Asura The Tale Of The Vanquished Mga Nobela at Kwento

My ghost trembled on the verge of unraveling. I was dead. I'd been sold to the brothel, tortured beyond measure, devoured by dogs until nothing was left of me. And all of it—every last shred of suffering, every ounce of guilt I'd carried for "killing" my brother—had been one colossal, sick joke. A tidal wave of absurdity and bitter rage crashed over me. My spirit screamed in silence, howling, splintering apart. But when the crying was over, all that remained was a hollow, unfamiliar calm.

My eyelids try to close with all their might, but I resist and slowly manage to open them, although everything is blurry, I see that I am on the ground, lying. When I close and reopen them, Azael's face appears in front of me, watching me with a frown, with his piercings and his black shirt through which his tattoos peek out and spread across his neck. But when I blink again, there is no sign of him. As if it was part of my imagination.

My eyes glittered with a certain irritation. "Don't forget where you came from. You are still just a fallen one and you will always be just that" I growled "don't you dare speak of Asra as if you are superior." Asra was the phoenix that swallowed the sun, the being that was able to defeat the God and clash head-on with his entire army. It was a fact: I could not love her, because love was nothing I deserved. But that didn't change everything I felt towards that woman.

Akshara’s heart pumped more blood to know that she was the next to read that weird book with an eye. The book went to Azile who was got on her feet from an unknown faint. The weird look and efficiency of the book thrilled Azile and pages opened to her in words written in mud, “Awaken Love, Shall Not Be A Delight. Let Thy Onus, Vex Your Soul; Perish In Disgrace.” The prophecy book with an eye moved towards Akshara and stood in front of her. Upon eye to eye contact with Akshara, the book flipped its pages and finally settled in a page to uncover her prophecy; the letters appeared in blood made of gold. The prophecy of Akshara,

In her place was something ancient and blindingly bright. "Enough!" I screamed. I didn't reach for the magic. I became one. The silver scars on my wrists burst open with pure, liquid starlight. I stepped out from behind Kael, my feet hovering inches above the ash-covered ground. The air around me began to hum with a frequency so high it shattered the glass vials on the warriors' belts. Darian’s smile faltered. He raised the onyx staff, the stone glowing a dull, angry purple as it tried to suck in my power. "Yield, Asha! You cannot fight the Void!"

An obnoxious white wolf came out of nowhere. I took a step back as she sauntered toward me, a grimace plastered all over her face as if she was going to pop up the hell outta me. "Accept who you are, Aksha." I nodded in panic. "Welcome, Aksha Beatrix Aslenovie." I catch a glimpse of my hands, turning into white hairy legs. Or was I imagining things? A howling voice echoed in the forest as I opened my eyes.

Most dragons were solitary and rarely had any reason to assemble. When I was young, my mother told me stories of the supernatural wars and the great dragon generals and warriors. I was surprised the gods had decided this was enough of a fight to be worthy of a Pendragon. I listened as another man spoke. “I’m Veles, Vasili of the desire demons. I free every demon who hears this from any commands I issued while under the influence of the government. Forgive me, please. Any who have the blood of demons in them, who disagree with what has been done to supernaturals and our people, follow your heart to me and fight.” He urged.

The figure’s face was strange, a reversed triangle was its face plate and on its head were what appeared to be stag horns. “Battle Mage” The voice that came from out of the thing was whispery but threatening, and as it spoke tufts of steam bellowed from under the mask. Outstretching its arms, the thing appeared ready to cast a spell. Bright green vines grew around its horns and its arms as it lunged toward her. Likaya wastes no time casting a burst spell as she dodges the creature’s hands and moves behind him. She draws her blastrod and fires all remaining eight rounds from the hip. The figure staggers, Glowing green lines begin to cut through its triangle face mask.

I nod, “Since I have to be visible, I’ll assign myself to their tables and make vague comments. But we have to give them a chance to get me alone and allow them to strike.” He nods. “That’s why we need everyone to come in and plan this carefully.” As soon as he walks away, my mind keeps spinning with possible plans. There are so many things to consider. Within the hour, every Assassin within the vicinity is once again sitting at the conference table. I look around with amazement; Priest, Corbin, Dragon, Stryker, Cameron, Jaxon’s niece, Valkyrie, a Scotsman who is ironically named Scotty, Phanthom and Heathen join our group. Phantom is the strong, quiet type, while Heathen is a loud, rugged c