Insurgent นิยาย & เรื่องราว

The ecstacy was starting to get unbearable but we don't care as we are bent on driving each other knots till we are satisfied. Patrick has turned Emma's hole into his safe haven, home of ecstasy and land of bliss. intense Please have already coated his eyesight but his movement never got any slower but if anything it got faster and faster. Emma doesn't know what to do anymore, whether to gulp down because no matter how many times she swallows it decreases nothing, she doesn't know how to move her body to ease the intensity of the assaults, and even if she wants to, she couldn't, she can't open her mouth and use moans to tell the world her situation and predicament.

This time, the attackers didn’t just disable the vehicles. They left a message. Burned into the side of a cargo crate. NO SYSTEM OWNS US Vincent stood in front of it, jaw tight. “They’re not just stealing,” he said. “They’re declaring.” Jonas nodded. “Anti-system factions,” he said. “Not Coalition. Not charter.” Reiss exhaled slowly. “Then we’re fighting something worse.” Because these groups weren’t interested in control. They were rejecting it entirely. And that made them unpredictable. Lena arrived at the site just before dusk.

And within a week, five of the Circle’s inner sanctums were destroyed. Not by enemies. By her. She broadcast her message from the ruins of a fallen tower: “Maddox built us in cages. The Circle tried to chain us. But I was born free of both.” “Join me. Or fall like them.” Eira’s uprising began with the rogue clones — failed versions, discarded projects, cybernetic half-breeds who'd been living in exile. And when she marched them to Velgrave’s gates… She didn’t attack. She smiled.

perished in the explosion. "There is a man," Kaelen continued, his tone turning sharp. "A high-tier level Beastkin who has gone rogue. He is a dangerous outlier, a man with silver eyes who carries a contagion of rebellion. He is hiding in the Fringe, leaching off the resources meant for the hard-working citizens of this city. He is not a King; he is a stray. A ghost that refuses to die."

I shout, begging for information, doubled over in pain as my body continues its contractions, not caring about the fact that we’re suddenly, apparently, in a war zone. “The insurgents,” Sinclair growls, glancing over his shoulder. “Picked fucking tonight to push forward with their rebellion – god damn it –“ I glance over my shoulder as well, suddenly seeing a road block in the middle of the street with figures standing behind it, wearing masks and holding guns. “Humans?” I ask, desperate. “Who don’t want peace?” Sinclair nods sharply, spinning the car around the city’s center square. I look around suddenly – I hadn’t known where we were – my eyes fixing on the

I’m talking about a deep passionate hug. “Welcome brothers.” “Welcome sisters.” Pa Cayden was exempted, however. He had a tight frown on so that nobody dared touch him. They greeted us with hugs and smiles. And after it was over, they quizzed us again. “Where are you guys headed?” The interrogator Rogue asked. “Uhm…” it was me speaking and I was thinking fast. “We.. we are actually headed for the Lycan settlements,” I said. “Oh, you're for the Oust Resistance?”

“I think Lucia can explain it all. “Further plans—” their attention was returned to Lucia, who has been interrupted by the sudden entry of a man covered by blood. His face is red due to the blood oozing from his head. “The insurgency became worse. And the enemy has launched many surprise attacks all at once. At some part of the City, there is already a bloodbath. Dead human bodies are littered,” he immediately reported. “This is very alarming! We have to end this rebellion immediately before it will turn itself into a bloody war! We should plan an attack and terminate Hodor and his army for good!” Mario suggested angrily.

“Every rebellion needs a name.” “We’re not a rebellion,” I said. “Not yet.” “What would you call it then?” I looked at the documents spread across the table. Amon asleep on the bed, bleeding because he’d come to warn me. At Whitney planning recruitment like she was organizing a business venture instead of treason. At Fabian, a disgraced vampyre with nothing left to lose. “Insurance,” I said finally. “We’re insurance against the Houses winning.” “Poetic.” Fabian stood, stretching. “But I like Farseers better.”