Novel & Cerita Warhammer Hellhound

It's two bulky heads huffing angrily. "You won't be able to speak to that beast. It's a hellhound and doesn't acknowledge our human language," the soldier said firmly. I cocked my brow and tried asking if it had an owner in Latin. The dark creature turned its four red eyes onto me and growled Lucifer. I shuddered visibly and turned to the soldier.

In his shepherd form, he was fun loving and playful, but when the hellhound ruled, he was aggressive and protective. Opening the door for Teuf, Wyatt softly whispered, “Go do her bidding. I’ve got the pup.” Giving a slight nod to the man, the dog walked through the door and out onto the balcony. As he jumped over the railing, he shifted into his full hellhound form. His shoulders were now six feet high, his fur turned pitch black as his snout, teeth and claws extended. Landing on paws the size of serving platters, he shook his body before running towards the clearing.

The dark hair on his chest was matted with the dirt of the ridge, his claws extending from his knuckles with a wet, heavy click. From the dense spruce forest behind the split boundary stone, the first of the invaders appeared. They were massive, twice the size of Silas’s timber wolves, their bodies wrapped in thick plates of dark iron that had been bolted directly into their flesh. These were the Iron Hounds, the selective breed of the Southern Council, raised in dark caves and fed on nothing but raw meat and sulfur to make them hate their own kind. Their eyes were bloodshot and wild, their jaws fitted with steel muzzle guards that had been sharpened to razor edges.

Enthusiasm and courage are the words Nolan uses to describe Windy. Nolan smiled and nodded, "Then I'll hunt in the northeast." The two split up and ran in the chosen direction. But they never expected Ezra's enemies to have entered the forest long ago. The leader of the assassin group is a Wolf with a pretty special fur. It has a reddish brown coat that is different from the rest of the species. Next to it was a wolf with jet-black fur similar to Ezra. But if you look closely, you will see the difference between the two.

“The one who conquered half of the world. Well, right now, when it comes to werewolves, the closest thing we have to Genghis Khan is the Hellhound. Granted before the Mongols finished their conquering spree.” “What?” That guy was definitely not the brightest bulb in the box. “The hellhound has conquered a bunch of packs already, but not half of the world.” Ethan explained. “Yet,” I interjected. He eyed me but continued. “He’s also reputed to answer to challenges pretty brutally.” “You don’t know how brutal he can get,” Hellhound Girl said to the guys. There was a fire in those eyes that I liked. She was probably imagining them burning at the stake and she enjoyed the idea.

The smell of blood lessens the further I travel from camp, mingling with a new scent–something even more metallic–magic. The hunters weren’t lying about seeing a hellhound. Because there was a hellhound. Only, it’s dead now. I shift back into my usual form and adjust my dress in a rush, my mind spinning over the figure lying still in front of me. Warmth radiates from its mutated form. This hellhound is more wolf-like than the others I’ve seen. Almost a cross between a rogue and a regular shifter; its body is lean and strong, but its facial features are all wrong. Its eyes are huge and extremely far apart. Its mouth is wide open, three rows of razor sharp teeth glinting in the moonlight.

His thumb caressed her delicate hand as he tried to figure out where to start. “Like you, I'm immortal. Hellhounds don't age like werewolves. We are young for a long time. A 20-year-old werewolf is an adult and ready to become an Alpha of his pack, but a 20-year-old hellhound is equivalent to a 10-year-old. We're small, and our brain isn't fully developed yet, just like a 10-year-old here. That's how old I was when I was kicked out of hell.

He finally stammered out, licking his lips as he did. Oh, this kid was asking for it! “That’s alpha to you,” Dargan replied, his voice so cold and menacing it could make steel shiver. “They’re my mates, but to you, it’s alphas. They’re the leaders of this pack, and they will have your respect!” He stepped closer, letting his towering frame envelop the smaller male, and pushed his wolf’s aura onto him. “Or I’ll have your neck!” Love him or hate him – but nobody got a message through like Dargan Hellson!

So I let her and watched her run off to the exit. “Today we bear witness to this challenge placed forth by the future alpha of Cruelcrest Hounds pack against the current alpha of the same. There is only one rule, no using of weapons or the violator will be disqualified and punished by death,” one Elder who I recall is named Dmitri announced as the audience screamed and cheered for Hunter. “Let the challenge begin!” he declared. It has not even been a second when his father, the alpha of the Cruelcrest Hounds pack, launched his entire body at him. Hunter dodged the attack easily and made a wide leap back. The alpha growled before attacking him again, but all his attempts were futile against H

Thalia… Oh, this was interesting but things became even more interesting when he saw another werewolf. This one was a male with silver eyes and a jacket on. He could see the name of a pack on the jacket. Hellhounds. Lucien was familiar with them and judging by one of the symbols on the jacket this was their Beta. He saw the beta pick the girl up, a current of electricity erupting the moment there was skin contact.