinding speed, and had vision that far surpassed any mortal's.

So far it went a little like this… Soren. Score: 879. Hair, smile, tats, tongue bar, artistic, funny, nice chest, good hugs. Cool shoes. Dimples. Nerdy-chic. I opened my overnight bag and pulled out my satin slip. Tongue bar. That was worth at least a hundred points on its own. Max. Score: 001. Good wine picker. Scrap that. Max. Score: 002. Good wine picker. Scary hot. Is scary hot even a thing? I pictured Max’s looming muscular frame, his hard jaw. Chiselled from steel and softened to perfection with goat’s milk and the tears of young virgins. That’s how I imagined him. Yes, scary hot was a thing.

“Joanne said words before she— before she went. Not English. Later, at the cove last night… we found the same words carved into untouched sand. No footprints. No drag marks. Just this.” He reached into his jacket, pulled his phone, fumbled the gallery open. The screen washed his face pale-blue in the tiny dark. He pressed it to the mesh so Frank could see: a crisp photo of the scrawl, a close-up of the letters, the crude RIP above it like a child’s tombstone drawing. “Read it,” Gabe said. “Out loud.” Frank angled closer. “Sulcatum, Rudmalian… Speculum Sacculus Repdetrious.”

Scar mocked “Get away from me scat” I groaned and blocked her off “Scarlet, are you okay?” “Uhhh,I just wanted to tell you that I don't take alcohol” “Oh don't worry this is not alcohol, infinity is a fruit wine, you can have a taste and see” “Oh is that so” I muttered and picked up the wine with shaky hands, I can see the Alpha staring at me as I brought the wine close to my mouth, I taste it first and damn it was so sweet, I began gulping down the whole content immediately

This is the evidence Scar has been looking for, and this is the lethal weapon that Anna Fuller know it is. “No way,” It slips out of Scar before she could stop herself. The man curves his lips. He drinks up the other cup of wine in one huge gulp, and in Scar’s utterly surprised stare, he challenges: “If you win, I will never show up in your life ever again.”

We were breaking through the town of Morsburg now. I finally lifted my gaze. Darkness and chaos that heavily saturated the interior of Morsburg dungeons were grazed and broken by purple and neon crimson lightning hues wrapped in the all-present purple fog of Wengarthria. The broad front entrance of the Morsburg encampment was closed off with smaller dungeon-like derelict towers on the left and right. Scillas were poking their heads through their windows, hissing and screeching. Scillas were skeleton-like creatures similar to morphed Veltalas, but their bodies were laced with what looked like an electric current. Unlike Vetalas, Scillas had bat-like skeletal wings. Each flap of their wings wo