V For Vendetta Graphic Novels & Stories

Vane screamed from the center of the plaza. He had barely managed to parry Kael’s first strike, using the shaft of his scepter to deflect a scythe-claw that would have sheared his head off. The concussive impact had sent Vane flying back ten paces, his heavy dark iron enforcer armor dented and smoking where Kael’s white-hot fingers had grazed his pauldrons. He scrambled back toward the central control console, his bleeding hand slamming down onto a secondary, physical level labeled HIVE FLUSH. Across the room, the thousands of three-eyed vanguards let out a synchronized, ear-splitting shriek. They stepped out from their pods, their massive claws clicking against the alloy floor as they turne

The Void Seeker champion stood eight feet tall, its form a nightmarish fusion of wolf and shadow that seemed to absorb light from the air around it. Dark tendrils writhed from its body like living smoke, each one tipped with hunger that made my skin crawl with instinctive revulsion. "You smell of stolen power," it said, its voice layered with harmonics that belonged to dozens of different supernatural bloodlines. "Eclipse Covenant, yes, but also traces of others we have consumed. How fitting that you carry fragments of our previous victories."

There was no way I didn't remember the most powerful Alpha among every other one, including Francis' father. The one standing in front of me, and staring at me with so much intensity in his eyes was none other than Alpha Nicolas Lane, Alpha of the Valkyr Pack. The most powerful pack of all with a powerful Alpha. As our eyes met, the same tug in my heart I had felt in the woods seemed to happen again and I couldn't exactly pinpoint what it was. I managed to give a small bow before walking away, back to where I could hide myself in a corner where no one could spot me.

Serena smirked, recalling how Damien managed to restrain his desires in the office, indicating his strong self-control. Maureen nodded without hesitation. "You will, absolutely." "Want to bet on it?" Maureen's interest piqued and she pointed downstairs at the Porsche. "How about that limited edition Porsche?" "Deal," Serena agreed without a second thought. Maureen chuckled. "Isn't that your husband's car? Can you really wager it?" Serena's grin turned mischievous. "Sweetheart, you said it yourself—he's my husband. What's his is mine. Besides, I've done him such a big favor; taking a little something as a reward isn't too much to ask..."

The heavy scrap-blade in her right hand remained rock-steady, the edge positioned exactly two inches beneath Vance’s left jawline, right where the synthetic green-lit data-ports were still sparking violently from the kinetic shockwave of my Void-marrow spike. Vance didn't move a muscle. His chest heaved slowly beneath his frozen black zinc-weave duster, his cold eyes darting from the three-foot shard of obsidian marrow cutting through the dirt between his boots to the massive, slavering snout of the three-ton Alpha wolf hovering right above his shoulder.

That's one of many unacceptable things his sky high ego utterly refused. The graphics in the game were just too realistic, and Uriel wholeheartedly admitted it now, putting his difficult nature to the side for just a rare moment. From the slits in the skin, the blood gushing out of the wounds, the pain- it was too hyper realistic. Way too realistic. It made his skin crawl, his virtual skin, that is. The mere thought of his virtual skin crawling made his skin crawl - a seldom ceasing paradox. He laid there, quivering, as he allowed all war-like flashbacks to invade his cognisance. No wonder this game is eighteen and over, Uriel pondered. As you may have figured, V is Uriel, Uriel is V; though

He looked back at the squad. "Oh, and Ren?" Vance added casually. "The developers wanted me to remind you to keep your graphical filters locked at 100% capacity during this raid. The rendering engine in Sector 12-Gamma is highly experimental. We wouldn't want you experiencing any... visual glitches." Ren nodded. "Understood. The filters stay on." "Excellent," Vance smiled that cold, perfect smile one last time. "Happy hunting." The door slid shut. Ren looked back at the obsidian datapad resting on the table. Ten million credits to clear out a digital warehouse. It was the easiest money in the world.

He looked over his shoulder and smirked. “My dear mate, did you take me for one of those gutter-wolves who disturbs the peace with a scarred muffler? This machine has a silencer. I have no desire to be a nuisance to the territory.” The Vyrus actually belonged to Lucas Grant—it was a racing predator designed for the elite. My face flushed hot as I inched backward, tightening my cloak to hide my racing heart.