City Of Brass Audiobook Novels & Stories

The city was a living machine when Bram went out. Its gears turned in the rumble of traffic, the hiss of buses, the distant wail of sirens; its pistons pumped in the steady flow of bodies down sidewalks. For Bram, surveillance wasn’t work so much as rhythm. He blended with the current, eyes always tracking, posture loose but watchful.

notification that was flashing like a neon wound against the back of my eyelids. The Spire was dying around us. I could hear the physical world groaning, the sound of three hundred floors of glass and "Diamond-Steel" beginning to buckle under the weight of the "Self-Destruct" sequence. But I couldn't move. I couldn't breathe. My hands were still locked with Dante’s scorching palm and my son’s golden grip, our frequencies fused into a "Triple-Sovereign" bridge that was currently the only thing keeping the city from vaporizing.

“Let him look. After all it is the first time, he has seen the Imperial City. The city seemed to glow with its white marble buildings and great bronze and brass walls. Towers climbed up like a forest of stone and glass. A great bustle of people came and went in their daily routines all through the streets. Myllyof looked at Termâs and Jullious. “I think I’ll handle this.” He walked back to where Yvayn stood and turned. Standing beside his son he looked at the city before their eyes and tried to imagine what it would be like if this were the first time, he had ever seen the Imperial City of the Menians. He began to smile and stepped closer to Yvayn. “Amazing site, isn’t it?” He put his arm ar

On the street, men read the lines and flicked the pages like cards. A boy from the market—young hands, snot at the lip—held out a paper to Elara as she walked by on her way to the depot to see who had heard what. “They found your brass, miss. Men said you did it.” His voice held no awe and no fear; it was evaluating a fact as if it were bread. The fact that the city could say they saw mattered more than what the papers decided to call it.

I cussed under my breathe. ---- I had to head into San Fransisco. On the go, in the Revenant X-0. The one car that attracted no attention whenever and wherever it was. A ride made for only the CEO of GRM. I stared out the glass as we emerged, the city rising in the distance like a challenge. I had only three true businesses here. One was with Jacob...

Chapter 135 The hum beneath our feet thickened until it felt like standing on the chest of something alive. The glass shimmered, the city’s shattered bones bending and reforming in response to our rhythm. For the first time, the abyss wasn’t dictating the board. It was waiting. The silence was unnerving.

The First City didn’t just wake up; it screamed. The sound was a tectonic grinding of quartz against basalt, a high-frequency vibration that made the marrow of my teeth ache. Beneath our feet, the floor of the High Balcony—once solid, indigo stone—rippled like the surface of a dark pond. The Bone King’s spirit, denied the vessel of Killian’s body, had retreated into the city’s very foundation, turning the "Silver Rise" architecture into a sprawling, sentient cage.

The sounds of the modern city reached us through the stone. A train passing somewhere overhead. Water running through pipes. A distant car horn. Beneath those noises came music. Soft strings. A woman singing without words. Daigo looked up. Please tell me the dead city is not entertaining itself. Shin touched the wall. It is not dead. The golden veins beneath the floor brightened under his hand. Footsteps answered from ahead. We froze. Three figures emerged around the bend. They wore long grey coats with high collars. Silver masks covered the upper halves of their faces. Each carried a curved spear.

A circled note in the corner caught his eye: “BRASS = best conduit for demonic containment.” Gabe examined the idol’s halves. They were severely corroded, brittle, incomplete. Useless. But he knew what to do. He turned to his shelves—metal, tools, sculptures. One in particular stood out: a hexagonal world map he’d made with Joanne. He smiled. Then he pulled out a large sheet of brass. Hours passed. Gabe worked steadily, methodically—melting, shaping, reforging. The garage glowed with sparks and sweat. Slowly, the idol was reborn. Polished and whole.

Bryan yelled, holding onto me so I wouldn't fall into a gap. "I initiated the 'Final Chapter,'" the Publisher laughed. His eyes were wide and red. "The city isn't just a home. It's a bomb. In sixty seconds, this place will fall out of the sky and flatten every city below it. Lagos, New York, London, all gone. A clean slate for a new writer." "You're crazy! You'll die too!" I screamed. "I'm already dead," he said. He tossed the remote over the edge and opened his arms wide. "End the story, Hazel. I dare you."