Immortals Novels & Stories

Chapter 68: Godly Treasure. "So despicable," Ryan mumbled. "What is an immortal?" KuLaa asked. She already had an idea but preferred to get more explanation from Madam Su. She believed that Madam Su knew more than the texts she had read. In fact, most of what she had read and what Madam Su was saying were conflicting. "Immortal is a level of cultivation. Humans cultivate to become immortals and Immortals cultivate to become gods. Both immortals and Gods can't die of natural causes. Someone stronger than them is the only thing that can kill them."

“They fought him together. Valerius with fang and claw, blade and fury. And the Primarch, with everything magic had ever taught us. Their battle lasted days.” “And they won.” A breath leaves me in a rush. Relief surges in my chest—until Eleanor’s face hardens. “Or so they thought.” I go still. “They brought him down. His body torn. His power quiet. But then…” She shakes her head slowly. “He got back up.” A chill rips through my spine. “He was immortal. Not just long-lived—truly immortal. They would kill him—only for his body to reform, stronger, whole again. Valerius and the Primarch were powerful, but mortal. They could bleed. They could tire. He could not.”

Why did she give him power, immortality, strength beyond measure—but leave his soul to rot unloved? He rose from the throne slowly, the heavy black cape embroidered with ancient silver sigils trailing behind him like stormclouds. The guards snapped to attention, but he didn’t see them. Didn’t acknowledge them. His eyes were fixed on the balcony at the far end of the hall, where the night stretched on endlessly. Outside, the wind was cruel and sharp, slicing across the high cliffs where his fortress rested like a crow’s nest above the world. He gripped the stone railing, letting the chill bite his skin. It was better than feeling nothing.

I stumble forward as Adrien jerks the rope. “Actually,” Emerald holds up one finger, “they are called incarne. One out of every five-hundred immortals are born with these special gifts. Fun fact, the gifts tend to skip between one to four generations, but almost always stay within the family.” “Keep moving,” Adrien grumbles. Slowly, the dusty shops lessen, giving way to abandoned homes. I try not to stare at a pair of shoes strewn across the empty roadway as if someone ran right out of them.

She pressed her forehead to mine and whispered words I didn't understand at first. It was a ritual called 'The Soul Forge'. A ritual that could transfer immortality from one person to another. I felt it the moment it happened. Warmth flooded my body, burning away the poison, healing the wound. Power settled into my bones—ancient, terrible, eternal power. I gasped, my eyes flying open. "What did you do?" "I saved you," Annitore whispered. "You're immortal now, Owaine. Nothing can kill you." "No—you can't—" I grabbed her shoulders. "You have to take it back. I can't—"

Not a mark on me. I sat there for hours, staring at the horizon — a wasteland of melted earth and twisted steel. The sun rose again, as if mocking me for surviving what should have ended everything. My reflection in the glass wasn’t human anymore; my eyes had changed. There was something eternal behind them — not divine, not demonic — just… unending. That was the day I knew for certain — I would never die. And whatever task that voice promised me… it was gone. Centuries passed. I kept living, losing, searching.

“You’re still running your mouth even as your body is about to break? I can tell from this angle it won't be long before you die. Tell me, Drogo… you miss being immortal, don’t you?” My jaw ticks. “If you were still immortal, that poison would have no effect on you,” he says. “You’re wrong," I counter. "I don’t miss being immortal. Not with the price that came with it.” My breathing steadies after healing enough. “Those periods of time were replays of what your father did to me. They broke me every day until the goddess sent me mercy.” “I heard you cursed the moon goddess every night. And now you are taking her side?” he asks.

Beside her, the immortal stared up at the descending figures with an expression that was far too calm. “There are more than I expected,” he said. “More?” Seraphine snapped. “There are hundreds.” They fell from the sky like living comets. Tall figures wrapped in armor made of living light. Their bodies were not entirely solid shifting between matter and energy like beings only half anchored to reality. The Ancients. Not the hunters they had fought before. These were the real ones. The rulers of the forgotten immortal age. Seraphine felt the guardian power inside her stir violently.

’’ Before I could reply, he said ‘’ I see you’ve met THEM,’’ he stated, his voice turning into a whisper ‘’What?’’ ‘’You know, the immortals’’ he tilited, confused ‘’ The immortals?’’ ‘’ I’m guessing that you haven’t heard about them?’’ ‘’No’’ ‘’Well, you should stay away from them, unless you are one of those crazy about them’’ He said, rolling his eyes ''They might be rulers of their kingdoms, but I wouldn’t get involved with them; they are cursed,‘’ he whisphered

Especially when her pride was still stinging after being knocked out by this witch at the Royal Ball. “It seems like she is young. From the looks of the time she's taking to heal, the healer doubts that maybe she might haven’t frozen in her immortality yet.” At Mercy's answer, Vladimir rolled his eyes in disbelief. Immortals were extremely vulnerable before they froze into their immortality because they can be killed by fatal injuries in their early years. Most immortals froze into their immortality in their early or late twenties. Esmeray can’t be that young. She spoke and fought with such fearlessness and confidence that only