Fall Of Ruin And Wrath Series Novels & Stories

ZAYN I got closer, only to be met with a douchebag trying to force himself on a girl. I instantly saw red as she pleaded for him to let her go, a slight tremble in her voice but he didn't budge. “What part of let her go don't you fucking understand!” I rushed to him, throwing a punch right at his face to get him off her. He fell to the ground like a spineless piece of shit. I was expecting him to stand up and charge at me but he laid there on the ground like a pussy holding on to his broken nose.

Hatred boils. Tomorrow, war begins.

"Is there any chance my father knows about it?" "Unlikely. The entrance was sealed with Daevari magic. Only someone of my blood can open it, and as far as anyone knows, I'm the last of my kind." Eron moved away from the window and sat in the chair across from me, his movements careful and deliberate. "But getting there will be the problem. The ruins are in the Blackthorn Range, high in the mountains. The only path passes within sight of three Crescent Fang outposts." "So we'd have to sneak through territory crawling with my father's soldiers, climb a mountain, break into an ancient vault, and get back out again. All while Aldrich is preparing for war and probably expecting me to try somethin

He hated the blood that ran in her veins – the same cursed blood that had made his father fall, that had made his mother scream, that had made his brother's lifeless eyes stare back at him through the cracks in the floorboards. Mind Rot was a sickness almost as old as the wars themselves. No one seemed to know how it came about, but wolves afflicted with it lost their grip on reason piece by piece. First came the murmurs, then the laughter, then the bloodlust that never ceased. They tore at themselves, at their kin, until nothing remained but a body too broken to heal. Even a caged wolf in that state was a storm waiting to break. Nyra would face that storm tonight. For now, though, his thoug

I've rarely found peace these days. In my hand, a crystal glass of deep red Bordeaux swirled gently as I took a slow sip, the tartness lingering on my tongue. It was my ritual, this quiet moment before the storms of the world ruined my peace. Nikolai, my son—my everything—needed to rise, to claim what was his by blood and right. He must claim the throne. Not that fool of a husband, Roman, who squandered our legacy with his cowardice and endless meaningless affairs.

he finally said “You’re not. When you’re done sulking, you’ll come back. You always do. The old me would have apologized by now I let the phone go dead and dropped my phone on the table and smiled. Two days later, I was back at the trust group, this time to finally get everything I need to wreck the company, I couldn’t wait to be done with it. The boardroom was tended when I walked in, Blake sat at the head of the table, Monique beside him, legs crossed, nails tapping against her tablet like she owned the place. Blake’s eyes flicked to me, irritation flashing briefly before he masked it.

It was about protection, about leadership, about choosing a path that honored those who depended on me. The wind carried the dust away, revealing the fortress beneath the rising sun. Jagged stones jutted into the air like broken teeth, remnants of Rowan’s power crumbling under the weight of his defeat. My gaze swept across the ruins, lingering on the shattered symbols, the scorch marks, the blood-stained floor, and the broken walls. There was a silence in the aftermath that felt heavier than any battle roar. It pressed against me, reminding me that Rowan had been cunning, relentless, and cruel. He had tried to break me, to destroy us, and even in death, the shadow of his influence lingered.

When he finally came home, all the anger I’d been swallowing for months came spilling out. It was a knock-down, drag-out fight — the kind that leaves you trembling long after it’s over. Words that could never be taken back, tears that wouldn’t stop. And somewhere in the middle of it all, we called it quits. But of course, nothing was ever simple. He refused to move out. The home — a small, rent-controlled place that had been given to me and my children — suddenly became another battlefield. And there I was again, standing in the ruins of another promise, trying to figure out how to keep my babies safe while the walls around me cracked.

Even the pungent stench of decay had crowned the day with a lingering nauseating grace, travelling the skies like an entourage of heavy soot. Buildings were left in ruins. Wailing and screams, chattering metal armours, and the resounding explosions of canons echoed in a flowing stream of rings. The World was in ruin; one would mistake it to be the end of the World. The War between the Ultiar gods: Ekron god of discord and darkness, and Vyorn goddess of Nature, had gone on for centuries. The mid 7000BC to 2000BC, felt the kind caresses of the sword and heavy form of magic.