Hollowing Souls Novels & Stories

The air tasted wrong—metallic and stale, like a room that hadn't been opened in a hundred years. "They're here," I said. I looked toward the entrance at the far end of the rink. Three figures stepped out . They weren't wearing hockey gear. They were wearing ragged black suits. Their skin was the color of a bruise, and their eyes were glowing with a sickly, pulsing purple light. The Hollow Ones. They didn't even howl. The first one leaped onto the ice, its claws extending six inches from its fingertips. It swiped at a defensive player, sending the boy flying into the boards with a sickening thud.

By noon, the news spreads through Silverpine like wildfire: the south is breaking, and we are all the refuge left. Elowen’s voice is soft at first, but it fills the hall. The witches from the south speak not only in words but in tremors that seem to pass through every floorboard, every wary heart listening. She describes the Hollowing—a devourer, ancient and without true name or shape. It is not a demon and not a spirit, but something that eats the world’s heart quietly, leaving nothing behind. No bodies, no bones. Only the hush of something erased, the faint, acrid scent of a scorch mark in the grass, or, in the coldest dawns, a rim of white frost swirling in unnatural spirals around the ru

“You’re still in there, John. I can see it.” He shook his head. “I don’t know where I end and it begins anymore. The Hollow doesn’t just trap the body… it rewrites the soul.” She reached for his hand. “Then I’ll rewrite it back.” As their fingers touched, a shock pulsed through the ground. The forest howled trees groaning, roots ripping upward. The Hollow rejected her presence. John cried out, stumbling. “They’re waking up.” Sarah blinked. “Who?” John turned his head and from the forest, figures emerged, not Spiral soldiers, not dead things.

" Behind us, Jody's heart-wrenching sobs filled the air. I pushed down the last bit of pain in my chest and walked into the sunset. Chloe, from now on... Daddy is going to live a good life for you in this world. The End

My name is Elora and I reside at the Blue Mountain Packhouse. I have a slim figure, long curly blonde hair which I usually wear up in a bun so it is out of my face. My eyes are a deep blue which I love. I am not a normal girl though. You see I am a shewolf, my rank at the packhouse is an omega. I don’t know my parents because they passed away when I was just a tiny baby, so I don’t have any memories of them. The only thing I have is a necklace locket from my mother. I have never taken it off because it makes me feel close to her spirit.

What came through wasn't human. It had been, once. You could tell by the general shape and the way it moved on two legs. But everything else was weird. Its skin had turned gray and leathery, its fingers elongated into claws, and its face stretched into something with too many teeth. A Hollow. Class D anomaly that fed on fear. The crowd started cheering. The Hunter raised his sword. The Hollow circled him, making a clicking sound they made when they were hunting. I'd heard it before during deployments. It usually meant you were about to be attacked.

My fate was sealed—and they would make sure I never forgot it. So much so, that when a moan escaped my lips, Pavel resumed his movements, sending another shockwave into my soaked core. The force of it knocked the breath out of me. Alexei didn’t hesitate, following suit and filling me at the same time. My body tensed, caught between two storms—one fierce, the other lethally controlled. They moved in sync, an inhuman rhythm that dragged me past the brink of sanity as they took me, touching every inch of my exposed skin.

But the habit of caring about him hadn’t faded yet. “Almost there,” Fen said. “You keep saying that.” “I keep meaning it.” Then the trees opened up, and I stopped. The Hollow wasn’t what I expected. I’d pictured something gloomy, like the rest of the Growth, full of rot, murk, and things with strange eyes. But this was different. The trees here were old, older than anything I’d seen, with trunks as wide as houses and roots rising from the ground in arches tall enough to walk under. In the center was a pool, still and black, perfectly round, as if someone had pressed a coin into the earth. The air shivered with a faint hum, so low I felt it more than heard it, vibrating somewhere in my bones.

The world broke open. Stone, ash, and fragments of the throne scattered through the air as the palace collapsed beneath us. A roar unlike anything I had ever heard tore across the realm deep, endless, filled with hunger that felt older than creation itself. The Hollow was rising. Its body unfolded from beneath the earth like living night, stretching higher and higher until it pierced the fractured sky. Shadows poured from it in waves, swallowing light wherever they touched. I couldn’t even see its full shape.

Lyra’s twin currents flared, weaving flame and frost into erratic yet precise patterns that countered the attack. The newcomer’s energy added a stabilizing pulse, anchoring weak points, while Mira’s frost formed lethal barriers along the edges. The plateau quaked violently, but the lattice held. And then, in the chaos, Lyra glimpsed something impossible, shapes forming within the hollow, faint silhouettes of figures long lost, trapped, or consumed. Whispers echoed in her mind, faint, almost pleading: Help us… please… Lyra’s breath caught. “Kael… it’s… holding them. Trapped souls… the hollow feeds on them.”