Samurai Purple 소설 & 이야기

And that was okay. Today I was helping Micah, a thirteen-year-old with a shaved head, hoodie sleeves always tugged down over their palms, and the eyes of someone who’d seen more than they should’ve. They weren’t chatty, but they liked drawing. Their sketchbook was filled with figures that resembled comic book heroes, quiet and fierce, with eyes always cast in shadow. They were hunched over a new page now, sketching a person standing in the center of swirling chaos. The figure held a long sword in both hands, the blade resting downward, tip touching the ground. Not raised. Not slashing. Just… there.

We don’t always use our Alpha titles during sex, but sometimes it’s fun and this is one of those nights. “Goddess, yes. I need to feel you inside me. Please.” She begs, practically whimpering, her emerald green eyes pleading with me. Those eyes. When Scarlett turns those big green eyes on you, it’s like she’s looking directly into your soul. It’s almost unnerving, yet at the same time, you never want to pull your eyes away from hers.

I stormed in, covered in blood and glory, eyes locked on the only thing that mattered—her. She saw me, and for a breathless second, everything stopped. The crowd, the sky, time itself—they all bowed to that one moment. And then the chains around her shattered like glass, flung back by a burst of power so pure and ancient it made my hybrid form fall to its knees. Samantha rose. Not stumbled, not crawled—rose. Her eyes burned silver, her aura rippled with ghostly light, and every lie Harry had told about her fell away like dust.

"Purple Smoke! Let's end this!" Purple Smoke gave her all and defeated the control of the tune on her, turning the golden noted into ashes. Méah's sword just passed under her right ear, leaving a little slice on her skin on the neck. She counterattacked and elbowed Méah's back. Méah stumbled forward, accidentally losing grip on the sword. It was tossed in the air for several feet away but it obediently came back to her hand. Méah was almost falling flat on her face when Purple Smoke was about to threw a black spear on her back. Méah threw the sword to stop her but it didn't left her hand. Instead, it has turned into a silver whip and it went straight around Purple Smoke's neck as though it h

Exactly two years and five days after the death of my father, Cain Alexander Deveraux was born. He had my brown hair and Adam's brilliant blue eyes. That, however, was where the similarities ended. Cain was born a Vampire, yet he was also still a Lycanthrope; a hybrid, as Dr. Zosak had called him. He was the first of his kind. Although he was certainly one of a kind, Adam and I raised him normally. We didn't know how else to. As he grew, he began to turn into one of the most temperamental people I had ever met.

Dressed in black with yellow lights escaping from its eyes, it pulled out its sword from the sheath before Rogue could react and went through her. Rogue fell down to the ground but no blood escaped her body as the spirit came out with a wailing smoke before it sliced it to absolute nothing. Sam stood up and faced the spirit before he stretched his hands open towards the spirit. “Kono noroi de min’na o sukutte kudasai… Omisan.” Samuel requested as he bowed his head to the spirit before he raised his head. (Please save everyone with this curse.) “Anata o fukumete, haiburiddo-san?” The spirit asked and Samuel nodded. (Even you, hybrid?)

He lifted his right hand; a big black sword appeared firmly in his hand, accompanied by a crisp sound. The big black sword had a chilly aura, and it was a purple category weapon.

Her long black-cloud hair fell down to her waist, and there was a red scabbard on her back. The other one was a male in a purple robe, about fifteen or sixteen years old. With a bee-waist and an ape's back, his body line was totally perfect, full of power and explosiveness. He wasn't handsome, but possessed extremely even features. Slightly bundled by a linen hairband, his long purple hair, like a burning purple flame, was floating and dancing messily in the wind. His silver eyes, under the moonlight, were shining with strange and magical brilliance.