Silas Beyblade Novels & Stories

“You think you can stop me? You don’t even understand what you’re fighting.” “We understand enough,” Killian said, stepping beside me. “And we’re not afraid of you.” Silas’s smile widened, and he raised his hand. The shadows around him surged forward, forming into a massive, writhing beast. “Let’s see if that courage holds,” he said, his voice dripping with malice. The beast lunged, its massive claws slicing through the air. Killian and I dove to opposite sides, narrowly avoiding the attack. I rolled to my feet, my heart pounding. “We have to take him down before he can summon anything else!”

His eyes were locked on Akeem. "I built her," Silas’s voice carried across the wind, a low, velvet snarl that made the hair on my arms stand up. "I carved her out of the gutter and turned her into a god. I own every breath she takes, every lie she tells, and every inch of the skin you’re currently salivating over." Silas stepped closer, the laser sight of his weapon settling directly on Akeem’s forehead. "And I’m going to kill you," Silas purred, his eyes flashing with a cold, demonic light, "for even thinking your hands were clean enough to touch her."

I bark. Silas is a blur of frayed iron and sparking steel. He slams into a support beam, using the momentum to swing upward, his heavy blade grinding through the lead drone’s ceramic casing with a screech that vibrates through my teeth. The machine sputters, trailing black pixels as it hits the floor.

The proud, pristine bastion that had stood for centuries as a symbol of Southern dominance was transformed into a slaughterhouse in a matter of heartbeats. Silas was a hurricane of dark, unrestrained violence at the front of the line. He moved with a terrifying, supernatural speed that defied his massive size, his heavy obsidian broadsword sweeping through the air in lethal, rhythmic arcs. The blade, still humming and crackling with the bleeding remnants of my violet lightning, cut through shields, steel, and bone as if they were wet parchment. He didn't just fight; he completely dominated the space, his sheer Alpha aura radiating outward in suffocating waves. The pressure was so intense tha

I gripped the railing. Silas—or what was left of him—stood seven feet tall. His left arm was a piston of chrome and carbon fiber. Silver plates were bolted directly into his skull and down his spine. He didn't shift. He stayed in a grotesque, half-hunched position, his eyes glowing with a red, synthetic light.

she commanded, her voice dropping to a lethal, vibrating low that brooked no argument. "I’m not going anywhere," Silas growled, his orange eyes shimmering with a dark, twisted possessiveness as he tightened his grip on Ayla. The silver lines on his skin pulsed with a monstrous scale, reflecting the beast that was still roaring just beneath the surface after the carnage at the Maw. He looked like a man who had finally claimed the impossible pull only to realize he didn't know how to protect it from the very world he had helped build.

Silas complains. Silas, like myself, is a dark Fae with the ability to inflict hysteria on any individual causing them to become confused, disoriented, and all the while going slowly but steadily mad. He makes people see their truest and deepest fears, using them to his advantage to get what he wants, which makes him a powerful ally in all of this. I trust him about as far as I can throw him, which, in all honesty, wouldn’t be very far. He’s a big ass dude and I’m at least a foot shorter than him and about a hundred pounds lighter. My gift, on the other hand, is the ability to inflict diseases or other afflictions upon anyone I want.

His skin was already beginning to knit back together, his Alpha healing fighting the weight of the metal. Sera kicked at the shattered windshield until the glass gave way. She crawled out onto the cold, wet dirt, her hands stinging from the gravel. She turned back to pull Kaelen out, but she stopped when a shadow fell over her. Silas stood ten feet away. He wasn't the man who had brought her supplies and shared quiet jokes for the last three years. The silver rot had climbed his neck, looking like frozen lightning. Behind him, the First-Born loomed like a nightmare made of moonlight and bone.

"I wasn't just a mate to them. I was the final piece of the puzzle." Caleb, the Watcher, stepped up beside us. He looked at the leather pouch he had given me, then at the villagers who were cowering in their homes. "He’s right. Silas has been building a 'Synthetic Origin.' He can’t naturally host the Beast, so he’s trying to build one out of the parts of others. If he gets you, the jar will be complete. He will have the power of a God without the bloodline." "I won't let him have her," Rowan growled, stepping into the sunlight.

And beside her, lingering just behind and to the left… was Grayson. His eyes were glassy, his expression vacant. Like he was watching a dream. “Blair,” Silas growled. “I said,” Blair repeated, her voice curling into a smug smile, “she is no Queen. She doesn’t deserve the crown.” “Seize her!” Silas barked, voice booming with Alpha authority. Several warriors surged forward, but just as they reached the space around Blair, something rippled in the air. A blast of energy snapped outward like invisible glass shattering, forcing them back.