Fingers Of The Mountain Oblivion Novels & Stories

I drop into a low, predatory stance, my bare feet anchoring into the freezing slush. "The mountain doesn't belong to the registries anymore, parasite," I snarl softly, my voice a quiet, catastrophic density that makes the pine needles above us shake. With a soft, synchronized *schlick*, the three-inch obsidian claws slide out from my fingertips, humming with a localized, white-hot current of Southern Fire. I can't launch a massive geothermal wave without backfiring, but my strategic wit is fully intact.

The air in the Black Notch didn’t just feel cold; it felt **empty**. As the last echoes of the Hunters’ shriek faded into the obsidian sky, I looked down at my hands. They were no longer solid flesh and bone. They were a vibrating lattice of violet light and grey static, flickering like a dying television screen. I could see the snow through my palms. I could see the jagged rocks of the Iron Mountains through my chest.

Jasmine's POV~ The mountain didn’t stop screaming. It was like stone being shattered into voice — long, guttural, primal. Its tremors ran through the stairway. Dust rained from the ceiling. Cracks raced in all directions along the carved ribs of the corridor. But still, the hands came stretching.

Alejandro The mountain did not give warnings. It gave pressure, instead. I felt it before the alarms, before Koa’s sharp intake of breath over the mind-link, before the wards along the eastern ridge brightened from passive gold to a deeper, molten amber. Inferno stirred inside me, not rising, not emerging, but opening an eye. Not dangerous yet. But inevitability. I stood at the balcony doors, Tahoe stretched beneath the moon like a dark mirror, pine and stone and cold water layered in silence. The Haven behind me breathed as one organism now. Eighteen souls. Different races. Different wounds. One pulse.

A pale hand reached slowly out of the darkness. Long fingers gripped the edge of the fractured stone. Then another hand appeared beside it. Human. Far too human. Slowly, with eerie patience, a figure pulled itself out of the mountain. Its skin was as white as untouched snow. Its eyes were completely black. Behind it, more pale hands reached toward the light.

We were in the foothills of the Seven Mountains, and the real climb began. Blade didn’t slow. The curse that usually made him wild and reckless now gave him a terrifying, endless stamina. Pain was nothing. Exhaustion was nothing. Only the peak of the seventh mountain mattered. We climbed through the night. The moon was our only light, glinting off sharp rocks. We scrambled up cliffs I would never have attempted as a man. We jumped over cracks in the earth that seemed to go down forever. Blade’s focus was absolute. My human mind was just along for the ride, holding onto the image of Olivia—not cold and angry, but as she was at the camp: smiling shyly, her green eyes warm.

The moon hung heavy in the sky, casting an ethereal glow upon the water's edge. The same shadowy face from the reflection emerged, beckoning me with a bony, outstretched hand. It called my name, its voice a chilling whisper that echoed through the night. I knew I should run, that I should resist its lure, but my feet remained rooted to the ground.

Ethan Silvermoon is the second son of Alpha Raymond Silvermoon alpha of the spirit mountain pack in Nevada. For generations the spirit mountain pack has put their main focus on being the strongest pack in the country. It has become tradition that the alpha rules with an iron fist. Frequent and grueling training sessions were required for all packs members starting at age 5. The training started out easy focusing on defensive and conditioning techniques. The training would steadily become more difficult with each passing year. On top of everything else only behavior that the alpha deemed acceptable was allowed, there was no drama allowed and anyone who made a scene or did anything the alpha s

The warriors leaped to their feet, drawing their weapons. The scarred leader’s face drained of color. “It cannot be…” The ground trembled. Trees swayed violently. Birds burst into the sky in frightened flocks. Then the mountain beyond the forest cracked. A line of brilliant silver light split its face from peak to base. The sound that followed was unlike anything Elara had ever heard. It was the groan of stone that had remained sealed for centuries. The mountain was opening. From deep within its heart came two enormous golden eyes.

The kind of place where time itself seemed to slow down. The air was thick with a sharp, biting cold that made it hard to breathe at first. It stung my skin, sending a shiver down my spine as I stepped out of the plane. The snow-covered ground stretched out before me, a pristine, untouched white that seemed to go on forever. I could see the looming silhouette of the Foraker Mountain in the distance, its peak covered in thick snow and jagged cliffs. The mountain was massive—an imposing giant that dominated the skyline, casting an almost oppressive shadow over everything beneath it.