Warhammer Hellhound の小説・ストーリー

"and it's time for you to pay the price." "Show yourself." The Alpha demanded, and Nueva could hear the clicking noise of three barely noticeable high-pitched tones transmitting through the air. "That won't change anything." The beast snarled. "But have it your way." Flickers of red erupted against the endless white, and the silhouette of an enormous creature began to take shape. A wild and untamed fiery red hellhound with massive jaws dripping with white stringy saliva appeared in front of them. The demon's soulless eyes flashed in hollow green, and its weighty tail lashed agitatedly, filling the air with a musky scent of death and acrid smoke. The snow exploded in a cloud of ice shards as

It's two bulky heads huffing angrily. "You won't be able to speak to that beast. It's a hellhound and doesn't acknowledge our human language," the soldier said firmly. I cocked my brow and tried asking if it had an owner in Latin. The dark creature turned its four red eyes onto me and growled Lucifer. I shuddered visibly and turned to the soldier.

In his shepherd form, he was fun loving and playful, but when the hellhound ruled, he was aggressive and protective. Opening the door for Teuf, Wyatt softly whispered, “Go do her bidding. I’ve got the pup.” Giving a slight nod to the man, the dog walked through the door and out onto the balcony. As he jumped over the railing, he shifted into his full hellhound form. His shoulders were now six feet high, his fur turned pitch black as his snout, teeth and claws extended. Landing on paws the size of serving platters, he shook his body before running towards the clearing.

The dark hair on his chest was matted with the dirt of the ridge, his claws extending from his knuckles with a wet, heavy click. From the dense spruce forest behind the split boundary stone, the first of the invaders appeared. They were massive, twice the size of Silas’s timber wolves, their bodies wrapped in thick plates of dark iron that had been bolted directly into their flesh. These were the Iron Hounds, the selective breed of the Southern Council, raised in dark caves and fed on nothing but raw meat and sulfur to make them hate their own kind. Their eyes were bloodshot and wild, their jaws fitted with steel muzzle guards that had been sharpened to razor edges.

Their leader is a black wolf with blue eyes, and he wants to stand on the high cliff and declare war on his opponent. The Red Wolve did not dare to stop but only dared to lean to the side. Wolves usually have gray and yellow fur, but with wolves having white, black, and red fur is very special. The black wolf that received the order to distract Windy was just a wolf with yellow fur because to distract the opponent, he disguised himself to look like Ezra.

“The one who conquered half of the world. Well, right now, when it comes to werewolves, the closest thing we have to Genghis Khan is the Hellhound. Granted before the Mongols finished their conquering spree.” “What?” That guy was definitely not the brightest bulb in the box. “The hellhound has conquered a bunch of packs already, but not half of the world.” Ethan explained. “Yet,” I interjected. He eyed me but continued. “He’s also reputed to answer to challenges pretty brutally.” “You don’t know how brutal he can get,” Hellhound Girl said to the guys. There was a fire in those eyes that I liked. She was probably imagining them burning at the stake and she enjoyed the idea.

The smell of blood lessens the further I travel from camp, mingling with a new scent–something even more metallic–magic. The hunters weren’t lying about seeing a hellhound. Because there was a hellhound. Only, it’s dead now. I shift back into my usual form and adjust my dress in a rush, my mind spinning over the figure lying still in front of me. Warmth radiates from its mutated form. This hellhound is more wolf-like than the others I’ve seen. Almost a cross between a rogue and a regular shifter; its body is lean and strong, but its facial features are all wrong. Its eyes are huge and extremely far apart. Its mouth is wide open, three rows of razor sharp teeth glinting in the moonlight.

His thumb caressed her delicate hand as he tried to figure out where to start. “Like you, I'm immortal. Hellhounds don't age like werewolves. We are young for a long time. A 20-year-old werewolf is an adult and ready to become an Alpha of his pack, but a 20-year-old hellhound is equivalent to a 10-year-old. We're small, and our brain isn't fully developed yet, just like a 10-year-old here. That's how old I was when I was kicked out of hell.

I respected him for it. “I want someone to pay,” he growled, the menace in his voice made even my wolf chuckle happily. Well, ok. I was a ruthless bastard and there was no way I did anything that didn’t to some degree line up with my plans. The wolf in front of me had a reason to hate the Blackwood pack as much as I did, and he WAS a pure Beta wolf – a rarity these days. I’d be stupid to let such an opportunity pass me by…