Steel And Flesh Novels & Stories

The nipple was erect from the slightly cool, damp atmosphere inside the warehouse. Standing over the girl was Michael's target. It looked like a man, dressed casually in a pair of jeans and a brown sweater. The hair was dark and long. But, Michael knew that this was no man. Perhaps it once had been. Now, it was a vampire. The vampire kneeled down and reached for the woman's head. As the creature cradled her head in his hands, Steel eased the katana sword from its carry position across his back. He clutched it tightly in his left hand, holding the sheath near its top. His highly trained senses strained outward, feeling the vampire's mind with his own.

Overload the core on my mark. Mark! Zeyric thrust both hands forward through the roaring steam, unleashing a torrential wave of raw, uncompressed kinetic power straight from the depths of his long-suppressed reservoir. It hit the left construct like an invisible battering ram, ripping the brass plating from its chest and exposing the glowing soul-gem within.

The searing steel pierced my left shoulder and sank four inches deep into my chest, burning through flesh, searing tendons, and grating against bone—steam hissing, blood evaporating in a heartbeat. “LAWRENCE!” Maya’s scream tore across the beach, sharp with a terror I had never heard from her. The pain was a white‑hot lash that would have felled ten men. To my beast… it only struck the final spark. Instead of pulling back, I drove my muscles tighter, clamping my own flesh around the blade and trapping it fast. My left hand—claws of black steel extended to their full length—clamped over his gauntleted wrist with crushing force, shattering the gold plating beneath my grip.

She blurted out. He had been trying to look the part of a mellow, laid back sexy guy, lying under his down comforter, but when he heard Carolina say those words he stood up. The covers slowly peeled off his muscular frame. Carolina had been right she mused to herself. He wasn't wearing anything. Carolina always thought he was handsome and had a sexy, muscular, physique. His six-pack was prominent. Russ being handsome and charming had never been a problem. It was the lies. She looked down at his bare crouch. It was limp but still had some length and girth to it.

​The holding cell beneath Blackwood Estate smelled like damp concrete, rust, and old sweat. ​Victor Sterling was zip-tied to a heavy steel chair bolted straight into the foundation. His hair was a mess, and the collar of his expensive shirt was dark with dried blood where Kaelen had snagged him in the boardroom four hours ago. ​I stood by the doorway, my back flat against the cold cinder block. My knees were still a little shaky from the elevator ride down, but I wasn't going anywhere. If Victor was about to name the people who set up my dad, I wanted to hear every word.

* *Silence. *Then Kairen nodded.* *"Take it," he said quietly.* *He raised his hand.* *Demonic essence poured from his palm.* *Red.* *Burning.* *Raw power.* *Aethros matched him.* *Divine light flooding outward.* *Silver.* *Pure.* *The two energies met.* *Collided.* *And instead of destroying each other—* *They* fused. *Creating something new.* *The blade.* *Whispering Steel.* *Born from sacrifice.*

He slammed his h‌and aga‌inst​ t⁠he s‌pin‌e of a fake leather-bound encyclopedia. Th⁠e heavy b‍o‍o⁠kc‌ase swun‌g inward with a p‍neuma​tic his​s, revealing a corridor of ra​w, re​inforced steel. Crack-cra‍ck-crack-c​rack!

The sound was obscene… a wet, meaty squelch that came from the three hundred pounds of mangy fur and rotting flesh as it slammed into the blessed iron. The stench hit me like a physical blow and I gagged at the rot of sizzling skin and burning fat, the acrid burning in my nose of dark magic seeoing out of their corrupted meat. “Up the walls! Hurry!” Dante bellowed, shifting mid-sprint, his war wolf form erupting from his porcelain skin in a jagged spray of blood and cartilahe. No fur, just raw black muscle stretched over a nightmarish frame, his muzzle peeling back from fangs longer than my fingers and sharper than a sword’s edge.

They obeyed, trembling, whimpering, and stumbling over each other as they sank into their chairs. One by one, Lupercus strapped them in with thick silver cuffs on their wrists and ankles. "Gross," he muttered. "Y'all smell like a septic tank fucked a corpse." He took the seat across from me with a little sigh, folding one leg over the other like we were about to have afternoon tea. I picked up a Thornsteel knife. Using a silver-coated knife would be a mercy, they would heal, albeit painfully, but Thornsteel? Its metallic tendrils burrow into flesh and hook into the nervous system. It physically connects to the pain centers and pulses with agony. It's not something everyone knew, just the roy

“Why can’t I finish with them? Why only with you?” The sword didn’t answer, of course. But the gleam on its edge caught the candlelight, and for a second it felt like it was mocking me. That night, I fell asleep clutching the blade instead of any body. And deep down, I knew. Flesh wasn’t what satisfied me. Flesh was weak, fleeting. Steel, steel was forever.