Faded Wraith Oblivion の小説・ストーリー

The earth creaked beneath each step Morgane made. Not from mass. From strength. Behind her, the Wraithborn host swept forward as a tide—silent, relentless, unending. Shrouded in twilight armor and crested with antlers blackened by fire, they did not utter a word. They had no use for words. Their desire was Morgane's. The Vale of Whispers, once a verdant corridor of songbirds and wind-twisted oaks, was now charred and silent.

But now, with the drastic drop in temperature, that mist solidified, turning into snowflakes made of blood. It was a shocking sight—an eerie phenomenon. The gathered warriors fell into silence, holding their breath. Even Brantley and Waylon, proud geniuses in their own right, watched intently. The battle was about to begin. "Horseback Blade!" Draven wasted no time and unleashed one of his ultimate techniques right away. At their level, there was no need for meaningless prewarning. "Ice Spear!" Umbra harnessed the crimson snow, forging a blood-colored spear of ice and hurling it forward.

"They are born from the anguish of tortured souls, driven by an insatiable thirst for retribution against those who had wronged it. Since souls, for a better lack for words, can't hold memories…wraiths wait around dark alleys and areas shrouded by darkness, to feed upon the souls of those they deem as threats. In this case, the wraiths have decided to target you for some reason." It was hauntingly clear that I had unwillingly become entangled in something far beyond my comprehension. The gravity of Krimson's revelation began to sink in, the implications spiraling into a maelstrom of anxiety. The wraith's relentless pursuit for vengeance was a chilling realization—I was its target, marked by

I hoped to leave our story with the last bit of grace. However, he did not even give me that chance, so I did not want that dignity anymore. Besides, what dignity was there in a relationship already broken beyond repair, soaked in betrayal and lies? It was just my own self-deception. Zach stared at me, desperately searching my eyes for even the slightest emotion. Yet there was nothing left there he recognized. There was no love, no anger, no sadness, not even hatred. His hand dropped abruptly. The ring fell to the ground, and he did not even notice.

Kaelen rasped, his mechanical exoskeleton groaning as the red fog began to corrode the titanium plates. ​From the dark waters of the bay, the first of the Blood-Wraiths emerged. They weren't shifters, and they weren't machines. They were spindly, multi-limbed horrors made of a dark, oily substance that seemed to absorb the light around them. They didn't have eyes; they had "Scent-Slits" that pulsed with a red, bioluminescent glow. ​"They're not hunting us for our Resonance," Maya said, her golden-white aura flickering as she raised a shield. "They're hunting us for the 'Zero-Variable.' They’re scavengers of the 'New-Evolution'."

[Elara's POV] [Lost her memory of past few days] I backed away as the creature launched its attack. Clutching the sword from the temple, I struck at it, but the blade passed through its misty fog as if it were nothing. I knew it wasn’t my mother. The Echo Wraith always appeared as a familiar face—a loved one, a long-lost friend, or a figure from the victim’s past—only to grotesquely distort and morph into a disturbing mask of anguish or malevolence. The expressions on its face are exaggerated and twisted, reflecting the lies and deceit it preys upon. One moment it might seem sorrowful, and the next, it could sneer with malevolence. Its misty form occasionally shimmers with an eerie glow that

Spark yipped, her golden form trembling, the obsidian glow pulsing, the plateau’s air shimmering, the frosted shale cracking, Lila’s sketch a map to victory, the Veilshatter Echoes’ whispers a chilling song, the battle a storm. Tess’s sword gleamed, hazel eyes fierce, voice steady, her cloak snapping in the wind, the wind biting at her cheeks, but her stance unyielding, the shard’s hum a challenge she’d meet with steel, the frosted shale crunching, the plateau’s trees looming, the obsidian runes flaring, wraiths emerging from the shadows, the chasm’s walls trembling, the petrified trees glowing, her loyalty a shield, the battle a crucible, the scent of decay a chilling promise, the pack’s le

"I know this might sound stupid. But I swear I could hear it whisper my pack's name. I don't know....I was already messed up in my mind from seeing the death rates. Maybe I didn't hear properly." "You did hear properly." He stood up with the empty bowl and placed it on the center table. "It whispers the name of it's target. It did with me too. And when I put my claw through it's dark mist. It whispered my name even as if dispersed." "So it didn't die?" "Wraiths cannot be killed. It's a huge form of shadow taking a physical gait. It has no flesh or blood whatsoever. The best you can do is make it vanish."

His shadow was missing, leaving an eerie emptiness at his feet. Dizziness clouded my vision, and as my consciousness wavered, a figure materialized out of the darkness. Hayden, the enigmatic ruler of the mythological Underworld, stood before me. My eyes widened in shock and fear as I believed he had come to reclaim me, to take me back to the realm of shadows and despair.

A Wraith is a predator that has already lost everything, which means it has no fear of the dark. I stood in the center of the melting Vault, my heart hammering a frantic, uneven rhythm against my ribs. The scent of Elena’s "Anti-Matter" blade was a sharp, metallic sting in the air, but the smell coming from Dante—the raw, ozone-heavy scent of the Void-Titan—was overwhelming. The "Shadow-Heir" in his arms let out another cry, a sound that vibrated through the floorboards and made the obsidian walls bleed liquid shadow. Dante didn't pull away from the dagger Elena had buried in his chest. Instead, he leaned into it. He stepped forward, forcing the hilt against his own ribs, his eyes locked on