Incorruptible Book Novels & Stories

"One forged through corruption. Through suffering. Through falling so completely that the fall itself becomes foundation." Through integrated corruption, our Marcus stood perfectly still as the architecture of his entire existence rearranged itself. "You weren't corrupted because you were weak, or unlucky, or chosen at random," Pure Marcus said, each word placed with the precision of someone delivering truth that would reshape everything it touched. "You were corrupted because the treaty *needed* you corrupted. Your fall wasn't failure—it was *function*. Every moment of darkness, every compromise, every violation you absorbed and integrated—it was all necessary. All *designed*."

He was not to come back this early! Daniel turned her to him, her back pressed against the wall of books while she kept looking at the floor out of embarrassment. The juxtaposition of her innocence with the content she had been reading stirred something potent within him. Being not able to detain himself any more, Daniel held her up in his arms. Bringing her to the centre of the room from those fancy book aisles, he put her on his desk and rested both of his hands on either side of her disquiet body.

"What is this? This estate is under Moretti protection. You don’t bring Lombardi steel into my territory." "It’s not steel, Roman," Angeline said, walking toward the crates. She reached down and flipped the heavy latches. Inside weren't just guns. There were servers, encrypted tablets, and folders thick with Intel—names, dates, and ledgers of the La Cosa Nostra business that even Roman hadn't seen yet. "My father didn't just give you a wife," she said, pulling a file from the top. "He gave you a Trojan Horse. He thinks I’m here to report back to him. He thinks I’m his eyes inside your house."

She bypassed one screen, then another, then a third, but each time she got close, more red warnings burst across the display. Fragments of video glitched into blackness. Documents opened in broken symbols. Entire folders screamed access denied before crashing. For a while, neither of us spoke. Then Inara leaned back slowly and laughed. It was low, cold and absolutely not amused. “These sons of bitches,” she muttered. My stomach sank. “Bad?” “Bad?” She glanced at me with a dark grin that held no humor. “Babe, this isn’t just corrupted. This is a professional burial. Someone didn’t damage these files by accident. They carved them up, salted the grave and then built a church over it.”

“I know you write about girls who beg to be taken. Who want to be used. Fucked. Ruined…. raped!! I read that chapter so many times I lost count… the one where the man takes her even when she pretends to fight. You can’t lie and say you don’t know some girls crave that.” He was visibly taken aback, his body tensing under my touch. I could sense that he was surprised that I read his books. He probably still saw me as the innocent young girl he once knew. “Aby…” he warned, his voice rough. But I didn’t stop. I leaned in and kissed him hard, my tongue slipping into his mouth. He could definitely taste the alcohol on me — whiskey and desperation. I moaned softly into the kiss, rubbing my palm mor

Hopping the answer would be yes, I flipped to the introduction, the much-needed hope fluttering in my chest as I read. “From their temple origins to their violent renaissance in the Bloody War that birthed Henosis, Crowns of Shame have a complex past mixed with hope and cruelty alike. Despite its variety of intents and shapes, one thing remains the same throughout its history: the scar-tissue that defines it.” I flipped through the book, deterred by the word “scar-tissue”. I stopped at a page with a grotesque image of a man on his knees as someone carved a line across his forehead.

He knew Oreon was too far gone to listen. Kornel simply walked to the other side of the massive bookshelf and began pulling books down, searching with the same desperate intensity as his Alpha. Oreon ignored him. He ignored the Gamma who had betrayed him to save an assassin. He focused only on the leather spines. "History of the Northern Wars... no. Treatise on Economy... no." He threw them. The room was filling with the debris of knowledge. "You are hysterical," Abram sneered, regaining some of his composure now that Oreon’s back was turned. "You are proving the Council right, nephew. You are unstable. Tearing apart your own home because a criminal lied to you?"

On the Nuns seat, Nun Ruth is part of the front seaters, too. She tried, hard. She tried very hard to not stare at Tobias, but there's no stopping it cos he's right in front of hers anyways. He's talking, giving holy counselling like he's not a God of Ruin. Like he's not the most unhinged man existing in this world. Like he's not a sinner. Like he's not Satan himself—Satan on the alter. She wrapped her palms on her garment, knotting hard. She planned to stay off the sins of the world, that's why she came here, but now the sin she ran from is in here to torment her again.

She tossed the rubbish into a basket at her feet and flipped through a couple of open books curiously. “The Holy Inquisition,” she read the title of one of the works. “Heavy,” she took the book and put it down. - So, what do we have? "The Powers of the Elemental Witches," an entertaining read. She opened it about half way through and ran her eyes over the yellowish sheets. “Pffff, what idiot wrote that? If you read, so the Great Flood is our work.

The dreaded King Daniel of the Darke stood in front of the stained-glass window in the castle library with his hands clasped behind his back as Imara started to appear from the mist. Unlike every other witch he’d ever encountered, Imara’s mist glowed white and gold like a cloud on a sunny day. There were no white lighters left in the Realm, or at least they kept their existence hidden away. Daniel’s deep dark eyes weren’t used to her shine and he needed a few moments to adjust to her brilliance.