Zane Skin Minecraft Novels & Stories

“Hello, Natalie Blue Watson,” Zane said calmly. “What do you want?” Natalie snapped, shocked that her new boss was standing outside her door. Zane was about 6 feet tall with very handsome features. He had brown eyes and black hair which was cut shorter in the sides and left the middle longer. His smile was his weapon and every woman fell for it. Well, every woman except Natalie, who only saw a rich brat in him. “Won’t you ask me to come in?”

I don’t know how, but I can always sense when he’s close. Taking a deep breath, I push the door open. Zane stands in the center of the room, dressed in a black leather jacket and jeans with a white polo underneath. His leather boots complete the look. His dark hair is smoothly brushed. Oh, God, his rich, intoxicating scent—a blend of spice and earth—wraps around me, reeling me in. His look is to die for. He seems… brighter, better. He looks fully healed—surprisingly so, considering how weak he was just yesterday. I thought he’d be down for at least a week. But now he stands tall, his powerful body coiled like a predator waiting for its prey—me.

His arms fell to his sides, claws almost digging weakly into the ground, coughing and choking on his own blood. What was wrong with Zane? It seemed as though he was slowly breaking into something I couldn't fathom. I saw as bone -like structures almost burst out from his skin. One second he looked human, the next second, he was covered in thick fur, the next second, he returned back to normal, then it continued just like that, following the same pattern. I saw as his bones literally cracked, then connected once again, his jaws shifting, then popping back into its socket again, his eyes almost bulging out, then back to normal again.

The Reunion of the Primal Six From the shadows of the obsidian roof, the others emerged. They weren't projections anymore. They were Physical. Zane stepped out, a seven-foot-tall titan of muscle and obsidian-plate. His skin was a dark, matte stone that absorbed the light, and his eyes were glowing embers of amber. He touched a vent on the roof, and the metal buckled under his weight—not because he was heavy, but because his Density-Logic was now a law of physics.

Zane roared at him as he grabbed Richard by his collar. “Zane!” I exclaimed and tried to pull him away from killing the old man. I am sure one punch and the old man would be seeing the stars but before that happens I pulled Zane by his arm anxiously and he turned to look at me with disgust in his ocean blue eyes.

Well, Zane just tagged along with a mutual buddy of Booker's pack. Zane knows his small status is punching way above his weight class, but his skin stays as cool as a valley cucumber even when he realizes my mouth isn't drinking with him. With a wide grin that never wavers, his voice says, “My name is Zane; I am the current general manager over at the Newsom Pack's trading house. My heart has been looking forward to meeting your face, Alpha Blackmoor. Figured my paws would take a shot and introduce my name today—here is my pack card.” Zane, taking a huge gulp of nervous courage, fishes out his small business card and extends it straight toward my fingers. My eyes glance down at the paper, bu

His feet made a crunching noise as he stepped on a dark object. "What's that?" Dane asked, walking towards him. "No idea." Zane bent down to inspect the strange object. "Oh shit!" He yelped, jumping away from the object. "What the hell was that?" Dane asked with a concerned frown on his face. "That's a skull! That's a freaking skull!" Zane said in a panicked voice. "Relax Zane, it's dead already," Dane said turning aside, I heard him spit out in disgust. "Don't you know what that means?" Zane's eyes widened in horror.

Zane. His neighbor from across the hall. Thirty-one years old, tall and built like someone who lifted heavy weights every day. Zane had dark tattoos covering both arms and part of his chest. He worked night shifts and always looked tired and pissed off. Right now he wore only gray sweatpants that hung low on his hips. His broad chest was bare and his jaw was tight with anger. "You have got to be fucking kidding me," Zane said. His deep voice cut through the leftover noise. "It is two in the morning. Some of us actually sleep."

“No. That’s the undead. The body is dead.” The words hit me like a physical blow. Dead? Zane is dead? But he’s moving. Fighting. Talking. How can he be— “What?” I croak, finally finding my voice. “That’s a corpse,” Kieran says quietly, his tone flat. “Animated by dark magic. A necromancer’s puppet. And from the stench of him, he has been that way for more than a year.”