Artbook Mass Effect Novels & Stories

"Studies indicate the presence of living flora in a workspace can reduce subjective stress metrics by up to fifteen percent." It was a gift. A logical, beneficial, utterly Luther gift. "Thank you. I'll optimize its environment." He lingered, his hands in his pockets. "Your daughter's artwork. The space-themed iteration. It suggests a cognitive association between preservation and distance. A containment system in a void, as you said." "She just finished one where the treasure box has sprouted wings and is flying over a city that looks a lot like this one." He was silent for a moment. "An evolution. From isolation to mobility. Carrying the archive forward." He looked at me. "The conceptual pr

But someone had left an avalanche of books on every table, and Jonas had finals coming up, so I volunteered. I pushed the metal cart between the rows, sliding volumes back into place with soft thumps. Literature, art history, photography theory. The irony wasn’t lost on me. I kept my earbuds in but no music playing—just the illusion of company. Row 770—oversized art books. I reached high to slot a heavy monograph on Mapplethorpe into its gap, standing on tiptoes, when warm breath brushed the shell of my ear. “I miss you, little girl.”

He was outside an incredible holy place and his cock was rock hard. "You know the acidic and rusting taste of blood in your mouth. Especially when you bite to the bone and get that gristle. That sickening crack just is music to my ears," his Alpha began to speak, as War glared at him wondering why he was talking of such things." Or when you rip the stomach open. All the guts and intestine look like those long-ass Italian sausage. " War killed. A lot. One thing he hated thought was talking about killing. It made him queasy. "And that's how you tame that monster dick of yours. I need a standing ovation."

Next, I went to another room which was located on the opposite side of my room and entered it. I don't know what to do with all these people..he is sleeping with a book on his face. I know that he always does this and if we remove that he will wake up in an instant. I went and took the book from his face and said, "Wake up Ishaan, my bookworm." "Good morning bro," he said while opening his eyes. Then he stood up and went to the bathroom to freshen up.

Their last meal had been nearly expired protein bars and something that might’ve been squirrel or worst—a sewer rat. “You know,” Jesse said, examining the dust-covered vending machine near the cracked wall. “There’s a fifty-fifty chance this thing dispenses snacks or severed fingers, which one do you wanna bet on?” Marcus grunted, prying open a boarded door with a rusted crowbar. “Better odds than usual, I call severed fingers.” Jesse opened the outlets and sure enough there was a severed hand inside it. “Sharp intuition you have, you know if the world hadn't gone into chaos, you would have won a guessing game show.”

She pulled it out, sneezed once as dust motes tickled her nostrils, and lowered the book on the coffee table. The title was written in cursive gold letters, 'The Art Of The Body'. Clearly out of curiosity, she opened to the middle of the book, and her eyes nearly popped out in pure mortification. The book contained explicit diagrams of men and women in different, erotic, sexual poses.

However, the word he had earlier heard interrupted his flow of thoughts, and the emotions that were creeping into him. Arthmata, Arthmata, Arthmata. The words resounded in his head in the very manner and pace the woman had said it. It, however, sounded more of a ghostly echo. Who was that woman? And what the hell is Arthmata? The woman looked worried when he met her. Their car had rammed into a truck. However, one thing caught his eye- Her eyes. When he first saw them, the top right quarter of her iris was red, the top left corner green, a the lower right quarter blue and the remaining quarter orange, and it seemed to glow dimly. The pupil was black, but it was blacker that the pupil anyone

AXEL'S POV Dracula's war room was something pulled straight from a nightmare tactician's fever dream. The chamber was circular, vast, with walls covered in maps and charts and diagrams that seemed to shift and change when you weren't looking directly at them, like they had minds of their own. The ceiling disappeared into darkness so complete it felt like the void itself was watching us from above. And in the center of it all stood a massive three-dimensional projection—a holographic map of the entire Soul Recycle Program system, each world rendered in perfect detail, floating in space like miniature planets in a twisted solar system.

"Art is not what you see, but what you make others see." - Edgar Degas. -Kimani Trinity Campbell - I stared intensely at the canvas in front of me, the oil paint still wet and glistening in the dim light of my studio. I was lost in thought, trying to figure out what was missing from the artwork. It was a beautiful piece, depicting the city skyline at night, with the tall buildings lit up like beacons against the dark sky. Despite all the detail and care I had put into it, I could not shake the feeling that something was missing.