Final Fantasy 15 Rusted Bit Novels & Stories

Just when I thought I was winning, Xavier pushed me back harder till I landed on the ground heating my head. Nyx winced in pain blood sizzling down. *You think you are strong huh?” His voice was loud in my head. I growled as his claws scratched my fur. Nyx snared in pain trying to fight back but his grip was tight. “You are no Enigma… Once an Omega always an Omega, don’t you ever forget that.” His canines sunk into my throat, Nyx howling in pain as everything started fading. "Sage..." I whispered as though I could feel him but couldn’t tell.

My angel in human form. Onto him, I clung and cried for long minutes. Into the ground, I clawed as I crawled to the dead body of one of the intruders, stripping him of his shirt. Theresa fucking Mattia. “Why. . .why. . .why. . .why!” I had chanted—my lips moved against one another as I continued to mumble words that were incoherent even to my own self. I mumbled until Raul lifted me off the dead body of my Cyrus. “Take it with a strong heart, feisty. We lose some, we win some. It’s the game.”

I’m missing something here. She takes the jar and leaves. Immediately I turned to Astra, my entire face already asking the questions for me. “Leave it,” she said, going back to grinding. “You know I can’t. What was that?” I asked. “Bitterroot intensifies desire, Elara,” she says quietly, not looking at me. “It lowers restraint. Heightens certain urges.” “Certain… urges?” I asked, trying to process it. “It has become… customary,” she continues carefully, “for certain pairings during festival nights for Zuri and Draven.”

“you had better not flatter yourself nor get ahead of yourself either. You won’t even be able to control yourself much more control any darn thing. And most especially not him, nobody controls Salvatore.” He didn’t like women with opinions. He liked silence. He liked obedience. He liked brainless porcelain. And Sapphire? Sapphire was fire. Sharp. Reckless. The kind of woman who’d slit your throat mid-kiss. She lowered her eyes. Played with the oversized rock on her finger like she needed something to do with her hands. The ring didn’t suit her. None of this did. She looked like a doll in the wrong box. A queen trapped in a cheap glass castle. And I really wish that she knew it.

CHAPTER 7 GABRIEL Arianna was PISSED OFF cos that's the only time she would drop the "F" bombs. I turned my attention back to them and then noticed a guy I hadn’t seen earlier standing by my Bella and with his one arm around her waist while she just stood there like a statue and looked very uncomfortable. Who is this guy? I let out a low growl and made my way across the room towards them. "Long time no see Ari. Did you miss me?" I heard him say. "F**K YOU CAMERON AND GET YOUR FILTHY HAND OFF BELLA!!!" Arianna roared at him. "Ease up with the F**k word baby girl, you know you thoroughly enjoyed it when we f**ked, and you didn't seem to mind when this filthy hand gave you immense pleasure and

Like what they’ve done with life. The rusty moon fits this year: the world’s and Helen's own. Her very personal one that she wouldn't even tell the diary about, because writing about it would be too painful. For the world it isn't over yet: the year of longing in which the moon began to rust. For Helen it will be soon enough. In three steps, beneath a rusty moon, in a rigid time, and someday it will hopefully be hollowed out by water, so the world can move again.

Her fist landed against the wall and the stench of her blood quickly filled my senses to the point that it made me feel physically sick. "You can't blame me for the fact your mate was stupid enough to get into a fight with a bunch of rogues. That was his decision. It's not like I held a gun to his head and demanded that he fight with them," I sniped back at her. I knew that they wanted to find Jayson and that they were losing hope of him ever returning but picking a fight with a bunch of rogues was never going to pay off.

Her voice cracked. Yeah, she wanted that bribed healer to clean this up—but Martha was gone. And the other crib? Still. Too still. No crying. No movement. "James..." she leaned in, trying to whisper, probably begging him to grab the real pup before it was too late— But her words got crushed under the sound of heavy boots. The crowd shifted. Wolves parted. Five robed elders strode in, each marked with a unique crest. The silver-haired one with the full moon emblem gave me a nod.

“I told you not to talk to her just because she's a Carter. She won't be able to help us. Come on, let's get you cleaned.” My ears picked on that piece of information immediately. They wanted help. And I was a Carter. They wanted me to help them. A smirk was playing on my lips as I walked away, tipping my chin as eyes followed me. I grabbed another glass of champagne, sipping the bubbly liquid. “Good evening, child,” another old man greeted. I recognized him immediately. Jamie Blackwood. The owner of the Blackwood Foundation. I was more than glad that I managed to do a little bit of research on him. He was the important person my grandfather had asked me to see.

The golden wheat rots. The Bastion's final whisper is a venomous breeze. ***You'll regret this.*** Ravel hauls me from the ruins. "Already do." --- **The Aftermath** We're alone again. The Bastion's carcass crumbles, its light leaching into the soil. The survivors scatter, some cursing Ravel's name, others clutching their heads as if trying to remember a dream. Ravel binds my arm, the skin still veined with gold. "How much of you is left?"