Book Scorched Earth Novels & Stories

But seeing Helen-Nora, Eleanor, and Marcus drive off into the night had kindled a spark of triumph at Damian's defeat. It was a dirty, spontaneous victory, one that was going to buy me some much needed time, time that showed however brief. They dragged me deeper into the labyrinth of the fishery, along slicker, more vacated corridors. The stench of fish guts and cold, stagnant water was overwhelming. The gun shoved into my back to prevent me from running felt like hot scald, burning into my skin. My mind, though dazed and though shocked, was already functioning and computing, searching out angles and possibilities.

**Two days before the breach.** Luna stood at the edge of the Scorchmark, and felt her demon blood *sing.* The place was exactly as its name suggested—a massive scar carved into the earth where nothing grew. Not barren from lack of nutrients. Barren because the *ground itself* rejected life. The soil was black. Glassy. Fused into a crystalline surface that reflected no light. And the smell— Sulfur. Ash. Something older than time.

I raise my own, calling wind, desperate to push the flames back. But it doesn't respond like normal fire. It screams. We fight it anyway. It takes both of us, our powers colliding and twining, to push down the inferno until the fire chokes on ash and gives out. Smoke curls around us, thick and stinging. We’re panting, both of us covered in soot. I stare at the scorched bark. "It reacted to you," I whisper. Scarlett drops to her knees. "I didn’t mean to. I swear I didn’t-"

My wolf reared with an ear splitting howl of equal parts reviled rage and bloodcurdling revulsion. The very earth itself seemed to have been seared. Scoured into smoldering drifts of carbonized soil that undulated with the consistency of brackish oil slicks across expanses of fire blasted land. The surrounding debris only compounded the visceral sense of profane abuse clawing through my psyche in sickening waves. Everywhere the molten landscape flowed, blackened cracks of serrated bark jutted skyward like calcified arteries bursting forth from the scorched nightmare.

The scar is a container and a protective space where the memory can be stored and endured privately. The causes of scars remain in storage in the body and the mind, and sometimes can shape actions for a person’s entire life. That's what Beneath The Scars is going to talk about . It's going to talk about how to never give up without a fight. W A R N I N G The book contains scenes of self-harm, mentions of abuse and suicide, themes of grief and depression, and sexual content towards the first half of the book . Readers are requested to proceed with caution. Please skip if you see any scene that you may find triggering.

He kissed her again, giving her a crushing hug, before calling for someone to get them a horse. Sephora frowned and looked about her, gazing across the battle-field that was once covered in corpses. To see that around them was nothing but ashes, the ground was scorched and no bodies lay on the ground - ash covered everything like a blanket of snow. She glanced to her mate in confusion, who had already read the question in her face. "That was you." Ambrose confessed, nodding to the area of blackened ground. "You incinerated the entire area."

Diverging her mind from those painful memories to replace them with these new ones. Pulling back from her, he sees her head tilted to a side. Not willing to show him her face. Yet that Scar, it was visible now. The evidence of his lost child, authentic now. And that's when he looks up at the moon through the window ,remembering Sophie last words making a tear to roll down his eyes. Let your heart guide you to your only light.. Yet, if still the darkness of her eyes veils the truth of light. Remember Scars will always get visible, when all lights are off.

The crater was a jagged, mile-wide wound in the earth, the soil fused into black glass by the sheer heat of the Kinetic Impact (the energy released when an object hits the ground at high speed). A plume of acrid, yellow smoke rose from the center, smelling of burnt hair and ancient, stagnant oil. At the heart of the pit lay the Scavenger-Dreadnought.

The scouts returned with scattered news: Three more battalions had joined Xavier’s army. One of them carried flame carts—fire-blasters forged in the Deep Iron Mines of Dagonhold. That meant one thing. They wanted to burn us alive. I stood at the gates with Jared as the sun barely broke through the mist. A faint trumpet echoed from the distance, and behind it—hoofbeats. Thousands. “Rhea…” Jared said slowly. “This won’t be a siege. It’ll be a slaughter.”

Conner's POV I thought that I would tell Avery which outline to finish so that she could start writing the story and script. I never expected to find her nearly naked in her room, because I pictured her lying across her bed doing homework. Which, it appeared, she had planned on doing based on the pile of books and papers that were strewn across her bed. However, something surprised me more than her appearance. That scar on her back looked like a dragon’s mark. Granted a dragon never marks his mate on her back, but it could have been a temporary mark. But who would temporarily mark a child and why? Avery isn't special, she's just a plain human girl.