City Of Ashes Book Novels & Stories

“But these aren’t ordinary raiders, my good sir. These are Ashpile raiders.” “Don’t tell me….” The former Jormungand commander slammed his palms on the table. “The Blood Eagles, did they…?” “Yes, Mr. Raja,” Hassan said. “They took a detour to Ashpile.” The Dragonhearts and Zeki went pale, dropping their jaws. “What’s Ashpile?” Katie asked. “It is a vile city of slums and ruins in the Equator,” Zeki replied, “home to tens of thousands of outlaws, cutthroats, and all the worst kinds of braves.”

ZARA’S POV The air tasted like ash. That was the first thing I noticed. Not fear. Not power. Not even the full moon suspended above us like a silent judge. Ash. Silver buildings stretched across the horizon, their towers cracked open like bones. Flames moved strangely here, slow and deliberate, as if they were being fed by something deeper than wood and stone. Wolves ran through the streets. Some fought. Some fled. Some knelt. The white wolf sat at the highest point of the city, untouched by the fire.

The air stank faintly of smoke, though no fires burned. As they crested a ridge on the fifth morning, the Ashlands unveiled themselves in full. Once, it had been a city. Now, it was a ruin of skeletal spires and collapsed domes, blanketed in soot and broken glass. Black wind swept through broken arches and cracked statues, howling like the voices of the dead. “This used to be Iskar,” Lyselle whispered, her voice thick with awe and sorrow. “They called it the City of Light.”

A FEW DAYS AGO Chicago Megacity was a humid, crowded mess on the best of days even after the Apocalypse happened and a lot of people died. Still, the place is far more crowded than other cities, probably because a lot of awakened had come to this place, so the government converted it into a safe zone. So when a Necromancer terrorist group waged war against law-abiding citizens and started wreaking havoc, the Chicago became a shitshow and immediately converted to a worst kind, not even the local normie police could handle.

And yet instead of being comforted, coldness crept up and down her body. She shook her head and opened the paper bag. Her hand raised a black bonnet, in which she placed on her head until only a pair of cold blue eyes gleamed under the moon. She picked a lighter out from her pocket and lit the the paper bag on fire. A plastic scent filled her nose, but it was quickly replaced by the smell of smoke and the scattered ashes. She blew on the lighter, and the flame went out, then she looked back up to the sky and glared.

Just then, a small head peeked through the suffocating smoke. “Madam, do you need any help?” someone asked timidly. I forced my eyes open and saw a young boy who was about the same age as my son. He was covered in ash and dirt, but his eyes shone brightly through the smoke. He was so small in size, yet he managed to muster the strength to help me up. Then, together, we slowly made our way outside. The path to the outside was incredibly challenging, and I felt like giving up several times.

I curled up on the floor, felt a rush of iron in my throat—and coughed up a mouthful of blood. That bright-eyed boy I used to be—the one who still had hope—faded into nothing. After that, I had nothing left to live for. Until just now, when this wretched, drifting life of mine finally ended. Matthew, your big brother is coming to join you. I've finally paid for my sin.

Sadness. I glanced down at the letter still clutched in my hand, the paper fragile and crumpled from my grip. Slowly, I allowed a sliver of lightning to dance along its edges, watching as the parchment caught fire. The flames consumed the letter quickly, reducing it to ash in seconds, and I let the remains fall to the table in a blackened heap. Ashes. Just like everything else in this cursed palace. I stormed out of the throne room, my footsteps heavy and my thoughts darker than the night itself. The halls were quiet, too quiet, and every echo of my boots against the stone reminded me of how alone I truly was about to become.

It was just a dream ", she tried to reassure herself. She looked around, trying to make sure she was nowhere near that place. She walked to the sink and drank water straight without a glass. She tried to reassure herself that the dead bodies of supernaturals and humans that she saw were not real. It was just a stupid dream and she needed to get out and see the new city she was in. Perhaps the noise would calm her nerves. She ran to her room, donned her simple beautiful black gown, and grabbed her keys. She made sure to lock her doors because of her human neighbors who always liked to visit people, even when it was obvious that their company was not needed.

The city did not welcome them. Asher sensed it the moment their boots hit shattered asphalt at the edge of a rain-lashed alley in Miradell's center. Buildings loomed too close, too tall, casting long, accusing shadows in the fading afternoon light. Horns blared. Neon signs blinked through rain. People hurried by like whirlpools in a tide, eyes forward, minds elsewhere. Damien drew his jacket hood on and handed Asher a folded piece of paper, dog-eared and worn from being opened too many times.