Iron Flame Extra Chapters Novels & Stories

Chapter 172 is the fire that burns in the dark, steady, unyielding, and impossible to extinguish. ​Julian tightened the last bolt on the frame with a sharp, resonant CLICK. Yusuf heaved the oilcloth crate onto his shoulder to meet the morning couriers, and Ibrahim stood beside the table as the first light of day filtered through the frost-rimmed grate. ​The press creaked, the chalk marked the slate, and the fire spread onward into the fog. ​Where would you like to take Chapter 173 next?

When they finally crawled ashore, Owen looked at me pitifully and asked if I remembered anything. When I shook my head, disappointment filled his eyes. Still, he said, "It's okay. I'll keep trying to help you remember." He brought me roses every day, saying that they were my favorite flowers. But I didn't care. The sight of that bright red color only made me feel disgusted. He also brought me an embroidered wedding dress, saying that it was a gift from my mentor. Apparently, I had worn it for him once before, and he had been completely captivated.

The Ghostwriter looked up at the white line high above, smiling sadly. “I didn’t write the title of Chapter 100,” he said. “Nobody did. The Author left it blank on purpose. She said only the characters could decide what the final page is called.” Suddenly, the giant Eye swung its red light toward the book. “Found you,” the machine voice hissed. The book started burning at the edges. “Listen!” the Ghostwriter yelled over the crackling flames. “I can send you to the 100th chapter now. But there’s a catch. To get there, you have to skip Chapters 61 to 99.”

The light pulsed once, then again, brighter each time, until silver flames began to rise slowly around me. Malakar stopped chanting mid-word, his red eyes narrowing in disbelief. “No,” he whispered, taking a step back. “That’s not possible. I took your power—” I ignored him. My breath came out ragged and fast as the flames spread, swirling up from the stone table like ribbons of light. The heat was intense, but it didn’t burn me—it felt like coming home. The sound of the flames filled the room, and the air crackled with energy.

Flames A Rare kind of witches, extinct. The last Flames were burned down by common witches for the crime of being unique. Flames powers consist of Fire. Manipulating fire, imagining it, using it for one's need, and lastly illusions. Flames and Werewolves are the only supernaturals that can coexist without feeling a need to be at war with each other. There have come a time where a werewolf mate had to be a flame and the flame had to have an "Ignis" ( a soulmate ), they called him ignis because the wolves ignited the flames' fire. Just like the wolves, the Flames tend to have a short temper. When the werewolves started becoming extinct, the flames lashed out on families, friends, and mainly on

I say through gritted teeth. Good thing, Brixtius's house is rich enough to import ice that was already set out on the table. I had the foresight to grab a handful of ice out of the cup and place it immediately on my first-degree burns, forming on my lap. That was only the beginning of my torment from Corina. The next course came out. A different servant was carrying a tray of little salad dishes, and my salad was literally tossed onto my head. The room was silent except for the apologies bumbling out the servant's mouth.

Lyra and Darius screamed in unison, voices merging into one pathetic wail. Dark liquid splattered across the dirt like spilled ink—harmless now that the container was broken. They looked absolutely horrified, as if I had just smashed their last lifeline. I ignored them completely. I lifted my hand, palm facing the broken pieces. Heat curled around my fingers—warm, familiar, powerful. Silver flames bloomed from my skin like living fire, sweeping down in a controlled wave toward the shattered vial. The world lit up in silver. The flames devoured the remnants, burning hot enough to warp the dirt beneath it, leaving nothing but melted ash and scorched earth behind.

The air around her shifted, the temperature dropping as if someone had opened a door to winter. Lyra’s breath caught. “No…” Ember snarled inside her. ‘The witch.’ Lyra spun, scanning the hallway, but there was nothing. No figure. No movement. Just the lingering cold, the faint scent of frost and rot drifting through the corridor like a whisper. A voice brushed her mind. “Little flame…” Lyra staggered back, her hand flying to her head. “Get out!” The whisper curled around her like smoke. “You bound yourself to him. How sweet. How foolish.”

Atlas retorted through gritted teeth. However, the firefighters would not let him go closer, and his heart-wrenching screams echoed throughout the villa. "Get out of the way! Let go of me! Naomi! Naomi!" Suddenly, a massive explosion came from the villa. The beams holding it up snapped and collapsed. In that instant, Atlas disregarded everything and pushed the firefighters aside with all his might. "Mr. Payne!" Someone yelled as burning-hot air rushed toward Atlas. Childhood memories flooded Atlas with terror, making it impossible for him to move. However, the thought of Naomi suffering terribly in the fire made it impossible for him to stay put. He covered his nose and screamed Naomi's name

Hell never stayed the same long enough to get bored. Which was good. Kaelith hated being bored. The ground beneath him cracked open again with a loud, satisfying snap, spilling molten fire upward like it had something to prove. A creature with too many limbs crawled out of it, shrieking like it had just discovered existence and already regretted it. Kaelith glanced at it. “Yeah, same,” he muttered. The creature lunged at him. He did not move at first. He let it get close. Very close. Close enough that it thought it had a chance.