Erased Novels & Stories

Having got some tips to utilize A****n better, I am still not sure if I am willing to use it. So, Arcana publishing site is still uncertain. Stay tuned to never miss an update 👇 Twitter @RJCrowns I*******m @rjcrowns Thanks, Enoch Olalere. The next day was predicted to be sunny so I just wore a doublet and trousers. It was not though. I don't know but I enjoyed watching the disappointed of the weather casters when rain fell instead of the hail they predicted. Perhaps God was showing them He did things the way He wants to.

"Mission failed. You are scheduled for erasure. Would you like to restart the mission—to keep trying to save him?" I shook my head. "Erase me." "Understood. Erasure program activated. You have 72 hours left." … I closed my eyes. The silence around me was almost deafening. But soon, as if driven by some strange impulse, I opened Rose Wells' livestream.

"Rogue Weaver identified. Initiating Sector Formatting. Erasers deployed." The three geometric entities drifted downward, hovering silently over the newly sprouted pine forest. One of the Erasers raised a hand made of shifting red prisms. It pointed at a towering, hundred-foot oak tree that Scarlett had just grown. It didn't fire a laser. It didn't summon a storm. The oak tree simply ceased to exist. There was no explosion, no ash, no sound. One microsecond the tree was there, and the next, there was a perfectly spherical, empty void where it had stood. The surrounding grass, caught in the radius of the Eraser's gesture, was instantly deleted from reality.

I asked. “Three nodes. Two in Eastern Europe. One local asset sniffing around India.” My jaw tightened. “Options?” I asked. “Two,” Kade said. “Erase or cage.” “Define.” “Erase,” he said calmly, “means they stop breathing.” “And cage?” “They disappear into places where names don’t matter anymore.” I didn’t hesitate. “Both,” I said. “Case by case.” Kade’s smile faded into something sharper. “That’s the man I know.”

it said. What happens to the rest? “It will be erased.”

"You... are... the... only... ones... who... know... how... to... live... in... the... Noise. We... are... too... pure... to... endure... the... Eraser. We... are... too... perfect... to... fight." The Mechanics of the Eraser Elara analyzed the "Seed-Jar" using the Spire’s advanced sensors. She realized the Overseers weren't fleeing a physical enemy. They were fleeing a Universal Correction. $$\Lambda_{Eraser} = \int \frac{dt}{dS} \rightarrow 0$$

“Say it.” A pause. Lennox looked back at the screen. At the broken name. At the activity beside it. Then “…that shouldn’t be active,” he said. The words landed heavy. Taryn’s voice dropped. “Why?” Lennox didn’t answer. Because he didn’t need to. Rowan already understood. “Because it’s supposed to be gone,” Rowan said. Silence. That was it. That was the truth sitting in front of them. Someone had been erased.

A name disappears. I feel it before I understand it. A pull. A cut. A sudden empty space where something used to exist. “What just happened?” I ask. Kieran stiffens beside me. His jaw tightens. “Something ended.” The Goddess turns sharply. Her eyes widen, then narrow. “They erased a line,” she says. My heart skips. “What do you mean, erased?” She looks at me. “Not killed. Not destroyed. Removed.” The child grips my hand. Hard. Too hard.

"I Solved you. I didn't 'Abandon' the North; I Liquidated the Noise to make room for a 'Safe' world where no one ever has to shift, or bleed, or love again. And now, I’m offering you the Ultimate Peace" The spindle lashed out, and a beam of Absolute Erasure hit my chest and Eryx’s simultaneously. It didn't burn; it Hollowed. I felt my "Too Much" energy being compressed into "Zero-Value Variables." My rage was being turned into "Background-Static"; my grief was being turned into "Cache-Deletion". "Eryx, the iron... it’s Turning to Nothing!"

The faint tension around his mouth that appeared whenever he was waiting for something to be over. I looked at the inside of his left wrist. Smooth skin. Already gone. He'd had it removed. The ink that had been there for years my initials, small enough that you had to be close to read them, something I had once been foolish enough to take as a kind of promise erased. Not recently, either. The skin was too settled, too healed. He'd done it weeks before this conversation. Maybe longer. He had been planning this, arranging the pieces, and somewhere in that arrangement he had sat in a chair and had the last trace of me taken off his body before he'd bothered to