Caos Novels & Stories

“Can we talk about what I did?” My right brow twitched, remembering the pain I felt in my eyes. I glanced back to Mike, ignoring Leah. “Where am I?” Mike stood there in front of us, looking between Leah and me, unsure if he should answer my question or leave the tent. “Uh...I,” he looks at Leah quickly before looking at me. “We are in Azgoth, a place where beginners learn their powers.” He walked over the flaps of the tent and opened it, beckoning me to come over to his side and look at what was in store beyond this tent. I glanced back at Leah – I couldn't read her expression at all, then walked towards Mike who was holding the flaps of the tent for me to see the place. As I approached the

As she contemplated this, another message window appeared; [ALERT; YOU HAVE SYNTHESIZED THE SKILL: MOLECULAR TRANSMUTATION WITH THE SKILL; BLOOD CONTROL! UPDATING PHANTASM! YOUR BLOOD HAS NOW CHANGED INTO A FORM OF PLASMA-LIKE ENERGY! YOUR BOND TO ALTERNATE SPACE: CRIMSON VOID HAS BEEN ENHANCED!] [ERROR! YOU HAVE NOT MET THE NECESSARY CONDITIONS TO ACCESS FULL CAPABILITIES!] ***

he sounded confused by his response which had me internally rolling my eyes, "but there are few things I care about in this world and you just so happen to be one of them." Things? "So I'm a thing?" My head whipped up so fast that I was sure I gave myself whiplash. "No, you're not a thing," Ace gritted his teeth, threading his fingers into his hair which needed to be cut or dyed again — I hoped he would leave it as his natural chocolate locks, "fuck, I seriously suck at this," he grunted, "I just mean I don't bother caring about anything or anyone because nothing lasts forever. Even my job. At some point, my aim is going to suck because I'll either be too old or I might get injured. It's not

As she turns four rogues step into the mouth of the alley, as iI turn I see another four had blocked off the other end, Acre starts laughing "Why are you laughing?" Lanna asks confused "Well because I would say that we are well and truly fucked" "Yes I would say your right, you are most defiantly trapped or as you call it, Fucked" one of the rogues laugh.

"The temple can't do anything to me. The mistake it did was let my mother touch me. I thought you said the temple knows all." "What are you talking about?" she asked. "I'm taking about the Raven Warlocks." "Agatha!" her voice was whisper but threatening nonetheless, "Don't go down this road." She shook her head. "Wait," I look at her carefully, "You-" "Ango," she grips at me, " Reversio." I go on my knees, "Somnio."

But if there's one thing he still cares about, it's his obsessive disorder. Elio hates mess and dirt. It's sickly with him, and he has a holy horror of change. When I say "change," I include moving an object a few centimeters on a shelf. No one will notice except Elio. He really is a fucking mental case... and I know I'm in no position to talk about him like that. Cazzo. I see Elio staggering towards me. He's had more than enough to drink tonight. He's barefoot, and his white shirt is half-open. His beard is even shaggier than usual. Elio's usually neat appearance seems a distant memory.

he answered. "So you do work for the German government?" "I don't work for anyone's government." "You work for the UN then...?" Cain shook his head. "No, this is a privately owned and operated organization," he said. "So... it's a gang?" I asked slowly. Cain laughed. I was in awe for a moment as I watched him smile. "It's not a gang, it's completely legal," he said. "So what kind of affairs do you manage?" I asked.

Lisa’s hands trembled as she sifted through the ancient texts in the folder. The weight of what Mia had uncovered pressed down on her like a physical force. The information before her was a tangled web of botanical knowledge, ancient rituals, and dark secrets. The *Sopor Veritas* was not just rare—it was an artifact of a bygone era, used in ceremonies that involved mind control, trances, and, in some cases, death.

He was swaying like a ship in a storm. ​"Home," I agreed, my head spinning as the cool AC of the club hit my damp skin. ​Mateo stood up, nearly knocking over a bottle of tonic. He looked at us, his eyes barely staying open. "Driver’s outside. All of you. Get in the car. I’m... I’m paying for the hangover, too." ​As we piled into Mateo’s massive luxury van—a tangle of limbs, messy hair, and the scent of expensive gin—the city of BGC sped past us in a kaleidoscope of lights. We were a mess. We were unprofessional. We were completely, beautifully wasted.