Disquiet Gods Audiobook Novels & Stories

He was terrified of the quiet. And now I understand why. Quiet is where the demons live. Quiet is where you have to look at yourself and see all the broken pieces. "Spadino," I whisper. My voice sounds small. Pathetic. Above me, the floorboards of the church creak. It isn't the heavy, rhythmic tread of Ciro. It isn't the calculated stalk of Aureliano. It is fast. Erratic. Footsteps running. Stumbling. Then, a voice.

“Which means either we finally found something useful or I’m about to lose my remaining sanity.” Silas glanced toward the cover. “Which is it?” “Unclear.” “That’s reassuring.” “It gets worse,” she continued, already dragging the chair beside the fire closer before sitting down. “This one actually starts promising. Mentions divine balance, relic corruption, celestial displacement...” Silas blinked once. “You’re making those words up now.” “I wish I was.” Victoria opened the book across her lap before flipping several pages deeper into the text, visibly annoyed by nearly every paragraph she passed.

"I saw it in the Creche. I felt it in the Grey Sorrow. Your peace was a lie built on a prison." "The only true peace is silence," the Archivist said, a flicker of passion in his hollow eyes. "Look at this place! Look at the chaos! The uncontrolled growth! The constant, messy, painful cycle of life and death! I have read the histories. I know what the world was like when the gods and their Balance held sway. War. Passion. Jealousy. Love. All of it leading to pain. My way… my way was cleaner." He held up the book. It was his life's work. The Empty Book. "I was so close. I had almost written the final chapter. The chapter where feeling itself ends. And you… you have torn out the pages."

A hidden file opened, a document that had been buried beneath five centuries of rationalized guilt. It was a log. A diary of the first exiles. I looked at the text, and my heart thudded—a frantic, syncopated rhythm that made the stone in my ribs groan. They weren't gods. They weren't an ancient order of celestial judges. "The Discarded," I whispered, the Ear-Ringing tinnitus in my head reaching a peak.

"Dude, that's a straight-up criminal!" "Is there any way they can spin this?" Jocelyn freaked out, her voice screechy and desperate as she shouted, "Lies! All lies! You doctored the audio! You're a hacker! You could've faked all of this! None of this is real!" Eric was ghost-white, panting like he had run a marathon, his voice shaky as he turned toward me. "You...you knew? You've known all along, right?! "I can explain. It's not like that... It's not what you think! Tessa, I..." He looked scared for the first time, like he finally understood that he was not the hunter anymore; he was the prey.

The clinic always felt too quiet in the mornings, as if silence seeped down from the ceiling tiles and settled over everything. Lola Smith could hear the hum of the lights, the slow whir of the automatic doors, even the soft scrape of her own shoes across the polished floor. She didn’t mind the quiet, not really. But on certain days, when her thoughts were too loud, she wished for more noise—anything to drown out the feeling that her life was idling in neutral.

I can’t see the whole title, but it is about gods and deities. ”I didn’t know you were interested in those kind of books, I thought you only love history books because that’s what I always saw you were reading.” I said to her still looking at the book. Weird. I don’t like that kind of book, but I think I wanna read them because of my weird dreams. A figment scattered dreams of mine that felt like true. I saw green eyes of a man and woman whose blurry in my dream, then I heard about god of I don’t know.

Goldie walks over to Katcha and grabs her by the arm. “Wait, no!” She panics and tugs on his hand to get him to let go. “What did you just do?!” Darryl also exclaims in a panic as he rushes to block the door. His knees shook from witnessing the phenomena from earlier, yet he is determined to look Goldie in the eyes. There is a golden glint within his irises, and they seemed to flicker and grow similarly compared to a fire. It grows more, and more, until all he could see is a whole room burning down. Like tinnitus, he could hear distant screaming that increased in volume. They’re crying and cursing out a name he can’t quite decipher. In the room, he is the only one who remains. The walls quic

he croaked hoarsely, "I would never dare to forge a fake Thousand Feathers Mark..." His frail voice was suddenly swept by a hollow voice that seemed to echo from the distant horizon, "I am Omnipresent, Omnipresence is Me; I have long arrived..." The unearthly voice thundered from nowhere and everywhere, hollow and deep, yet angelic and divine at the same time, ringing in the ears of everyone seated around. The voice resonated strongly with everyone's inner spirits; some male disciples began to writhe and melt, stirring passionately at the beautiful and melodious voice as if the kingdom of Heaven had come.

asked a deep, gravelly voice from a shadowy corner of the room. “Trust? No, father I do not trust him. He is reliable in that he knows the consequences of any . . . errors he may commit. He will do what I tell him and gather what information is desired.” Clurife turned to give respect to his father, Hades, as the god floated into the center of the chamber.