Ash Of Gods の小説・ストーリー

She shifted to face the small window, viewing the moon which was coincidentally on the right angle of the small space, although misted by the passing clouds. Part of her wanted to shout, make a mess, claw at herself, yet her joints had long gone weak. For what reasons? Was it the tiredness? She didn't know. But for sure, what was left of her spent strength left her spirit. None of them hadn't seen their Alpha's injuries during the war, but they had always trusted him. So much that they believed he was a David against a Goliath, even if they ironically never gave the mortal Bible an inch of the value they give their moon goddess.

He reached out with a withered, gnarled hand—trying to grasp me, to touch my face one last time. "I'm... so... sorry..." His lips moved, soundless, forming those three words—too late by a lifetime. But his hand fell, limp and lifeless, against the freezing floor. And in that instant, as his eyes closed for good, my spirit dissolved—scattering like starlight into the endless snow. Every debt, every grudge, every wound—all of it faded into dust. If there is a next life, Father, let us never meet again.

Instead, he seemed to be watching the forest with an unusual stillness, as though listening for something that did not belong to the present moment. When she sat beside him, he did not look surprised. “You found her name,” he said quietly. Aisha did not deny it. “Yes,” she replied. Arman nodded once, as though that confirmation was enough. “She used to bring marigolds,” he said after a moment. Aisha felt a subtle shift in her attention. “Marigolds?” He nodded again. “She said they helped people remember warmth. She would place them near the window so the light would touch them first.”

(Adrian’s P.O.V.) Charles and I wait for almost half an hour for David to arrive. The port area beside the river is unusually quiet tonight. A cold wind moves across the dark water, carrying the smell of salt, rust, and diesel. Cargo cranes stand like giant skeletons against the cloudy sky. Dim yellow lamps flicker along the deserted road, their light barely reaching the edge of the riverbank where I stand. The black surface of the water moves slowly in the darkness, reflecting fragments of distant city lights.

SERAPHINA’S POV ‘Wire and Ash’ The blinding spotlight sliced through the ocean mist, turning the pitch-black deck into a stark, blinding stage. The high caliber line slammed into the glass railing above my head with a deafening CRACK, showering my hair and shoulders with heavy shards of reinforced glass. I ducked, pressing my back against the vibrating hull, my heart slamming against my ribs like a trapped bird. Heavy boots pounded across the upper deck. Shouted orders, sharp and panicked, cut through the roar of the dark waves.

“This is no longer your realm. And she is already dead.” “Stop this madness Aodh!” Ashe hisses, appearing from the far side of the battlefield. An older man by her side. “Enough!” She flings her hand out towards the god an ethereal light coming from her hand, directed at the god. The light hits the god, pushing him back. He snarls at Ashe, baring fangs and his red eyes glowing with fury. Ashe sends another blast of light his way, and he cowers back, raising his arm to defend himself.

BLURB Elias Marchetti was seven years old the night his father's name became a curse. Everyone in Ironmouth believes Salvatore Marchetti murdered Adrian Cassano, the golden heir of the city's most powerful family, over a debt no one can prove existed. Elias has spent nineteen years paying for a crime he didn't commit: spat on in the street, denied work, watched like a rabid dog waiting to bite. Then Kai Cassano comes back to Ironmouth. Adrian's younger brother was twelve when his father died. He grew up cold, sharp, and starving for the one thing that could quiet the noise in his head, the blood of the man who took his father from him. When he can't find Salvatore, he settles for

Something older—deeper—threading into the bones of Moonfall Keep. Her fingers glow faintly. Dull. Ash-toned. She inhales sharply. “This wasn’t a shadow,” she says slowly, each word deliberate. “It was absence.” The word hits like a dropped blade. Cain’s voice is low. “Explain.” “Someone burned themselves out of the world,” Maereth continues. “Ash magic. Starved. Broken. The kind that doesn’t cast—it consumes. It leaves nothing behind because there’s nothing left to leave.”

The Rise of the Ashen Legion The rim of the massive black crater cracked wide open, shooting geysers of white-hot magma and billowing black smoke hundreds of feet into the air. From the flow of ash and molten rock began to emerge thousands of terror-filled figures. The Ashen Legion was a nightmare from the first epoch of the world, beings of living cinder fused from skeletal bone frames and black rock, eyes burning with the dull, unrelenting glow of dying stars. They did not roar or snarl like beasts; they marched in absolute, terrifying silence, the sound of their heavy stone boots grinding against the permafrost resembling the trampling of a million tombstones. At the center of the advanci

As they are enjoying the food, Ash starts to catch wind of a odd smell that is or could be the best she has ever smelled in her entire life. 'What is that amazing smell?' She thought to herself as she looked around for the source. Pine wood forest mixed with fresh rain fall. Ash sat frozen in her seat as she watched three God-like men walk through the door to the game room. They are pretty tall and very, very muscular. The one guy caught sight of Ash looking right at her, and stopped suddenly causing his friends to almost run right into the back of him.