Faded Wraith Oblivion Novels & Stories

The Silas-Wraith. He stood with a massive war-hammer in his hand, the same weapon he had used to strike down anyone who challenged his rule. Behind him stood the Hollowed—thousands of white-furred, soul-less monsters, their eyes glowing with a stagnant violet flame. "Welcome home, children," the wraith’s voice boomed, carrying across the tundra. It wasn't a human voice; it was a grating of stone on stone, a sound that felt like it was pulling the marrow from my bones. "Your mother’s garden is ash. Your father’s mountain is a tomb. And now, you have come to offer the last of the Hallowed blood to the Queen."

Toby, who had been scouting in the vehicle’s blind spots, signaled a warning through the link. "Wraiths! They’re coming out of the ice!" Toby shouted. I looked out the viewport and saw them: the Frost-Wraiths. They were the Hollowed wolves we had once hoped to save, but the Void Howl had reached them first. Their fur was no longer mangy or grey; it was a translucent, crystalline black, and their eyes were pits of absolute white. They moved with a jerky, unnatural speed, their paws leaving trails of frost on the metal plating of our transport. They weren't hunting for meat: they were hunting for the heat we carried in our marrow.

And then— Vesper’s voice, raw and furious, ripped through the haze. “You’ll have to kill me first.” Elara barely managed to lift her gaze. Vesper was on his feet again, blood dripping from his temple, his golden eyes burning with something dangerous. The Wraith King sighed. “If you insist.” And with a flick of his wrist, the cavern collapsed into chaos. The cavern trembled. Shadows bled into the walls, warping and twisting like living things. A deafening crack split the air as jagged rocks crumbled from above, crashing into the ground.

“The one hidden behind the Benedetti sigil. It says a willing heir must choose death for the line to break.” I stepped forward. “You’re not dying for anyone.” “But what if I’m the lock and the price?” “No,” I growled. “I’ve bled too much. Burned too long. No one else dies for my war.” Her folded her arms. “It’s not just about you anymore.” She stared hard at me. ~~~~~~~~~~ By dawn, the strike team had arrived—silent shadows from a past most men had forgotten. They were the invisible Wraiths. Once called ghosts. Now summoned back to erase history’s mistake.

What an overreacting, weak creature. They scurried off leaving him and their victim. He sighed and turned to the woman who's eyes are open wide and looked at him in full horror. Her neck is dripping with blood from each side and her wrists are awfully cut. Her own blood is messily scattered on her face and shirt. Her body is also starting to spasm because of the poison those stupid kids' fangs contain. She must be a college student judging by the tote bag beside her and the books sticking out of it.

Moonroot burned in Mira’s hand, but even its light was dulled here. Then the shadows came. They rose from the earth—not solid, not smoke. Wraiths in fractured armor. Faces blurred by memory. Eyes like coals in snow. “We died for nothing,” they whispered. “Forgotten.” Aria stepped forward. “You were not forgotten. You were only… buried.” The lead spirit, a towering wolf-warrior, surged toward her. Visions flooded her mind—betrayal, shattered truces, a Luna slain by her blood. “We are the war that never ended,” the wraith said, voice a dirge. “We are the wounds you never healed.”

I say, pushing the final sheet, which now contains full sentences that I had been working on, towards her. She leans down, frowning as she reads the heading. This was a language long forgotten… and although there are still parts of the passage that are too damaged to read, or simply not fully readable, it makes sense overall. “Shadow Wraiths…” Her heart thunders as she scans the page. “Shadow wraiths are subspecies of the wraith family… What on earth… they don’t exist.” “Are you sure?” I ask, sitting back and looking up at her.

The Source had sensed the active Seed in its graveyard. Intrusion detected, a booming, ancient resonance vibrated through the static. The Failed Seeds must be purged. The New Seed must be reclaimed. From the depths of the static, the "Harvesters of the Dead" emerged. They weren't the Centurions we had fought on Earth. They were "Wraiths"—creatures of pure, entropic data designed to scavenge the Liminal Zone. They looked like giant, skeletal hands made of black glass, reaching through the mist to snatch the flickering ghosts of the failed children.

He craved authentic experiences and meaningful relationships, searching for a sense of fulfillment that eluded him in the world of luxury and privilege. One fateful day, a series of events unfolded that shook the foundation of the Jake family. Secrets long buried came to light, threatening to unravel the carefully crafted image they had projected to the world. Betrayal, heartache, and the need for forgiveness hung heavy in the air. Amidst the chaos, the Jake family found themselves at a crossroads. Would they succumb to the weight of their past mistakes and shattered illusions, or would they find the strength to confront their demons, rebuild their relationships, and create a future rooted i