Flame Art Ashes Of War Novels & Stories

I would burn every last one of them to ash. ******** I didn’t knock. I tore the gates from their hinges with a wave of my hand and stepped over the corpses of the two guards who never got a chance to scream. The smell of ash clung to my skin. Blood soaked through my boots. I had already burned three villages on my way here, left every man, woman, and child in ruins. And I was just getting started. They took her. They put their hands on her. They whispered their filth into Ember’s ears and thought I’d let them live.

The air, thick with the scent of pine and damp earth, carried the weight of unspoken grief. The funeral pyres, burning steadily on the outskirts of Silvermoon, cast long, dancing shadows that mimicked the restless spirits of the fallen. Each flickering flame represented a life extinguished, a warrior lost, a friend mourned. The howling wind seemed to join in the lament, a mournful symphony echoing across the ravaged landscape. Lyra stood apart, watching as the flames consumed the earthly remains of those who had fought alongside her, a chilling reminder of the battle’s brutal cost. The victory, once so sweet, had turned to ash in her mouth.

His eyes have turned blood shot, his face now fading into a deep redish-purple, the evil smile on my face the last thing he sees before he closes his pothetic eyes. Alex is leaning against my desk, the look of boardom on his face" man should of kept his mouth shut" he shrugs. Standing and walking away from the solider staining my rug. I hand him two peices of paper "Send word to gentral warren, tell him too burn it" "NO ONE GETS OUT ALIVE"! The power radiating off me has him bowing his in submition."Yes alpha" he says turning to deliver the message. "and alex... bring me a file of everyone on that list" he stops stort the look of confusion on his face as he looks the list over."Servant file

The clone fought it, scratched and clawed and fought, its black-silver blood boiling where the flames touched it, the smell of burning wrongness filling every inch of air. But it wasn’t enough. “You are formidable,” Asher said, his voice quiet now, almost gentle. His grip didn’t loosen. “But you are not the real thing.” The body crumbled. The head followed. The fire ate what was left until even the ashes were gone, and Asher was standing in the centre of the wreckage, adjusting his cuffs.

Flame licks the treeline on the far ridge, smoke pouring black into the white sky. I lift my head, blood dripping from my jaws, and turn toward the sound. Holt snarls beneath me, writhing to break free, but my weight holds him pinned down. The scent of ash and resin pollutes the air. Ashgrave seems to be openly declaring their allegiance to Redmaw. They’ve gotten their hands on explosives somehow and they’re doing what they can to turn the tide of this fight. Through the smoke, they pour, Derren at the front.

Lexie's POV A week later, Daniella was gone. I didn't hold a funeral for her according to her will. Instead, I buried her in the place she had chosen before she passed. There was a lake in front of it, where the sunset could be seen. In the spring, tiny blue and pink flowers would bloom. She didn't suffer much when she died. I cried as I kept telling her I was sorry, but she just smiled and said, "I've already forgiven you."

Nevertheless, I figured that I could still earn more since I was young. While I was lost in thought, Owen snapped. He grabbed the scissors and started cutting apart the rest of the embroidered pieces in the cabinet. I screamed, "Owen, stop! You're insane!" But he didn't stop. As if possessed, he shredded everything. My heart shattered alongside the ruined fabric. These weren't just my works but also my mentor's finest pieces. Each one was a masterpiece. More than that, she had passed away years ago. Before she died, I had promised to preserve these works.

Tanner said as he approached the lab table. “FPSG?” Kira asked as she finished opening up the last restraint. She held up the 9 mil with its suppressor that was not one she’d gone in the field with. “Dibs on the closest carbine.” Bones gave him a flat look. “Really?” “You got a better idea?” In the field, FPSG stood for First Person Shooting Game, which became bastardized, unofficial code across all branches of the military over the past hundred years for if you find a weapon, it’s yours to wreak havoc with.

It was an heirloom of unfathomable power, an artifact that bridged the chasm between past and present. The masked fire-wielder intensified his assault, flames twisting and spiraling as if guided by an unseen hand. The blistering heat washed over me, yet I remained untouched, cocooned in the shield's protective embrace. Panic and exhilaration twined together, a thrilling dance on the precipice of disaster. "I shall unravel your existence in the tapestry of flames," he declared, his voice carrying a hint of exultation. Flames danced in his eyes, a reflection of the chaos he sought to unleash. It was a perilous waltz, a duel of elements vying for dominance.

I used my air magic, so I lift the ash's off the ground and then I used earth to make a whole in the ground and place the ash's in the hole and cover it back up. Then we all go for some rest. In the morning the rain is coming down, so fast that you can hardly see through it. I look at Arizer and he is carving something and when I have a look I am gobsmacked. It is the most beautiful thing I had ever seen. It was a mixture of symbols for witches, wolves, elves and vampires all blended with swirls and flowers. It says in the middle "Here lies the bravest men and women I will ever meet. They deserve to rest in peace. Asher Evans, sacrificed himself for the good of the world."