Chronicles Of The Dead Novels & Stories

They were beings of raw, unpolished obsidian and prehistoric blood, and they were holding the Scythes of the Un-Made. "The Twenty-Fifth Cycle is the Cycle of the Shroud," the First Luna spoke, her form fading into the starlight. "And you’re going to need more than a key to survive the Funeral of the World." The lilies turned to black ash. The white sky turned into a funeral shroud of silver-and-gold. I stood in the center of the ash, holding the crying baby and the hand of my mate. "Eryx, are you ready?" I asked. "I’ve been ready since the square, Darlene," he said, his crimson eyes igniting with a prehistoric fury.

Anne wished they hadn’t spoken to that batty old man, listening to his riddles and dead-end tales. The later discovery of alternate tales, crude folklore and legends betrayed by a handful of the old or wandering mad reinforced Damon’s suspicions of an ancient grave site, though there was no recorded information of its existence until Damon’s final research paper. There Damon recounted it by name, “The Mourner’s Cradle.”

I ran my brittle finger up my arm and rested it over my heart as If it were beating; I was sure it would break once more. Why is it not beating? How can one who is dead climb out of their tomb on a dark winter night and contemplate life without the devil guiding their every move? My mind wandered for hours as I stood in that same spot. Perhaps I was in shock, or perhaps I wanted to die again. Eventually, the sun came up, melted off the snow and it burned my skin. If I could cry, I would have. Horrible blisters painted my body and even as I ran, the wind did nothing as I reached the house just outside the graveyard, and I smashed through the window just to stop myself from burning.

I want you…I bit my lip, the taste of sin and lust driving me insane. The isolation gnawed at me, so I slipped away to the balcony for fresh air. The night sky stretched above me, jeweled with stars but no moon. The breeze kissed my skin, and I closed my eyes, soaking in the peace until it shattered at the touch of a rough hand on my bare back. “What the hell!” I spun, panic flaring, only to see a pot-bellied man with a greasy smile. Recognition hit me like bile. Caleb. Beatrice’s nerdy brother from high school, now aged and foul.

June 13,2024 Dear Reader, If you’ve found this diary, then fate has strange plans for you. This isn’t a story of heroes, or even of the living. What you’re about to read isn’t fiction — not entirely. These pages carry the weight of things unseen, unheard, and often misunderstood. So before you turn another page, ask yourself: Are you ready to see the world through the eyes of someone who walks among both the living and the dead? If not, close this now.

Her reply came slow, hesitant — the first time she had ever sounded uncertain. “The mark of the dead is not a curse… it’s a beacon. A memory of the world that was erased.” “I don’t understand. Why me?” “You died at the end of the cycle, and yet you remember. The world does not take kindly to anomalies.” My stomach twisted. “So… I was supposed to stay dead.” “Yes,” she said softly. “And now the dead can see you, even from beyond their decay.” The wind shifted suddenly — carrying a foul, rotting smell from the treeline. I turned. In the distance, I saw shapes moving between the trees. Slow. Hesitant. Drawn.

Made of books and scrolls and memories written on reality itself. "Welcome." A voice speaks from everywhere. "I've been expecting you, Aurora Sinclair. And your mates. And your quest for eternity." A figure appears. Neither male nor female. Neither young nor old. Just timeless. The Chronicler. "You know why we're here?" I ask. "I know everything." They smile. "I record it all. Your past. Your future. Your every choice. It's written here. In infinite books. Infinite possibilities. Infinite outcomes." "Then you know if we succeed." Zephyr's voices echo. "If we find a way to be eternal together."

Evan squeezed harder, making Carmen cough. "Die!" "Do you really want me dead? Don't you want to know where Lyra's head is?" Carmen used the last of her strength to say this. Evan froze for a moment before slowly releasing his grip. After a while, Carmen got up and opened the fridge. There were two glass jars inside with my head and kidney both soaking in formaldehyde.

To her surprise she wasn’t shocked to be speaking to an animal but she wondered in her heart what this could mean? “Am I dreaming?” she asked. “Not exactly.” Well then am I dead? Dead? What does that even mean? What is death? Can conscience be killed? Can someone’s passions and dreams be silenced? Who you are can’t be stopped. She replied. Our life can’t be stopped it only takes another form. She then asked her how she got here. Well she told her “I’m not really sure about that?” There are many ways to our world and many reasons people are brought here. Some come after death. Some are brought here in flashes because the pain of their own world. Some have a very special purpose I was promised

Pag iimbita ni Heneral Cognan sa kanila saka sila inalalayang makarating sa silid kong saan naroroon ang dalawang Reyna. Mga duguang bata at matanda pati mga kawal na ang iba ay wala ng mga braso at paa na siyang panay ang iyak at ungol dahil sa sakit ng nararamdaman, iyan ang nakita ni Tracy sa kaniyang pagpasok sa palasyo. Bumungad sa kanilang lahat ang parang isang baha ng dugo at limpak limpak na mga bangkay na isa isang isinasakay sa isang araro ng mga kawal.