Remnant Black Novels & Stories

Gam muttered, a scowl settling on his face. "Snap out of it." Timothy had no patience for fragile egos. He’d expected the tech-head to be a weak link, but he needed a soldier, not a martyr. "You’re good, but I could have cracked your home security in two minutes. Lity had an inside track." "And yet, that tracker in your neck is still live." Timothy gave a cold, sharp grin. "That’s different. Kan Nelblack helped design that. He’s a paranoid bastard, and he’s stronger than he looks. His influence is the only reason I’m still standing."

"The 'power' is what it wants, Liam. Every time you use your resonance, you’re feeding it. It’s like trying to put out a fire with gasoline. If we’re going to survive this, we have to find the 'Muting' protocol." ​We reached the base of the Black Mountain ruins an hour later. The once-grand fortress was a skeleton of scorched stone and twisted metal. The silence here was different—it wasn't the eerie "tuning" of the quad, but a heavy, historical silence. The ghosts of the Tundra and the Fire were still here, buried under the rubble. ​As we stepped out of the car, the ground didn't ripple. It went perfectly, unnaturally flat. The grass turned to a fine, white powder under my boots.

King Remine was dangerous, with what he had just done to Prince Mangus, she feared the absolute worst for Prince Callum's life. They fought on and King Remine held his own; he was vomiting black blood just a minute ago but the way he fought was like he couldn't be more fit. He really was a powerful creation. He was deteriorating with every minute that went by but still he fought like he had all the energy in the world.

"Boss. The Remnant Fleet is not responding. Their transponders went dark approximately fourteen hours ago. All nine hundred and thirty-seven vessels." The room went cold. Ben Carter, who had been reviewing Infinite Market transaction reports from his workstation, set down his stylus. His vampire features sharpened with the predatory focus of a man who had survived cosmic bankruptcy, financial warfare, and being drained of blood by interdimensional entities, and had developed an acute sense for when the next catastrophe was loading its chamber. "Nine hundred and thirty-seven warships do not go dark simultaneously by accident," Ben said. "No," Jack agreed. "They do not."

"We’re stranded on the mainland, Papa. For the first time in eighty years, we’re on the wrong side of the water." ​The Scavenger's remnant ​From the ruins of a collapsed observation tower behind them, a rhythmic tapping emerged. ​Clack. Clack. Clack. ​Kael spun around, his hand moving to the hilt of his weathered blade. Out of the dust stepped a group of figures that looked neither like Salt-Bloods nor Bloom-Kin. They were thin, their bodies covered in grey rags and patches of rusted lead-foil. ​They were the Remnant—the descendants of the Sunderers who had refused to join the Synthesis, living in the deep cracks of the city for generations.

"Built during the first century after the Collapse. The Council sealed it off when they consolidated power, but the resistance kept it operational." People moved through the shadows—dozens of them, dressed in simple clothing that bore little resemblance to the clinical uniforms of the medical staff. When they saw us, a ripple of whispers spread through the crowd. "It's them." "The Prince and his chosen." "They've finally broken free." An older woman approached, her weathered face marked with intricate tattoos that seemed to shift in the low light. "Welcome to the Remnant," she said, her voice carrying the weight of authority. "I'm Sera, Keeper of Stories."

"Do you hear how absurd you sound? Isn't Andrea too delicate for IVF? Or is the mortgage crushing you now? Cruise ship losing its sparkle? You need me as bait to keep him hooked?" The bank's collection calls had clued me in. Steven had been quietly footing their house payments for years. They'd never relinquish such a lucrative catch willingly. Genuine remorse would never be in these self-serving souls. Turning to Steven's ashen face, I said, "Modern medicine is a marvel. Get your issue sorted by pros. I'm no miracle worker." Brent jabbed a finger at me, his chest heaving. Blood drained from his face, and he looked as if he'd collapse in the next second.

Inside, packed in grease and foam, lay rows of matte black steel. Victor stepped up and hefted a rifle. It had that heavy, purposeful weight. He wiped the packing grease from the receiver and cycled the bolt. Clack-clack. The sound of a final decision. "Full auto," Kamden said, taking a pull from a silver flask. "Armor-piercing rounds in the green crates. You asked for absolute damage. This is the bill." "The anti-vehicle stuff?" Kamden gestured toward the cab. "RPG-7s. Real deal, not surplus junk. They’ll open an armored SUV like a tin can and breathe through concrete."

Images flickered behind my eyes, the first moon forged from the bones of dying gods, the First Alpha walking through fields of blood, Kaelus, kneeling in the ruins, reaching for something he shouldn’t have touched. And then—darkness. A pit beneath the Citadel, filled with something alive. Something waiting. "The gods are not your enemy," the Remnant said. "The one beneath is." Cassian shouted over the roar, "Then what the hell is beneath us?" The Remnant’s form flickered, its light dimming. "The first hunger." And then, like breath snuffed from flame, it vanished—collapsing into a rain of molten gold that hissed as it struck the earth.

His eyes shone crimson in the dim light. “I was wondering when the tribe would remember its own history.” I was now on my guard, “Who are you?” He smirked, “You may call me what your ancestors did.” Then, he finally stepped fully into the glow. “The Remnant.” Jessica and I were ready for a battle, but he only said, “Beware! If Sheila regains her memories, she will have to be sacrificed to restart the seal!”