Phantom Wraith Novels & Stories

I had to find something I could do to make money that I could be discrete enough to accomplish without drawing the attention of the massive amount of people I managed to successfully piss off by means of killing the under-lord, Christian. That led to my current livelihood of being an assassin. I started out with nothing more than the knife that killed my mother, Christian’s belt and sheath, and my rags cut, sewed, and repurposed into a disguise to hide my hair and face. I was sloppy in the beginning, and it was a wonder I’d never been caught. As the years passed, I became the most efficient, deadly, mysterious, and untraceable assassin. I entered unseen, killed in silence, and vanished witho

And standing guard around the edge of the black pool were the True King’s personal wardens. They were not standard Husks. They were four elite Shadow Wraiths entities composed entirely of dark smoke and ragged, freezing cloaks. They had no faces, only glowing, abyssal black voids beneath their hoods. They floated inches above the ice, holding long, wicked scythes forged from the same corrupted obsidian as the heart above them. I pulled myself back behind the archway, pressing my back flat against the freezing ice wall, my heart hammering a frantic rhythm against my ribs.

"We just want to be prepared. Know what we're in for." He sighs and runs a hand through his short dark hair. Then he seems to pull himself together and nods his head. " Well, first off, he's a legend for a reason. The worst of the worst. All he cares about is blood." "Blood?" I ask, confused. He nods. "All Thantos cares about is blood. His pack is solely made up of pureblooded, born, wolves." "Wait, I thought he took in all the wolves that bowed down to him twenty years ago. That must've included made wolves."

said Eirian with a yawn. “Already?!” Dorin asked, surprised. “Well, at least you finally got your phasma core.” “A phasma core?” Dorin asked again. “A thunder god’s phasma core,” Pan Phineas explained. “Since our element has such destructive power, it has been a Heilig tradition to keep our phasma in a cradle or core where it can sleep until we need its power.”

He didn’t yet know who the enemy was—or how close they had come—but the warning was clear and sharp. Back inside, Rashel’s fingers hovered above the keyboard as a chill ran down her spine. The door to her workspace creaked open with a whisper, and a shadow slipped inside, silent as smoke. The Wraith. The figure moved as fluidly as wind, footsteps muffled by leather soles and practiced grace. His mask was featureless, the shape of a wolf’s muzzle rendered in matte black, and his expression unreadable. In his gloved hands, a blade gleamed cold under the faint light.

Then, she sighed, a long, drawn-out breath that seemed to carry all the weight of the knowledge she was about to share. “A wraith is the result of a death left unfinished, unresolved,” Alice began, her voice soft but tinged with something dark. “It’s a spirit, yes, but not the kind you might think. It’s not a simple ghost. A wraith is born from agony—pure, uncontrollable anger and resentment. When someone dies in such a way, with so much hatred and pain in their heart, they don’t just fade away. They linger. They transform into something... else.”

The Wraith was a tangle of blinding, white-hot electricity, and it began to claw through the Void-Glass, seeking the Thorne energy inside. ​“Void-shadows won’t work on it!” Ryker yelled, his aura flickering as he tried to strike the creature, only for his smoke to be vaporized by the creature’s heat. ​The Wraith broke through, a screeching, static-filled terror that lunged straight for Silas.

The witches closed in, their laughter echoing like a chorus of nightmares. Something inside Aqua snapped. A surge of dark energy, unfamiliar and terrifying, welled up within her. She felt her pendant grow hot against her skin, the clear crystal turning black as smoke. The air around her crackled with raw power as she turned back towards the attackers, her fear morphing into a blinding rage.

Humans may not be as powerful as the immortals, but their sheer numbers would be impossible to defeat. "We're asking you to begin collecting your own army. Track Lycaon and clean up the messes he's bound to make. Dwindle his numbers until you're confident you can defeat him. Then bind him with silver and bring him to us. He draws most of his power from the wolves bound to him, so each kill will weaken him," said the balding vampire. "We agree to provide you with all the resources you need," the strawberry-blonde added. "Right now, most of the loyal guards have been dispatched in similar missions," she said, nodding slightly at Empusa, then Sekhmet, indicating the two former guards now standi

Everything I had tried to bury, everything the Rift had sensed and stored over the centuries, coalescing into one dark, watchful pulse. A sudden shift in the shadows drew my eyes. The Wraiths appeared, not in swarms this time but individually, tall and thin with translucent bodies that bent the light of the silver veins into fractured specters. Their eyes glowed faintly, observing, judging, waiting. “Do not falter,” Cael whispered. “They feel fear. They feed on hesitation.” I took a step forward, feeling Auren’s hand on my lower back, steadying, urging. Cael’s gaze bore into mine, molten silver, burning away the remnants of doubt. Together, we approached the pedestal.