Book Scorched Earth Novels & Stories

The landscape below me was a vision of unmitigated devastation. Flames engulfed multiple areas, casting a hellish glow over the carnage. Scattered ruins, once perhaps homes or dwellings, now smoldered and partially burned. As I gazed out upon the desolate scene, I realized that this was not a random field, but instead, the pack lands, now transformed into a graveyard.

Tears stained his cheeks. “Yes, it’s me. Please, I know you hated my people but know that I have nothing to do with them. They tried to kill me too. I tried to save Asher and Zara but they dragged me away. They tortured me.” He held out his arm that has an ugly burned scar around it. Eve’s gazed soften.

My pulse sped up as he looked at my body up and down one more time and in one fluid motion he tore my dress apart making me let out a loud gasp. He didn't wait for me to complain because that's what I was exactly going to do but his fast hands had already unclasped my bra and now I was exposed in his glory and his eyes were roaming all over my body with longing and lust, they explored. Long forgotten is my torn dress as his scorching eyes drank me in.

Chapter 389 Their numbers were increasing and heaping. I decided to end them in other not to disrupt our attention from the rescue operation. I stretched my hand and said in a soft tone may divine fire descend to burnt these scorpions. Fire erupted from both hands and started burning the millions of the giant scorpions.

“I don’t want it. I don’t want anything from you.” Robert’s expression darkened. “You think you can just walk away from our agreement? You think there are no consequences?” His voice rose. “I’ve already started destroying your life, Josh. The warehouse fire was just the beginning. I’ll take everything from you. Your business, your reputation, your money. I’ll make sure you have nothing.” “I don’t care.”

Flame licked the edges of a chunk of them mid‑flight. Not a clean, cinematic blaze—more like a microwave accident. Pages blackened unevenly, ink boiling before cracking off. Some covers burst, showering ash. A handful of tomes careened through the haphazard fireball and smacked into the ground, but most of the volley turned to cinders that drifted down around us like filthy snow. Grant ducked as a half‑charred volume tumbled past his head. He straightened slowly, ash flecking his shoulders.

My eyes remain clenched shut, some frail part of me clinging to the illusion of anonymity while comrades, brothers are cooked inside their armor merely paces away. Only when the disoriented wailing at last stills do I crack my smoke-seared eyes open. The swirling flames have ceased, Scar's massive silhouette already dwindling over the forested ridgeline. He has completed his grisly work. All that remain are the ringing echoes of roasted stones cooling in the icy mud churned with steaming entrails. I lurch up and stagger away before heaving bile helplessly into the shadows. So much for fortitude. We are commodity, not soldiers now. And the butcher's bill has come due.

I stared at her for a long moment, speechless. Slowly, my thoughts cleared. The suffocating weight in my chest lifted bit by bit. My gaze steadied, and in my peripheral vision, I caught sight of the brilliant sunset burning across the sky. I wasn't going to die. Even if I disappeared, they wouldn't grieve. The only ones who would truly be hurt were the few who actually cared about me.

Michele's voice pulled me back to reality. "If she hadn't left all those years ago, the woman at my side would be a gambler. How could it be an angel like you? Tomorrow is our 99th day together, and I'm putting the most profitable strip club in Vallasia under your name." Michele looked at Barbara with complete indulgence and pinched her cheek playfully. Barbara laughed softly and leaned in to kiss him. A sudden, stabbing pain tore through my side, forcing a sharp gasp from me. It was the scar I had carried for five years, left behind when I sold a kidney just to stay alive after I failed to repay my loan.

I whispered, slamming the slagged iron down onto the open page of the leather book. The Ledger of the Scar I didn't write a line of text. I used the heat of the molten iron to burn a hole straight through the center of the manuscript. The effect was an instantaneous, systemic shockwave. The valley didn't freeze; it recoiled. The iron Enforcers froze mid-strike, their hydraulic lines locking up as the text that authorized their existence was physically incinerated in the leather book.