Novel & Cerita Steampunk Pistol

killing him bang on time. "Take that woman with us." I heard a smoky voice from one of his guards. Maybe he was the beta, at least his robust physique said that. Muscles toned beyond expectation, hard firm body and his hotter than hell attitude….he looked like a Greek God, well not more than that rude King. The other two came towards me with such an attitude of killing me right then and there. Or they could make me their slave only with one word. As if! The moment their hands just brushed my skin, I felt they flinched, maybe it was the effect of those deadly poisons that made them feel a spark of electricity. Hats off to those powerless wolves, they were going to feel numb for at least two d

He sat on the edge of the bed and looked at Evie, his expression uncharacteristically soft. "Victoria and Damien will be in the Great Hall by now," he said. "The chaos has started. Ravenna’s flight will have triggered the final collapse of their alliance." He reached into a small, velvet-lined drawer built into the bed frame. He pulled out a small object and turned to her. It was a compact, semi-automatic pistol. But this wasn't a standard-issue weapon. The grip was ivory, and the slide was intricately engraved with silver filigree, studded with small, brilliant diamonds along the barrel. It was a work of art, a lethal piece of jewelry.

Liam asked quietly. "Oh, this?" asked Harriet with a warm smile. She said, "This is a new product that the capital's weapons artisans make. A brand new pistol” "A pistol?" Liam asked. Harriet explained that she didn't know what the Old Duke liked, nor was she sure what to buy him. In addition to this box of a pistol and its bullets, Harriet also bought some accessories. Such as watches, several pins and brooches, and other knick-knacks.

They would have thought it was just an ordinary headband. But make no mistake, all the pistols taken by Adam, even though they are only small, have high shooting speed. Fast and can destroy enemies quickly. One of them is a gun in the form of a match, the gun if you shoot the heart will make an opponent's heart immediately burst. Bullets have been designed with chemicals that are destructive. David also took his favorite pistol, the shape of a match and the shape of a typical pistol. He styled it well, kept it in his shirt pocket and tucked it in his pants.

Not a single spark of pity. I shed my coat, tossing it onto the leather couch, and gave a sharp nod to Unique Wilson, my sotto capo. Without a word, he handed me my weapon of choice: a .32 ACP calibre, the Welrod. It was a small piece of machinery, but it was efficient—designed to bury a soul before they even heard the shot. Its built-in silencer made it my personal favorite. I tucked the gun into the waistband of my trousers and stepped into the dining area. I didn't use the gun yet. Instead, I let my fists do the talking. The room filled with the rhythmic sound of bone meeting flesh and his pathetic begging.

I pulled out guns from the steampunk holsters that were strapped around my hips. A knight shot a hellhound around me and it was absorbed into the bullet and then the bullet fell to the ground. The hellhounds lunged at me all together. I swirled, shooting at all of them incessantly. Some were absorbed in one bullet, some took several bullets. The dark mana was still irregular. But there was a limit to how many bullets I could shoot at a time. Killian kept summoning the hellhounds. Soon, I ran out of bullets, and Killian waited for this opportunity.

His ferocious eyes made the men step back. Nicholas gave his signal. His men backed off slowly, but they remained alert. “Mr. Thompson, just go in if you like a cup of coffee. Are you trying to secretly learn and start your own cafe by hiding at the door?” Nicholas scoffed. He peeped at the pistol in his hand at the corner of his eye. It was small, the best pistol to carry around. The unique patterns on the grip hinted that the pistol was expensive. It was called the Glock. It was small, but its lethality was three times higher than the regular pistols.

(Stormy) Stormy fished out a small handgun, in fact it even smaller than the Glock 19, a musket made of wood and irons kinda reminds me of the pirate musket. Polly who seated on the side just shrugged her shoulder as she looked at me, and secretly signalling that I probably have to demonstrate to her a little bit.

I walked over to the workbench and pulled back the cloth. On the table rested three objects, each one a dark extension of my vision. The first was a pistol. But not just any pistol. It was organic, almost alive, its lines flowing like frozen water in motion. The metal wasn’t ordinary cold steel, but a dark alloy that absorbed light, a shade of blue so deep it looked like the bottom of the ocean at midnight. The surfaces were worked with patterns that resembled veins, as if the weapon had been grown rather than manufactured. The sound of a doorbell echoed through the Arsenal. The buyers had arrived.

Amy tried not to let the maniacal Joker-like laughter distract her. The woman soldier ignored the pain radiating through her punctured wrist. She had another trick up her sleeve, hoping her crazed laughter would distract Amy. The soldier almost captured Amy when she pulled out her Ruger SR9 semi-automatic pistol, aiming it at Amy. But the Death Row Infantry-woman forgot to reload her magazine, which meant her gun was empty. The soldier pulled the trigger, only to hear her gun respond with a click.