Poison Mist Ash Of War Novels & Stories

Sienna’s POV Asher is dying. The words kept repeating in my head, over and over the harder my feet pounded on the ground left between me and the antidote. Rogues had always used a specific poison on their arrows called Curare, a toxin derived from various plants. It caused paralysis very quickly, and there were few options when it came to antidotes. But Nightwind had come up with one, finally, after years of fighting against the poison. It was a fast acting antidote, though it only worked against a certain amount of curare.

She continued to blow more mist toward us. I didn't realize that the mist was highly acidic; it melts my hair instantly as soon as it made contact. My hair layer becomes thinner and thinner. Soon after, the poison entered the last barrier, which poisons Noah and me immediately. I feel immense pain scatter throughout my body and at the same time, I become paralyzed. As for Noah, his body slowly turns to violet… ***

Behind her came wolves of smoke, wraiths with bones of silver, and worst of all a mirror image of Aria herself. This version wore a crown of thorns and bled from her eyes. Her voice, when it spoke, was like a blade dragged across stone. “I am the version of you that broke,” she said. “And I am here to finish what you refused to do.” The Prophetess smiled, lifting her hands. “The Ash War begins now.” The skies split apart as storms crashed through the veil. The Ash Dream could no longer contain the power. The real world was bleeding in. Trees burst into flame. The earth groaned. Screams echoed across the sky.

“Don’t worry, it’s not toxic.” Looking around, I’m mortified. What I thought was snow, I realise painfully, is ash, stacked up around barren trunks, which lean and sway lazily a strangely sweet breeze. The leaves have been stained white by whatever plague ravished this land, whatever plague was meant for the war. I shiver. This plague could have been a weapon created many years ago, but yet the thought of it being intended for soldiers like my father have my stomach turning uneasily. “So if it’s not snow, what is it?” I ask, even though I already know.

If someone is drugged by monkshood, they will not be shifted for a long time. Aron flicked the cigarette ashes onto a tray of medicine on the side table before inhaling the smoke again. "I-Isn't it a poison?" I asked, lifting my gaze to look at him. He nodded his head. "It is the most dangerous poison ever used in war, the wolfbane," he said calmly. My eyes widened in shock. "W-Wolfbane? H-How did you get that scent?" I asked curiously, with shock. His brow furrowed as if he had not expected me to ask him this question.

The witches were gone, leaving nothing behind but charred patterns on the scorched earth. When the dust finally settled, the clearing was a graveyard of ash and smoke. Rhea stood in the center, her clothes in tatters, her skin glowing with a faint, dying silver light. She looked down at her hands, which were stained with the grey dust of the women she had just annihilated. POV: Ash Ryder Ash walked through the wreckage, his heart feeling like it had been shredded by a thousand silver blades. The smell of ozone and death was suffocating. He found Micah first, the boy miraculously alive but catatonic, staring at the space where the willow tree had been.

His eyes have turned blood shot, his face now fading into a deep redish-purple, the evil smile on my face the last thing he sees before he closes his pothetic eyes. Alex is leaning against my desk, the look of boardom on his face" man should of kept his mouth shut" he shrugs. Standing and walking away from the solider staining my rug. I hand him two peices of paper "Send word to gentral warren, tell him too burn it" "NO ONE GETS OUT ALIVE"! The power radiating off me has him bowing his in submition."Yes alpha" he says turning to deliver the message. "and alex... bring me a file of everyone on that list" he stops stort the look of confusion on his face as he looks the list over."Servant file

I hadn’t washed it yet. However, when I examined the collar, my fingers paused. The button was loose. The thread looked new, like it had been forcibly pulled. I crouched down and opened the shoe cabinet. My pair of hospital slippers sat neatly inside. The soles were clean. I remembered clearly that the last time I wore them, there had been a faint yellowish stain from disinfectant. Now, the soles were gray-white, as if someone had deliberately scrubbed them clean. My breathing tightened slightly, but my expression didn’t change.