Faded Wraith Oblivion Novels & Stories

“Did you hear that?” Torren’s daggers were already in his hands, his eyes darting to the shadows. “Yeah. And it’s not the wind.” The whispers grew louder, a chorus of voices speaking in a tongue long forgotten. From the cavern’s depths, shapes began to emerge—ethereal, translucent figures, their forms flickering like dying flames. Their eyes were hollow sockets, their mouths open in silent screams. “Wraiths,” Elara breathed, her voice trembling. “Spirits bound to the prophecy. They’re drawn to the fragments.”

I curled up in a corner, praying for some warmth. This place used to store frozen seafood. Now, it was just empty shelves and icy air. I stacked the shelves around me, a futile attempt to block the cold. It was useless. When I realized I was dead, a wave of despair washed over me. Seeing my frost-covered body, eyes wide with terror, and bloody nails, I felt a bone-chilling shock. Just as I was about to take a closer look, a force pulled me away, and I found myself standing next to Ean.

Death replies smugly before walking in front of me and standing beside Zeus "Seriously," Zeus says "Everything formed perfectly," Death tells him "Good, she should be able to retract her wings as you can," Aphrodite tells Death Retract, I tell myself and my wings were gone, "I did it," I say making them look at me as I turned around showing them they were gone "Of course, your mate would be a quick learner," Demeter says "Nope, it's just because I'm awesome," I flip my hair over my shoulder

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.

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.