Warrior Of Light Dissidia Novels & Stories

He practically jumped out of his seat as I made to smack him again. My sister walked up to me cautiously. She put a hand on my bicep and gave me a warning look. I rolled up the shirt sleeve of my right arm and I saw blue scales crawling up my arm, my dragon was close to the surface. I took a deep breath to steady myself and the scales retreated. "You need to calm down, Ash," my sister said, "Now tell me about this girl Ryder is talking about." I put my hands in the pocket of my pants and took another deep breath. I told her everything, from when I laid eyes on the stunning lady to questioning Wade on everything about her.

Followed by a Gamma, whose main function is to protect her. Then follows Mathew, yeah, the name appears in her mind because he is currently holding that title (the head of the warriors) and because she is so proud of him. Next follows the warriors and then the Elders, then the Omegas and, finally, at the bottom of the ranks in the werewolf world, are the Rogues.

She knew that their love and unity were their greatest weapons. Just as hope began to waver, a brilliant burst of light erupted from the sky, illuminating the battlefield. The darkness recoiled, uttering eerie screeches as it retreated. In the clearing of the light stood a figure, cloaked in shimmering robes. The figure extended a slender hand, her voice carrying across the chaos. "Hold on, warriors of light. Aid is at hand." Amelia and Lycan, along with their allies, watched in awe as the figure effortlessly dispatched their attackers with blasts of pure energy. In a matter of moments, the battlefield was cleared, the shadows banished.

The Veil’s voice roars—Convergence, the heart endures—and the blade’s runes blaze, its song a call to war. The vision fades, and I roar, slashing the Voidborn’s blade, lunar light burning, Aelys’s aura merging with mine. Cassia’s fire erupts, Renn’s relics flare, Maddox’s shadows bind, Sylvara’s vines lash, and Lysara, Zorath, and Valthor strike, their starlight blades glowing. Seris hesitates, then joins, her Lightweavers’ blades flashing, a fragile alliance.

Fuck, fuck, fuck! ‘Retreat!’ I bellowed through the link, but it was too late. A wave of searing purple light poured down the valley, catching my warriors in its poisonous grasp. The light blinded me, and the agonizing pain followed. And then… nothing.

“Now.” We cut. The rift flared. The pulse boomed—close as breath. Nytheria laughed—soft, delighted, dangerous. War stepped back—retreat wearing strategy. “Two fronts,” he said, saluting. The coat fell empty; the sword faded last. I breathed. The Light sat down in my chest like a man too proud to groan. --- POV: Araya Silence returned in shards—wolves calling, roots ringing true. I crossed along the seam of light and heat. Dorian met me halfway, blood at his hairline, grin crooked where pain teaches humility.

The fortress buzzed—warriors recounting the battle, Elders issuing orders—but for a moment, all she felt was Ezra’s heartbeat against her cheek. Eamon approached, exhausted yet triumphant. “He is safe. Your light severed the siphon. Orith failed tonight.” “Not for long,” Ezra said. “He will strike again.” Alara lifted her head. Despite fatigue, her eyes burned bright. “Let him come. The prophecy said I am the light to banish him. And now I know what that means.” Ezra traced her jaw, tenderness in the motion. “We will stand with you—Cassian, Damien, Lucas, every soul here.”

“Cain, keep the others back! She’s mine.” Cain hesitated for a heartbeat but obeyed, rallying the remaining forces to hold the line. Dorian charged at Vendetta, his claws glowing with golden energy as he unleashed a flurry of strikes. Vendetta countered effortlessly, her movements fluid and unyielding. Their battle was a clash of light and darkness, each strike reverberating through the forest.

He walked toward an old soldier he recognized, one of the few who had survived the recent war with the Ouroboros. “My Lord,” the old male bowed. “Well, I’ve been wondering,” Damaris crossed his arms. “You know... about the recent war. Lately, I’ve heard there are some silver-haired ones lurking in the Moon Realm. Didn’t you say they were all killed?” A Lycan soldier stepped in. “Yes, my Lord. Every last one of them.” “I wasn’t speaking to you,” Damaris snapped at him, then turned back to the old male. “Go on. Explain while I listen to your heartbeat. Did you really end every Ouroboros? Did you really win that war?”

He whimpers as my nails sink deep into his fur, and a rush of dark satisfaction overcomes me when I see his blood seeping into the ground. Then his voice rings in my head. “Did you really think you would win against me? Your warriors are dying, my son.” I’m about to crush him under my weight when suddenly, he fills my head with pictures— images of my warriors, dying and bleeding on the ground, some of them beaten and bruised but still fighting an army that doesn’t seem to deplete. The Arcieri Luminari women all shift to their wolf forms, using the last of their energy not to fight but to merely escape what looks like the inevitable doom.