Immortal Instruments City Of Bones の小説・ストーリー

They sensed what lay ahead—the old death, the ancient curse, and the awakening dark. Aria dismounted and pressed her hand against her mount’s snout. “Stay. If we don’t return by dusk, run west. Don’t look back.” The wolf growled low, reluctant, but obeyed. Then the group advanced. --- Eldralen: City of Dust and Bone The ruins revealed themselves slowly, like a corpse rising from its grave. Broken spires jutted from the earth at jagged angles. Stone buildings stood partially collapsed, overgrown with black vines and moss that whispered in the wind. Every surface was etched with time and war.

--- Kira’s Truth Hours later, deep beneath the city in the forgotten tunnels of Ironfang’s foundation, Lyra and Kira collapsed beside an ancient well. Kira passed her a canteen. “Drink. Then we talk.” Lyra obeyed, coughing slightly as she wiped blood from her chin. “Where have you been?” “Hiding. Watching. Gathering truth,” Kira said. “Kael’s been planning this for years. And Silas? He never died. He was protected—by the same shadow cabal that gave Kael access to the bone serum.” Lyra’s eyes widened. “The same poison he used on me…”

The academy gates loomed ahead, massive black iron twisted into the shape of thorned vines. It glowed faintly along the metal, humming with magic that made the hairs on my arms stand on end. Two guards stood at the entrance, both armed with blades that looked older than the city itself. One was a vampire, pale as moonlight with eyes like melted gold. The other… I didn’t even know. His skin shimmered faintly, like his shape was never fully fixed in one form. They scanned us, eyes lingering on me, but Davorin murmured something under his breath and they stepped aside.

It’s not wrong, even if it’s cruel. Rose stands there, caught in the crossfire, though to be honest, she’s not really stuck at all. She could walk away if she wanted. But she doesn’t. Ghost doesn’t want to claim her, and everyone knows that. He was just driving the knife in deeper, twisting it until Bones finally snapped. And snap he does. Before anyone can move or say a damn word, Bones storms forward, grabs Rose by the waist, and hauls her over his shoulder like it’s already done. Her protest is muffled, more surprise than fear, and then he’s striding through the crowd and out the door with her.

The ancient obsession of immortals terrified by the concept of permanence. I turn toward the floor-to-ceiling windows. The city glows beneath the night like veins of molten gold threading through darkness. Five years ago diplomacy stopped interesting me. Mercy became inefficient shortly after I lost Rose. The old houses still whisper about the shift. They call it tyranny now. Ruthlessness. Cruelty. Perhaps they are right. Grief hollows a man eventually. Even an immortal one. Especially an immortal one. Behind me Damon leans casually against the bar. “Shall I inform them His Majesty is indisposed?” he asks lazily. “Exhausted from vigorous diplomatic negotiations?”

I hated it so much, it made me feel less of a person. My wolf shifted inside of me, he felt my pain as well. The Crimson Fang Empire will never be the same. I was broken when I learnt about the curse on the family and specifically on every male offspring of my house. I stood by the window as I watched the injured pack members being taken in for treatment. I placed my hands on my chest as I felt it tightened. The curse has been on for years, and I am the next in line to die from an illness no one can tell or stop.

He had crafted a three-year game of breaking bones and breaking hearts -- and in the end, the one whose pride was shattered, whose dignity was ground to dust, was himself. "Miss Holloway, it's cold out here. Please, get in the car." Pemberton held the door open for me with quiet deference. I pulled my gaze away. I didn't spare the dark shape at the end of the street another glance. I ducked into the warm, luxurious cabin. The door shut with a heavy thud. The black motorcade rolled over the fresh snow and carried on toward the gleaming heart of the city, leaving behind forever the legless beggar sobbing in the drifts.

My father thinks I spend my nights reading. That’s not entirely a lie. Just not books. This room is mine in a way no other room in this house is mine. The rest of the townhouse is my mother's taste — warm and beautiful and expensive, every surface chosen to project exactly the image the Conti family wants projected. My room looks like the inside of my head. Whiteboards on two walls, half of them network maps, the other half cipher keys I've already cracked. A punching bag in the corner worn to gray leather at center mass. Gun cabinet beside the closet — three weapons, combination lock. My father knows about two of them. I find the thread at 3:12 a.m. A routing number. Buried six layers deep,

She pointed at different pieces of jewelry through the video call. “That one is not pretty. It looks too old‑fashioned. “I do not like that one either. Seriously, bro, what happened to your taste? Did living in the slums for three years ruin your sense of style?” Not a trace of anger appeared on Derrick’s face. He patiently asked the sales associate to bring out more pieces for her to choose from. Only after the girl finally smiled did he relax. “The ruby one is nice,” she said. “It is just a little small.

*** Ricky Ricky grunted. He rose up from the bushes after being thrown away by the skeleton. He grunted, while trying to stabilize his breath and to also hold the sharp pain coming from his ribs. Rather than backing away because his ribs were obviously broken, Ricky again assumed his fighting stance as he treaded carefully towards the skeletons. Slowly, a golden aura engulfed his fists, and with that, he landed another critical hit on one of the skeleton soldiers and it perished without any hint of regeneration.