Raphael As Shredder Novels & Stories

In no time she was done cleaning up the bottles. I screamed out in frustration as the image of Diana being rude to me in front of Grandma Audrey flashed through my mind. "I will make sure I crush you," I said angrily, demonstrating with my hands. Even the fraud crimes that were fabricated, aimed to get Raphael out of the picture, aren't progressing. I had thought that it would be hard for him to come out of it, but I was disappointed the day Marcel came back and told me Raphael was now the second-largest shareholder after Gramps.

He just wanted to make sure it was destroyed. I dived for the parchment at the same time. My fingers brushed the dry paper just as the Weaver’s gray hand closed over the other end. The fire flared up, a brilliant green flame that didn't feel hot...it felt freezing. "It’s mine!" the Weaver shrieked, his face contorting into something demonic. I pulled. He pulled. The map tore. A wave of energy exploded from the parchment, a shockwave that threw us both backward. I hit the crib again, my head spinning as the world went gray. I could hear my mother screaming and the sound of the Shadow-Weaver’s laughter as it faded into the distance.

I turned to look at the Shredder. But I didn't see a wall of light. Inside the Shredder, I saw a **Face**. It was a human face. A man with tired eyes, sitting in a dark room in the year 2026. He was looking at a screen, his finger hovering over the "Delete" key. He looked like me. He looked like Rowan. He looked like the Developer. He was the **Reader**. "Stop," I whispered, reaching out a hand made of static. "Don't delete us. We're real."

that's wasn't a dance. Then, the sound of the room was cut in half. Rrrrrip. The sound of tearing velvet was loud, like a bone snapping. Raphael’s hands, which had been flat and still on the couch, suddenly clenched. He didn't touch me, but his fingers finally won the fight against the furniture. He shredded the expensive fabric of the booth.

With a sudden, sharp motion, Raphael clenched his fist, and my fans were torn from my grasp, flying toward him as if drawn by an unseen force. I expected him to catch them, but instead, he unleashed a black fireball that struck the fans with incredible accuracy, shattering them into a hundred glittering fragments. Blades and shards of gold spun through the air, suspended for a moment in a deadly, whirling dance, before clattering to the ground between us.

“No, no, no—fuck you, Rayne!” With a scream that scraped my throat bloody, I tore the papers down the middle, shredding them with both hands like they were my own fucking heart. I didn’t stop at one rip. I kept going until my fingers ached and the pieces fluttered down around us like falling ash, like the death of everything we ever were. The torn pages scattered across the floor, raining around us like some sick joke—like confetti at a funeral. Rayne groaned, and the sound wasn’t sad. It wasn’t sympathetic. It was annoyed. Like I was a child acting out in the middle of the grocery store.

A low, mocking chuckle left my lips as I looked at the frantic handwriting at the bottom. "He really is desperate," I muttered, my voice dripping with pure amusement. Without a single shred of hesitation, I walked over to the electric shredder sitting in the corner of my office. I fed the thick, revised proposal straight into the machine. The loud, buzzing sound of the paper tearing into tiny, unreadable pieces filled the quiet room, a satisfying end to his early morning hustle.

Using the shredded cloth from one of the tables that had been destroyed he cleaned away the blood as best he could. The Guardian also used that time to put the....rage back in its place. To wrap it up tight and lock it away. He had to. Ezekiel didn't dare let it burn out or dissipate, because for a Shifter like him....a Reaver.....there was no end in sight. The rage was bottomless once unleashed. Luckily Ezekiel had more than enough to focus his attention on, besides the burning need to smash and growl. To Ezekiels immediate and all-consuming relief everyone had managed to survive the attack mostly unscathed.

“I’m listening, but I’m not sure I like what I’m hearing so I might cut you short and send you out soon.” He looked up at me and his eyes glistened with unshed tears. All of which were fake to me. He thinks that he could shed crocodile tears to move me? “I made terrible mistakes. I didn't know what came over me. Leaving you, choosing Kiara… I ruined everything good in my life. And now, I’m paying for it. Kiara and I are done. The relationship was toxic. She’s…” He explained to me before trailing off. Kendrick shook his head in shame. “It’s not what I thought it would be. I messed up.”

He opened the golden briefcase. It wasn't filled with papers or money. It was filled with **"Negative Narrative."** A swarm of black, needle-like shards erupted from the case, each one a "Plot-Hole" made manifest. They didn't fly through the air; they deleted the air they passed through, leaving trails of absolute nothingness behind them. "Silas, watch out!" I screamed. Silas lunged, his blades clashing against the shards. The sound wasn't metal on metal; it was the sound of a scream being cut short. Every time a shard touched his shadow, a piece of him vanished—not wounded, but **"Edited Out."**