Glaring Through Oblivion Novels & Stories

Dirt pushed into my mouth as the power sagged against me. Mila's harsh chant filled my ears. I fought against the pressure to lift my face. I stared at the harsh lines of Mila's once beautiful face. She was gone. All that was left was this monster. A faint purple light glimmered behind her. I blinked a few times, trying to see it better. Slowly it materialized. The dark eyes glinted in the lights of the souls. Her bitchy face drew down into a frown. Karma snapped her fingers. Time didn't freeze. Mila continued with her chant. Karma snapped her fingers again. Her eyebrows knit together. She waved her hand in Mila's direction, but nothing happened. She settled her hands on her hips.

Jax shouted, his voice trembling. The Hub erupted into a symphony of screaming fans. The violet light surged out of Elena’s eyes and into the city’s grid. On the monitors, her signature shattered into a million tiny sparks. Outside, the black triangles of the Obsidian Circle suddenly banked hard, their sensors overwhelmed by a million false positives.

The intensity of his gaze is like a lighthouse cutting through the darkness. “My babies…” I murmur, my voice barely coming out as a wave of terror settles in my heart. “Save my ba…” The sentence dies on my lips, dragged away by the pain. Darkness begins to claim me, like an uncontrollable tide pulling everything into the abyss. I see Luther’s expression twist in despair, but I can no longer keep my eyes open; my vision becomes a blur as the reality around me fades.

The chairs rattled against the floorboards and the windows slammed violently in their frames, but I didn't dare stop. Stopping meant death. “By moon unlit and shadow crowned, reveal the wound that can’t be seen with naked eyes. Reveal the death already lurking in the troubled soul, reveal the truth. Sanguis. Umbra. Veritas.” Suddenly, the room went silent. ​ I blinked, gasping for air. "Did it fail...?" Before I could say anything else, my vision went completely black, and a circle of burning, crimson runes appeared before my darkened eyes.

In oblivion, your glory is. “Vox vana, verbum sine pondere, maledictio vestra est nihil. Corruptio in vento perit, vita in aeternum manet. Dii et mortales, omnes vident lumen. Peris in vanitate, et oblivio tua est silentium.” ( Empty voice, word without weight, your curse is nothing. Corruption perishes in the wind, life remains eternal. Gods and mortals, all see the light. You perish in futility, and your oblivion is silence.)

Only the light and the pain. She tried to scream. She had no throat. She tried to turn away. She had no body. She tried to close her eyes, to shield herself from the radiance that was burning through the layers of her spirit like sunlight through fog, and she could not. She had no eyes to close. The light was not entering through her eyes. It was entering through the place where her eyes would be, the place where the intention of seeing lived, the place where she had been about to open her eyes and return to the world of the living. The light was stopping that intention. The light was burning it away.

“Half a second is all I need to get you past it and onto that shuttle. We do not kill the Director’s verdict in his own breached office with you running on a borrowed half-degree of warmth. We blind it, we run, and we go and finish this thing at the source, where the ground under our feet is ours and not his.” The White-Glow Sovereign turns its featureless white face toward the two of us, unhurried, and I feel it find me, not with eyes, it has no eyes I can see, but with resonance, the half-step-wrong note reaching across the flooded room to pluck the matching string buried in my own marrow. It lifts a hand. The killing light begins to gather in the palm.

Hollowlight surges through my veins, pale and cold, crawling beneath my skin like frost laced with ash. It does not warm. And far beneath the earth— Something opens its eyes.

The light tore through the forest like a living thing, pure and blinding. The corrupted wolves recoiled, their snarls warping into strangled cries as the glow seared across their twisted fur. The mist burned away in its wake, revealing their bodies convulsing, their blackened veins writhing under the force of it.

CHAPTER 122: THE ARCHITECT’S HARVEST The "Lagos-grit" had taught me that a predator doesn't always roar; sometimes, the most dangerous thing in the world is the mirror that smiles back at you. We were plummeting through the "Forbidden Zone" fog, the air so thick with "Void-Static" that every breath felt like inhaling ground glass. My body was flickering—actually flickering—like a dying neon sign in a flooded alleyway.