Of His Bones Ao3 Novels & Stories

Oh how much it had grown. Fall with me. I did. Over the edge of the balcony. Into the waters below. They frothed with Cronus' foam. I washed his bones until I was raw. My bloody hands painted them red. I laid him on the bank. The pieces of a god. His spirit lay still and reached into me, gently touching my heart. For an instant, I was his skeleton. He used my limbs to rise. The bone man followed my lead, exploring the world through my eyes.

My eyes flutter shut, and I bring my arms around him, slipping my hands under the black leather jacket he’s wearing. He’s not as cold as before but is more or less room temperature. It’s weird, but not off-putting. Not in the least. “Grinding up fresh bone into a powder.” He pulls back, one eyebrow raised. “I’m guessing this has something to do with the body you want me to dig up.” I nod. “It does.” Neither of us break apart. I slide one foot to the side, pulling him a little closer between my legs. “And you’re still not going to tell me what this is about?”

And now—now was the moment. He dropped to one knee as pain lanced through his spine, a blinding fire sweeping over his bones. Gasps echoed through the crowd as his body began to twist and glow, his skin shimmering with blue light. Bones cracked, limbs lengthened, fur burst forth in waves of thick, dark brown. Then, silence.

All that remained were his bones, eerily intact despite the destruction. From his bones sprouted a black fluid—the symbiote. It moved and enveloped his skeleton, regenerating his flesh. The fluid coursed through his nerves and internal organs before finally reforming his skin. All the while, the flames burned intensely, melting the ground beneath him. Suddenly, the weakened door burst open, barely hanging on its hinges. Bleak entered, armed to the teeth. Emily glanced at Hound, realizing he was still burning and unconscious. She grabbed a longsword from the nearby counter and stepped protectively in front of him.

Silas Vorn. The name alone was a ghost story whispered in the barracks—of a ruthless elder who drank the strength of the young and consorted with the forbidden arts of bone magic. He had been exiled before Lyra was born, his name struck from records, his crimes buried in shame. And yet here he stood, alive, composed, draped in red like royalty. Kael rose from the High Warden’s chair, arms spread as if greeting an old friend. “Lyra. You look well, considering you’ve been wandering ruins and playing politics with the dead.”

Tears rolled down Odessa’s eyes. “Keep your eyes open, I will have someone get the physician, and I promise I will be back with our Skylar,” Tristan said, making a pinky promise before he took off on his heel. I opened my eyes as my body became weak and I fell to the floor. I sighed happily when I saw that the wound on Tristan’s body was healed. “Lycan! Queen Aurora,” Tristan said as he broke the door, “What’s going on here?” Travis bent down, he placed his hand under Tristan’s nose, “Get the physician and his assistant, inform them, Queen Aurora and the Lycan are in serious condition.”

He looked a little older, and was in his thirties if not forties. He had unkempt hair and smelled like shit. His clothes were drenched in his own blood and he was clearly not allowed to heal. He had bruises all over, posssibly from the torture. Instantly, Aztec stood up from his seat, and carefully walked towards the man his people were bringing in. This guy here reminded him of his father so much that if Aztec hadn't been too keen, he could have thought his dad was back from the dead. The striking similarity was astonishing, but Aztec knew he had to focus.

Gale asked. He replied without hesitation, "Yes!" He loves her, and only her! Gale looked up at him and said, "Okay. Then Shawn, I want to take something from you. Can you give it to me?" Shawn nodded and agreed, "Yes! Gale, I'll give you whatever you want!" She smiled lightly. "I want your bone marrow." "Bone marrow?" "Yes. Why? Don't you want to?" Gale said. Shawn reached out and caressed her face. "What do you want it for? I thought... what you want is my heart."

Bones grinding audibly against each other, steps uneven and halting, as if he were relearning to walk on limbs that had been forcibly remade in some feverish, self-inflicted nightmare. His body had been twisted by Jade's experiments… skin stretched too tight over malformed muscles, veins bulging black under translucent flesh, eyes sunken into hollows that burned with a madness no sanity could reach. I’d wake up gasping, sheets tangled around me, convinced the scent of his decay still clung to my skin, to my soul.

The tension in Blackthorn Tower had become a living, breathing thing. By the middle of my third week, every interaction with Damien Blackthorn felt like walking a razor’s edge between professional survival and primal combustion. My glass desk outside his office was no longer just a workspace , it was ground zero for a war I was determined to win, even as my reborn body fought against me at every turn.