Romans & histoires Krogan Without Armor

Ones they had never seen before. They wore armor. Real armor. Not scrap-metal bullshit or stitched-up rags. Bulletproof vests, plated shoulders, boots laced with spikes and tied tight like soldiers. Their eyes glowed green—not like normal rogues. Not even feral. Enhanced. “What the actual fuck...” Seth muttered, rising slowly. Renox’s gunfire paused for just a moment as he caught sight of them. The Alpha’s jaw tightened, and he signaled to his Beta. “Rina. We’ve got company. Level 2. Switch to armor-piercing.”

Before fear or shock could settle, the grove exploded. Rogues poured from the trees in coordinated waves—at least twenty at first, moving with the precision of hunters bred together. They were armed, marked with ritual paints and teeth sharpened by the kind of hate money can’t buy. “Fight back!” someone screamed. The sacred space dissolved into chaos. The rogues moved like soldiers, cutting through our formation with merciless efficiency. Spears and blades flashed. People fell. I rolled away from Ronan as a rogue jumped over us, his claws swiping the spot where our heads were. He fell to the ground with a loud thud in my ears.

Gammas all over were already prepared for an attack; some of them were shifting into their wolf forms, others were readying their weapons and waiting for the rogues to storm the packhouse grounds. It didn’t take long for the first rogue to appear; he was in his wolf form and was followed by others also in their wolf forms. Some gammas were already working on getting the women and children to the packhouse by the time the rogues had arrived. My eyes were wide when I saw others running in our direction with guns and armor. “How did they get gear?” I asked. “Rogues aren’t allowed weapons and armor like that.” Gavin’s lips were pressed together as a snarl escaped his throat.

Dax and I stepped out onto the catwalk beside him. Marching in perfect, horrifying synchronization up the grated ramps toward our crashed transport were a dozen Null-Troopers. Up close, they were even more intimidating. They were eight feet tall, entirely encased in thick, light-absorbing matte-grey armor. They didn't have optical visors; their heads were just solid, sloped iron plates housing localized radar arrays. They carried massive rotary-kinetic cannons slung low on their hips. "No phase-shifts," Dax reminded the pack, his voice low and dead serious. "No energy shields. Kinetic force only. You hit them in the joints, and you don't stop hitting them until they stop moving."

“I know that in their world, you will always be a monster — in mine, you will be a pioneer. Prove you are more than a hungry animal. Prove you can be a weapon.” I pointed to another rogue, a younger one with a lanky frame. “Fight him.” Kroll laughed, a wet, nasty sound, and lunged without ceremony. It was all brute force, claws aiming to gut; the younger one yelped, dodging and swiping back in panic. It was pathetic — in three moves, Kroll had him on the ground, a massive paw on his throat. “Stop,” I said. Kroll pressed down, and the younger rogue choked, legs kicking.

He also has a gold cape wrapped around his neck just like it always was. "Bring them forward." Alpha Cowell ordered and Aurora with other warriors began to pull the rogues since they had been injected with Wolfbanes and were so weak that they couldn't carry their legs to walk. Getting to the centre of the hall, the rogues were thrust forward and they sneaked when their knees scratched the pebbles floor.

A weapon of choice “Well hello Princess!” One of the rogues steps forward taking his position in the middle of the three of them. The trio of rogues had long unkept hair, week’s worth of stubble, jeans with holes in the knees and trainers that had seen better days. Who on earth was leading them? They clearly weren’t being looked after and it wasn’t unusual for wolf rogues to be manipulated by withholding food, perhaps this was happening to the lycan rebels too.

Clayton heard a howl in the air and knew that it was from rogues, alerting them of a casualty on their side. “F8ck!” He muttered as he transformed again into Kragen, heading towards the sound of the howl’s direction. He zigzagged through the fracas as wolf against wolf battle for victory. He saw a pack of rogues teaming up to take down one of his seasoned warriors mercilessly. “Scoundrels!” Kragen launched towards them, taking them by surprised as he grabbed one on the neck while he thrown off one several feet away. The warrior that was attacked immediately assisted him, lunging at another rogue that jumped on Kragen’s back. There was a ferocious exchange of attacks from each other.

Cygnus said as he kissed the top of my head. In my self-consciousness, I hadn’t noticed what they were wearing. Their matte chrome metal armor was larger and more elaborate than usual—fully equipped from neck to toe. Cygnus had his sword sheathed at his side, while Izar’s twin axes were strapped to his back. When I say fully armored, I mean completely encased in metal. They looked so cool—like fantasy knights ready to sweep me off my feet. “You guys look amazing. Is this your formal armor?” I asked, and they both nodded.

I mutter, hatred still flowing through my veins instead of blood. I wrap the garrotte wire tighter across my hands, getting into stance as my eyes follow a subtle movement from the bushes. The signal is a howl from Ryker. Ragnar has us all briefed. My hands are covered in a pair of knuckle dusters. I had my leather jacket over my gear, which was actually a crop top and slick black pants that allowed me to move around, a utility belt with a series of knives strapped to it, and military boots. A howl sounds some distance in the front, just at the same time a group of rogues leap out of the bushes.