Golden Saints Oblivion Novels & Stories

The man yelled from the back of the room and that's when I knew that we're going live right now. "And we're back ladies and gentlemen! Here on today's Selina Beauty Show, we have a special guest with us. Let's give a wonderful round of applause to Miss Shay Falcon everybody! A.K.A San Francisco's Golden Girl!" The crowd starts to applaud in an excited way and I flashed a smile at the camera being rolled nearby. "Welcome Shay, how you feeling?" Selina asked me with a smile. "I'm good, thank you for having me."

Blessed. “They’ll never see me coming.” No, Nihareth whispered. But they will remember you. And with that, the sanctum fell still. But Tristan Everstone did not. He turned, shadow curling around his ankles like loyal hounds, and limped toward the spiral stairs. Each step he took, the glyphs flickered. Not in warning. In reverence. As the chamber sealed behind him, one last whisper clawed across the air. Unmake the golden ones. Let them drown in memory. Let their stars go out.

He whispered. Nemyra’s voice was low when she spoke, her hand tightening around his. “This is the other side of the Tower of Oblivion. We call it The Silent Land. It is where the vanishing gods go… to fade quietly. To wait for their end.” Before Prince Ron could respond, a sharp, agonized cry split the silence. One of the gods—a woman with thin strands of grey hair weakly clinging to her scalp, fell to her knees. She sobbed violently, her cries echoing across the empty sky. “No… no… not yet… please, not yet.”

The flawless golden tiles slid apart, revealing dark, bottomless silos. Rising from the silos were four massive, mechanical beasts. They were designed like predatory hounds, but they were the size of heavy tanks. Forged entirely from black and gold alloy, their jaws dripped with superheated plasma, and their eyes burned with an emotionless, lethal red light. These weren't the corrupted, zombie-like angels they fought in the debris field. These were pristine, perfectly functioning automated Guardians of the Golden Empire. "Engaging targets!" Jack roared.

After vomiting out a mouthful of blood, Sanchez was prompted to yell, “M-my head…! It…! It feels like it’s about to explode…!” As Sanchez began frantically rolling around on the ground and even slamming his head against a boulder—instantly turning the boulder to dust—, did Blancetnoir Double Lords finally realize that there was some sort of golden band on Sanchez’s head. “…What is that? Gerald, is that golden band an angelic artifact?” asked Lord Noir as he glared at the boy. “Indeed!” “As it turned out, you’ve already ransacked all the angelic artifacts in the general’s tomb!” growled Lord Blanc, his eyes burning with murderous intent.

Hundreds of mercenaries in silver-filigree armor were pouring into the sanctum, led by Silas and a cadre of Hollowed priests. At the far end of the hall, standing on the dais where I had just faced the Council, was Killian Vane. He looked up, his silver eyes widening as he saw me. I was a pillar of violet starlight, my hair a halo of white frost-fire, my body a statue of iridescent scales. "The Sovereign!" Killian shouted, his voice amplified by the Rot. "Look at your Goddess, wolves of the South! She has abandoned her flesh! She is the very winter that will bury you!"

"That's our window." "There's a place of power in the neutral territory between our packs," Damien continued. "The Moonstone Altar. It's ancient. Connected to lunar magic. If Thaltos is planning the Harvest, he'll attempt it there." "Then we defend the altar," I said. "Make it a kill zone. Anyone who approaches gets eliminated."

"After the failed ceremony, Karl disappeared for a month. When he returned, he began crafting ceremonial jewelry named for his 'true mate, Isabelle.' The pack council is in turmoil—they say he's been touched by moon madness." I listened quietly, finding no emotional response stirring within me. Fiona eventually departed, and I organized my notes before heading home. It was winter solstice night, and the streets were alive with celebration. Walking slowly back to my apartment, I noticed a small package at my doorstep. As I picked it up in confusion, a trembling voice spoke behind me: "Isabelle, I've finally found you."

I shook my head, raising my voice so everyone could hear. “We will be praying to the Moon Goddess,” I began, slowing shifting my eyes around the circle. “But not for her protection, nor for safe passage. No, we will be praying for her to send her greatest weapon to wipe out this stain on her domain. There is no need to speak aloud, just close your eyes and pray in whatever way works best for you. Pray that she shines her light upon us, pray that she sees us through this nightmare. But mostly pray that she sends the Silver Myst.”