A Soul's Revenge の小説・ストーリー

Unfortunately, he had no idea who helped them. "You're courting death!" Sylas snarled, lifting the Dual-Spirit Talisman. Black energy coalesced into a massive vortex above his head. Vengeful spirits howled and banged against its rim, clambering for an escape. Homer's face tightened. "Isn't this the Wailing March? You stooped to dark arts. Aren't you afraid of retribution?" Sylas laughed maniacally. "Retribution? Souls are nothing to me! It's an honor for them to be used. Today I'll make your death a warning to Aria for ever crossing me."

"If it wasn't for my powerful Spirit, I would have long been annihilated!" "No matter who did it, I will take revenge!" The immortal beast's soul roared furiously, and its attention quickly returned to Caspian. "Were you the one who pulled out the nail?" The immortal beast's soul asked. Caspian smiled. "So what if I am? So what if I am not?" "Haha, whether it's true or not, you're going to die!" The soul of the immortal beast sneered without end. Indeed, it didn't care who Caspian was. In any case, the reason it had revived this time was to take revenge!

Selene's face popped up in my mind again, and one thought seeped into my very soul. Just one word that was right. Revenge.

Victor wanted to reluctantly argue, blinded by what was really happening but the next second his breath hitched in utter disbelief at the sudden occurrence flashing before him. “No… No!... im... impossible! It must be the drug… you must have released the fumes in here… yes! That has to be it… this was all part of your plan… have the others distract me… while you were secretly waiting to take me out…” The agitated man reasoned; clearly in denial as he stumbled backwards pressing on the wall behind him for support, his eyes intently glued to the scene of the glitching figure several steps ahead. “I… can assure you… this is no drug… and I am… Mike Rayburn… a soul with a vengeance.”

Serena sneered coldly, staring at the face she once loved so deeply. It had been love at first sight back then. But now, when she looked at him, her heart was calm—untouched, unshaken. The greatest sorrow is when the heart dies. The true opposite of love isn’t hate—it’s indifference. And that’s exactly what she felt for him now. No anger. No pain. Just silence. The Art of Revenge was never about rage—it was about letting go. She didn’t need to destroy them. Her joy was the masterpiece. And they would suffer, helplessly, watching her shine.

He some how lost more coloring in is face at my calm words “Ground Spears!” I shouted angrily punching up into the air. The soldiers that surrounded us were now high up on the points of the spears with blood gushing and dripping down the jagged rocks, more groans and moans of pain filling the air which was tainted with the scent of blood. “Soul Snatch!” I ripped the wispy soul out of the body, and he looked terrified. “Soul’s Doom!” Just like before, a white demon charged right at him and shredded his soul to many little pieces. The spears disappeared a moment later, and I was encircled by bodies.

She thought back to the many times she had contemplated ending her life by taking her own life, only to be brought back for one reason: Revenge. On the other hand, the monsters who were responsible for her demise were not only not punished for what they had done, but they also continued to cause issues without being confined in any way. Angelina's feelings of revulsion and revolt were exacerbated by the knowledge that Jasper had made yet another effort to touch her. She rubbed her entire body while she moved towards the farthest corner of her bed, and she was entirely oblivious to the fact that her forehead was bleeding.

And in that moment, with the abyss yawning beneath my soul, I made my choice. I chose vengeance. The instant I surrendered to that decision, I felt the last remnants of my light shatter and fall away like glass broken on cold stone. My heart, once filled with fragile hope and aching kindness, died beneath the weight of hatred and despair. I was no longer Selene, the girl who clung to mercy and dreams of redemption. I was something else—something hollow and relentless, carved from pain and sharpened by rage. This was my rebirth, born of silence and sorrow, and it demanded a sacrifice I was willing to pay: my very soul. The price was steep, but I would wear it like armor, a shield forged from

Matt voiced out. "Shut up Matt! I have not come here for your stories, I know you won't agree that you killed my parents. I know you're very powerful but trust me, I will keep coming for you till I get revenge for my parents death." I replied, moving around Matt and preparing to strike. We were fierce and relentless. Each strike of our claws and parry of our weapons carried the weight of our broken trust. I fought with every ounce of my being, my movements fluid and calculated. I could feel the power of my packmates fighting alongside me,their unwavering support serving as an anchor.

Estela's words cut him, and she shook her palm to her brow. He responded astutely, "Anne is a fountain of information." "She told me all about the tragic young widow of the genius poet." His gaze swept over her as he adjusted his seat to accommodate his exceptionally long legs. "You lost your soul mate, didn't you, poor little Estel?" His grin was grim, and his eyes were gleaming with rage. I'm surprised you haven't turned to alcoholism instead of a convent. That's the conventional way for a lady with your high standards to deal with loss, and it would also serve as a living memory for your late spouse.