The Shining Armor Infection Novels & Stories

It was a pathetic and undeniable craven existence but it was how they were winning the war. Dave let out a sigh. "No. He used a HG blade." I nodded. A brilliant man named Henry Gomez spent his life developing a UV spiked, but essentially silver based liquid that could be applied to any metallic object, leaving a coat of active poison that would kill both shade and host upon entering the their shared body. Something in perfectly balanced formula temporarily imprisoned the shade and as long as the wounds you inflicted on the human were mortal, the shade shared the same fate. The HG liquid had become as precious to us as light bulbs. It was hard to come by at the best of times, especially out h

My skin stopped glowing. Instead, it began to shine. A hard, reflective sheen. My hair stopped floating. It settled, heavy and metallic. I opened my eyes. They weren't nebulas anymore. They were gold mirrors. I looked at my infected arm. The gray rot was still there. But it wasn't spreading. It had hit a wall. The flesh around the rot had turned into living star-metal. The pores were sealed. The heat was locked inside. The spores on the surface withered and died, cut off from their food source.

Finally, the grinding of the rocks stopped and she gathered the juicy herb together. She spun around to face him and she pointed to his armored shirt. “You will have to take that off” she stuttered with flushed cheeks. “Help me out… You said I was burning up so bad” he said with a straight face. “How’s that related? Yes you’re burning up but hopefully, this will help bring your fever down and also disinfect your wound” she explained shortly and continued after a sigh “So I need to take off your armor and your shirt… or we can just lift the shirt” she shrugged.

Seraphina woke up at 5 a.m. the way she always did. Not because she had to. Because she had trained herself. When you spend your first year as a ghost, waking before the world wakes becomes a kind of armor. You can look at the city before the city looks back at you. You can choose who you are before anyone else decides for you. She sat up. Robe still tied. Hair still damp from the shower she had taken at two in the morning because sleep had refused to come.

His chest heaved, the fabric of his shirt straining against shoulders that looked ready to burst. "It’s not a choice, Alpha." The old healer, Martha, didn't flinch. She kept her withered hands steady over a bubbling glass beaker. The air in the small room was thick with the copper tang of blood and the sour stench of the violet rot. "The infection has reached the brain stems of the warriors in the North corridor. Within the hour, they won’t be wolves anymore. They’ll be husks. Machines of meat and madness."

The “Infection Pods” hit the reinforced pavement of Aethelgard with the wet, sickening sound of glass breaking over a grave. From the pools of black, viscous liquid, the “Hollowed” emerged. They weren’t the Ghost Pack we had fought before, and they weren’t the noble Lithic-Wolves of the desert. They were something far more efficient and far more terrifying. They were humans who had been instantaneously rewritten by the pathogen—their bones elongated until they snapped, their skin turned to a translucent, sickly grey, and their eyes replaced by the single, horizontal red slit of the Architects.

Seraphine shouted sharply. The warning hit instantly. Because everyone understood what that meant. Lucien’s eyes narrowed. “It spreads through contact?” Varis answered grimly. “If the corruption fully stabilizes—yes.” Kael blinked slowly. “…Fantastic. We’ve officially upgraded to supernatural infection.” Tavian lunged at Ronan again with unnatural speed. Ronan blocked the strike— but Tavian twisted mid-motion and drove corrupted claws across Ronan’s side. Blood sprayed across the courtyard. Nightfall wolves growled violently.

"If the infection spreads through the Five, he'll be consumed." The Shadow's Promise That night, Ariyah sat by Aeron’s bed, cleaning the silver ichor from her own wound. The wound was reacting to Aeron’s presence; every time she got close to him, the silver in her blood pulsed in sync with the scar on his arm. A soft knock came at the door. It was the High Priestess.

Willa clutched the throne, shaking, then forced herself up. "Selene! Come out! What, too scared? Show yourself if you've got the guts!" She had no idea. I wasn't just rocking two Powers anymore. After munching on a few spoiled brats' cores, I unlocked a bonus—Invisibility. Had to check if my Powers even worked with her plot armor jamming everything, so I ghosted up and stepped in. Didn't expect her to whip out an AK and go full psycho. All that fear? Gone.

On his knees. One hand gripping his side where crimson soaks through his shirt. Opposite him stands Alaric alive, cold, and burning with that same quiet fury that used to make me believe in him. His gun is steady, aimed straight at Caelum’s heart. “Don’t,” I whisper, stepping into the room. Alaric doesn’t even look at me. “He’s infected, Saphira.” “No, he’s not” “Look at him!” His voice breaks the quiet. “The nanite patterns are spreading. He’s one of them.”