These Are The Plunderers Novels & Stories

“Then let’s move. I’m tired of the smell of this place. It smells like a tomb that’s forgotten it’s supposed to be empty.” We gathered our meager supplies. The outcasts and the rebellion warriors moved with a grim, silent efficiency. They were the elite, the ones who had survived the Silver Mines and the Frozen Sea, but as they looked toward the grey mist, I saw the tremor in their hands. They were wolves entering a place where the moon was a stranger. We began our descent from the plateau.

It kept me from screaming. The sudden growls of engines startled me, and I stared forward. At first I thought I was just seeing things; I had been walking for hours after all, but then I saw them: six figures on roaring bikes emerging from the fog like nightmares. Black leather, helmets with glowing red visors, and an insignia I recognised immediately. The Ravagers. Assassins, bounty hunters, and merciless executioners from the most feared pack in the Southern Province. Rumours had it that if you could see them coming, you were already dead. They were hired by the elites, Alphas, and Gammas. If wanted someone gone, they were hired by packs during war to fight for them.

Even if their heads were broken and bleeding, they couldn't escape. They would die. "A bunch of trash, how could you call yourselves predators? Calling you all a group of thieves is already too respectful. What do you think you are?" Flaming Qilin revealed his true nature, brandishing his eerie white teeth. Seeing this, those plunderers all shivered with fear. "Senior, you're right. We're thieves... No, we're not thieves. We're even no match for thieves..." "Senior, we have eyes but failed to recognize how great you are. Please be magnanimous and consider us to fart. Please release us..."

That this is some kind of spell. It doesn’t take long to work. Ravagers never travel alone. But the group that happens upon Wilder—what they perceive as the corpse of Wilder—in the road is small because they weren’t out here looking for anything in particular. They’re scavenging, like us—for bodies, not for shoes—and you can’t send out a whole swarm for a job like that. There are three of them, and they’re running up the road toward Wilder. I hold my position, and so does he. We want them to be drawn in. We want them not to be able to escape.

It crumbled before it even hit the ground. “The key…” June muttered. “It’s acid for machines.” She made it to the roof. Thin air, chaos above—thousands of spider-bots were pelting down like rain, and the sky was a battlefield splitting black and gold. Then the black ships stopped. They moved, circling in, perfect and sharp, around the World Tree. Then came a shadow. A bigger ship, white and shaped like a skull, descended from the dark. “June Miller,” a voice boomed. It wasn’t one voice—it was millions, whispering, shouting, echoing like a stadium full of ghosts. “We are the Scavengers. Thanks for breaking the Reaper. He was stubborn—we just needed someone to crack the shell.”

I'm assuming this group would be made up of rogues, but it baffles me that this is the first time I am hearing about them. This is neither the first nor the tenth time rogue werewolves have formed a group of sorts. Sometimes, they are plunderers and bastard opportunists who follow behind me at a distance to loot and further decimate whatever Packs I have destroyed, and other times, they are bereaved werewolves from the Packs I destroyed who banded together as a united front to stop me. Every time, I personally put an end to both versions of the group. The former, because I hate cowards, and the latter, because they challenged me.

“There are at least fifty. They came over the southern edge, wiped out our warriors there.” My mind skipped a beat. “Fifty? Are they a pack?” “No…they are rogues. I’ve never seen them work in such a large cooperative before.” “That’s…” It was fucking ridiculous is what it was. If this was a pack taking over, that made sense. But rogues? That was something else entirely. They had no code. They had no sense of a line that shouldn’t be crossed. “Alright. Where are they basing and have they gotten to you yet?”

A male voice, that I didn’t know, asked. Looking up, I saw a male player, standing a few feet away. His character was a vampire, but he was wearing the armor of a Hunter. Hunters in this game were players that found pleasure in attacking other players for their gold pieces and items. Granted, only common items could be looted.

Diana could not help but admonish herself for her lack of information about the Night Prowlers Pack. The Night Prowlers Pack was a secretive pack. They were at the top five in terms of territories but they were second to the Blood Claws Pack in terms of fierceness and combat ability. The name of their pack was well-matched for their nature. They only lurked in the darkness.

A Rogue. A Rogue is a werewolf without a pack. They often kill any werewolf they encounter; may it be a member of a pack or a similar rogue, like them. They are vicious plunderers. And that same vicious plunderer is right in front of me, deviously smiling. “Others cannot dodge my attack so easily like that. You’re quite good, pup.” He praised me, but I don’t feel good that he did so at all. I’m scared. “W-who are you, Mister?” I tried to sound brave, but aside from stuttering, my voice also cracked.