Out Of The Fog นิยาย & เรื่องราว

The woman said. Miranda turned all around but saw nothing but trees and grey, blinding fog. She looked up, and the sky appeared strange. The moon was there, but it wasn't shining. The sun was also there. It was grey, as if it's light had been sucked out or doused by the dense clouds which moved from the heavens and down towards the treetops, and to the ground where it weaved between the thick trunks of the pines which surrounded her. Miranda's skin filled with goosebumps and yet it wasn't cold. Her throat was dry and scratchy, her tongue bitter.

he smiled sadly to himself Fog is dangerous. Ragnahad doesn't doubt it. It goes along a long ridge between two huge peaks and the road is a dirt road. In some places the speed was so high that there was a risk of falling under your feet. Often Ragnar did not know the depth of the railings near the bells. She just knew she didn't want to fall in love with him and test him. Before falling to a fog-shrouded fate, he set his foot in the void. Ragnar, who had turned the tip of a handmade spear into a staff, tested the path and skidded over it. He wasn't sure if he was going in the right direction, but he was sure he had to move on.

Chris and Elliott are whispering about something and Ilsa’s further out, keeping watch like she doesn’t trust the shadows. I blink once and they’re gone. Fog curls in between the trees like it’s alive. Thick, silver-gray, coiling low and fast. It moves with purpose. Between my legs, over my boots, wrapping around my thighs. The kind of fog that doesn’t feel wet but clings. Like breath. Like fingers. “Scarlett?” I call out, but there’s no answer. I spin in a circle, eyes straining to see. The fog thickens. The trees stretch taller. The light dies faster than it should.

The cold wind biting at her wet skin caused every cell in her body to tremble. After multiple retakes due to errors, Melanie remained in the freezing water for far too long. Her limbs grew weak, her forehead burned with fever, and her vision blurred. Before losing consciousness, she caught a glimpse of Ken and Jennifer kissing each other affectionately beneath a sycamore tree. How ironic. Melanie was hospitalized with a high fever and passed out, remaining there from the 27th to the 29th. For three days, Ken didn't visit her at all—not even once.

I hear light coughs from behind me and move, having my foot crunch over something. “What the heck? Ew, it stinks in here. Is this some sort of exhumed graveyard or something?” Kitra complains as I keep trying to see through this thick curtain to no avail. I jerk my head back, “Uh guys, got any ideas how we make it out of here? I can’t see a thing other than this pervading fog”. “Gimme a second” I hear Welma’s voice and hum, darting my eyes around but this fog seems to go on forever. Something prickles my back and I turn around to see a fiery ball of fire afloat above Welma’s palm.

Lord Casaain Voss: I staggered out of the fog, the mist clawing at my clothes like desperate fingers trying to pull me back into the swamp's embrace. My boots squelched in the mud, each step heavier than the last, my body screaming from the wounds that were already knitting themselves closed. The air was thicker here at the edge, where the marshes met the clearing—a mix of rot and fresh blood. And there they were: my guards, or what was left of them. Scattered like broken dolls across the ground.

I felt my heart pounding in my chest as I raced through the dark expanse of the forest. I ran until my legs felt weak and was unable to continue. I didn't know what I was running from but I knew from what my gut was telling me that it was bad. I looked behind me only to see the shadowy figure of death. The shape outlined that of a wolf. Its' features were unknown but I knew that it was here for me. Was I dreaming? I asked myself as I gazed at the figure.I slapped my face, hoping that it would help wake me up but I was wrong.

The black fog is not touching me, it keeps on moving out of my way, only giving me two meters of sight all around me. It feels like the eyes are the gof though.

The wave of psychic energy rolled out from me. The gardener raising his shears lowered them. He blinked confusedly. The noble woman running toward us with a broken wine glass slowed to a walk. Then she stopped. She yawned. "It's working," Barzil said. He looked at the dazed crowd. "Keep moving!" We ran. We trampled prize-winning orchids. We vaulted over marble benches. We were a dark, bloody scar moving across the pristine face of the city. My head throbbed. Holding the Fog against so many minds was like holding back a tide. Blood began to trickle from my nose again. It joined the dried crust from the transport.

It was as if the thick fog was holding me in place, not allowing me to move an inch. As I tried to wiggle my way out of the fog, I suddenly heard a guttural growl that shattered the silence, sending icy shivers down my spine. Slowly, I turned around, my heart pounding against my ribcage. Through the mist, I saw a monstrous figure emerging, its form becoming clearer with each step it took towards me. Instant fear gripped my bones. I knew I had to get out of here, whatever it was.