First Chapter Of John Novels & Stories

Chapter One The winds of the Highlands roared with the fury of ancient gods, sweeping over the craggy peaks and through the dense forests. Finlay MacLeod stood at the edge of a cliff, the storm's cold bite slicing through his skin, though he hardly felt it. His mind was consumed by thoughts darker than the night sky above.

CHAPTER 3 __________ MARIAH It happened so quickly, sir john didn't even see it coming. Just as his grimy hands traced my lips, just as he pushed his thumb into my mouth, the king let out a vicious growl standing to his feet. It was so low. So scary even I froze, too scared to even breathe. Sir John's eyes went wide. He looked up at the king in fear as he let me go, but he remained frozen in his seat.

As usual, after work, John walked down the sidewalk to his apartment. As John pointed out, it was Dreadful, muggy, dry weather. He looked at the passing cars and the high-rise buildings of New York City. As soon as John entered the entrance of his apartment building, the first thing he decided to check his mailbox, not expecting to see any letter, since he has no wife and children, his parents have died, and relatives have forgotten about his existence. But John does not suffer from loneliness, and believes that we cannot understand the plan of the Supreme will in relation to each person. So John is sure that he has his destiny and his destiny, but he does not know his destiny and his destin

John muttered under his breath, his fists clenched tightly at his sides. Before I could respond, a sentinel ran into the room, holding a folded piece of paper in his hands. “Sir,” he said, addressing John, “I found this outside, on the floor by the main gate.” John snatched the paper from him, unfolding it with trembling hands. As his eyes scanned the words, his expression shifted from confusion to shock. “What is it?” I demanded, stepping closer. John’s voice was low and grim as he replied, “It’s a note.”

Watching. His eyes didn’t blink. Didn’t waver. I was naked. Wet. Flushed. Fingers still between my thighs. He stepped forward. And I couldn’t breathe. --- End of Chapter One

Whispers grew. Attention shifted. Exactly as intended. But something else shifted too. Something she didn’t expect. Because as she turned a corner— She saw John. Standing there. Waiting. Her steps slowed. This wasn’t part of the plan. “What are you doing here?” she asked quietly. John looked at her. “I was looking for you,” he said. Christiana’s jaw tightened. “You shouldn’t be,” she replied. John stepped closer. “Too late,” he said. A pause. “I already am.”

Sarah ran to his side, grabbing his arm before he could fall completely. “What is that?” she whispered, eyes wide with terror. “I don’t know,” John said, his voice hollow. “But it’s not done.” From the shattered stone, a shadow rose thick, smoky, formless at first but then it began to take shape. A man… no, a god… or something worse. Cloaked in darkness, taller than any human, with glowing eyes that shimmered like dying stars. “I was the first to vow,” the voice boomed. It echoed through every wall, every bone, every heartbeat in the room. “The first to bleed. And I will be the last.”

Catherine's POV: My drive to him, though silent, was filled with so many voices in my head. I couldn't shake off the fact that John was the one carrying out the killings. How had things gone from peaceful to chaotic all of a sudden. I remember the first time I met John. He was such a nice man, attending to me and asking me questions. I remember breaking down in tears before him after lamenting my situation to him and he had listened to me without even judging me.

“I have received the remaining harmony from him and also cleared off my debts. I drop at his feet, no one can save me even if I scream and yell for help. I crawled back to my room waiting for my extinction. AN This is the first chapter of the book, please, don't judge me on my English, people make mistakes. Correct me with love and I will be thankful. Thank you for giving this book a chance, and please — do drop your comments.

He took Elara’s tiny, sticky hand, guided a pencil into her fist, and helped her make a single, wobbly, triumphant mark on the paper. It was a smudge. A scribble. A beginning. “There,” he said softly. “Chapter One.” The Keeper’s Almanac, Volume One, was complete. Its story was one of defense, of repair, of quiet joy. Volume Two had just begun with a baby’ first mark. Its story was yet to be told, but it would be written in rolling over, in first steps, in the wide-eyed wonder of a child growing up in a world that had been fiercely, lovingly kept for her.