Harry Potter Wraiths Novels & Stories

That was my other secret. My parents were suspicious of witches—us werewolves and witches didn't exactly have the best relationship. Lots of old wives' tales, I think—that whole 'be careful what you wish for' thing. Apparently, when a witch granted you your wish, it never quite worked out like expected. But I was desperate. It was the only hope I had to ever be a werewolf again.

“So, she is part demon? One of Dante’s sprogs that slipped through the net?” “No,” Lucas leaned forward to rest his elbows on his knees as a weary sigh escaped him. “Atlas and Amos don’t have wolf spirits remember? Chloe does; Hecate.” “Hecate? What kind of name is that?” “It’s the name of a Greek goddess. As far as we can tell, only the Wolfe line has a wolven spirit with a Greek name. Even Sierra and Alvaro don’t have them. So, how come she has one?” Lucas raised an eyebrow, hazel eyes darkening as the questions piled up. “I think we need to make a call.”

By the order of Gods, righteous and courageous heroes fought alongside them, having bestowed upon with a fair amount of divine energy. Demonic beasts retreated, being almost wiped out by the joint forces of the heroes and the selected ones. However, it turned out that the salvation they were blinded by, had always been a hoax. They failed to see the more atrocious enemy of their kind — the ones they later called the "Witches".

The Wraith was a tangle of blinding, white-hot electricity, and it began to claw through the Void-Glass, seeking the Thorne energy inside. ​“Void-shadows won’t work on it!” Ryker yelled, his aura flickering as he tried to strike the creature, only for his smoke to be vaporized by the creature’s heat. ​The Wraith broke through, a screeching, static-filled terror that lunged straight for Silas.

CHAPTER 117: THE FEAST OF THE WRAITH The "Lagos-grit" had taught me that a predator is never more dangerous than when it’s cornered, but a Wraith? A Wraith is a predator that has already lost everything, which means it has no fear of the dark.

A sudden, freezing drop in temperature hit the back of Amora’s neck. High above, clinging to the shadows of the crumbling ceiling like a massive, skeletal spider, Katherine the Wraith materialized. Her white silk dress was completely shredded, her gray skin covered in fresh, black slime that dripped downward like liquid poison. Her completely black, ink-filled eyes locked onto Amora’s radiant, unprotected back. Xavier’s distraction in the forest had failed, or perhaps she had simply ignored him to hunt the ultimate prize.

“Did you hear that?” Torren’s daggers were already in his hands, his eyes darting to the shadows. “Yeah. And it’s not the wind.” The whispers grew louder, a chorus of voices speaking in a tongue long forgotten. From the cavern’s depths, shapes began to emerge—ethereal, translucent figures, their forms flickering like dying flames. Their eyes were hollow sockets, their mouths open in silent screams. “Wraiths,” Elara breathed, her voice trembling. “Spirits bound to the prophecy. They’re drawn to the fragments.”

Then, she sighed, a long, drawn-out breath that seemed to carry all the weight of the knowledge she was about to share. “A wraith is the result of a death left unfinished, unresolved,” Alice began, her voice soft but tinged with something dark. “It’s a spirit, yes, but not the kind you might think. It’s not a simple ghost. A wraith is born from agony—pure, uncontrollable anger and resentment. When someone dies in such a way, with so much hatred and pain in their heart, they don’t just fade away. They linger. They transform into something... else.”

I ask, sitting back and looking up at her. She looks back at the page, as I stare at the image depicting a monster-like creature with smoke and shadows surrounding him. Because the picture was so far from a human, we hadn’t paid it any attention when we had all tried to find out what we were dealing with. “Shadow Wraiths take a host to survive and to gain a solid physical form… Resulting in them disguising themselves in the identity of their hosts. With incredible speed and strength, Shadow Wraiths are even stronger where there are shadows present. Wraiths cannot be killed unless their true names are found and taken, upon driving a weapon made of pure iron coated with Nightshade, Ephedra and

Its body was wrapped in black robes, face hidden beneath a cracked porcelain mask with runes etched into its surface. I froze. Another emerged from behind it. And another. There were four in total. Wraiths. Bound spirits twisted by dark magic. Bryan stepped in front of me. “Stay behind me,” he muttered, his voice suddenly colder than the air itself. One of the wraiths raised its hand, and the fog hissed, curling upward like smoke from a fire. The runes on its mask glowed a deep crimson. “Don’t let them chant,” Bryan growled.