Zoro Black Novels & Stories

I managed to dial emergency services before everything went black. My consciousness drifted in and out. The contractions came in relentless waves, drenching me in cold sweat. The warmth between my legs kept spreading, and my body grew colder with every passing second. The paramedic shouted, "She's showing signs of major hemorrhage. Get her to the OR now!" My vision started to blur. A nurse grabbed my hand and called out, "Where's your family? We need a signature before we can operate." I bit down on my lip hard enough to draw blood. My voice was barely a rasp. "It's just me."

In his life. I slid out of bed quietly, my legs still aching from the night before, and padded toward the soft glow coming from the kitchen. I didn’t know what I expected to find, but it wasn’t him leaning against the counter, bare-chested and half in shadow, nursing a glass of water like it might drown his demons. For a moment, I just watched him. Dominic Blackwood wasn’t beautiful in a traditional sense. He was all sharp edges and hard lines. A man built like a weapon, forged in fire and sharpened by circumstance.

His eyes were pools of absolute darkness, his sclera was as black as the darkest night, but in the center of that darkness was a point of purple light shining in total darkness. The one on the throne was Zark Ar Zatho, the Dungeon Master and overlord of Damenburg Castle.

“Don’t worry, okay? Everything’s going to be alright.” I ask him about the mission, but he says that the Black Tiger is going to explain everything to me. Can you believe it? Everyone knows he doesn’t talk to anyone. I step outside, and see him riding a motorcycle in front of the building. He’s wearing a black silk shirt, opened to the chest, showing his pale skin. His hair is styled messily, with some strands covering his eyes. His gloved hands are on the grips, ready to start the vehicle. He turns his head and looks at me, and his dark stare makes my body shiver.

He was shirtless, but at least he had shorts on. Nick threw Drago a pair of camo shorts, and he quickly slipped them on. “Surrounded by dragons,” she smiled in amazement. Grigo and Marcu stepped forward with black and gray wings spread out. All their wings spun six feet across, and Madchen could see their talons protruding from their fingertips . Madchen couldn’t find any words, instead she stared, mouth agape. They were magnificent, all of them, and she couldn’t tear her eyes away.

The gray eye was bloodshot, the pupil fixed on the black car with the predatory intensity of a hound that had just realized the cage door had a second lock. "He's not Jago, Zora," Dante rumbled, his voice dropping into a register that made the water in the puddles vibrate. "Look at the hands. He doesn't have the vat-scars on his thumbs. This one has never held a scrap-welder in his life."

Zoro himself had absolute confidence in his own strength. Even when Kaze just killed six of his expert fighters with a stool, his confidence remained unwavering. Kaze smiled. “Just cut to the chase and get on with it. It’s almost time to eat. I’ll go get something to fill my stomach after I kill you.” “Then you shall die!” Zoro bellowed. He stood from his couch. As he got up on his feet, his torso shook, tearing the tight singlet to pieces and revealing his bulging and explosive muscles.

I whispered, dread curling in my chest as I cringed to get a good posture of taking my heels on the run. But I couldn't because of the pull that was intensifying, drawing me closer to him like a magnet. For the first time in the past two years, my wolf, Zomen, said something. “I am so happy to finally meet him. Can't wait for Zoran to be my lifetime partner.” Zoran is the name of Damon Blackthorn’s wolf, known for his strength and fierceness. Damon’s piercing eyes locked into mine, something unreadable flickering in their depths. He moved forward, his towering presence making my skin jolt with awareness.

The street lamps began to crumble just like they had done the day of the accident, the earth crumbling as the ground quaked. “Seems you could use a little help, little vamparina.” A masculine voice resonated in the air. Vamparina? There he stood, along with my parents, his eyes red, his black dreadlocks running down along his face, his muscles big, merging perfectly with his physique, his perfectly chiseled jawline with a black cloak on. “Blood!” They groaned. “Back to the underworld.” He said as he raised his hands. The air stood still, flame engulfing the creatures in a minute. Groans filled the air as they began to disintegrate into soot, flowing along with the wind.

The man with long black hair smiled faintly, looking down at Arai in such a seductive way. THRUST THRUST THRUST THRUST! "Oh—hngh! Ahng! Ah! Ah—!" Arai's chest moved up and down, and Zaha's eyes narrowed at them. According to his calculations, with Arai's strong and well-trained body, they could do it all night without stopping. Moreover, Zaha was also of dragon blood. He could keep up with Arai without any problems— No, no. Arai should be able to keep up with him without any problems, right?