Rift World Novels & Stories

Every few seconds, the ground shuddered and the sound of claws against soil, of something breaking through. When we reached the glade, I saw them. The Riftborn weren’t creatures so much as fractures in existence and humanoid silhouettes made of shadow and light, their forms flickering like smoke caught in a storm. Their eyes glowed hollow white. Every step they took bled the world around them gray. The wolves struck first. Gold and silver light clashed against shadow, a violent dance that painted the air with streaks of magic. I ducked as a Riftborn lunged, its claws slicing through a tree trunk like silk. Cael caught it mid-strike, his blade igniting in molten gold.

I yelled, my voice breaking. Alaric stood alongside me, his look one of gentle pleasure. "The Rift's favorite game is truth or agony. It recognizes you, Kyara. "It knows how to break you." "I won't let it," I spat, my voice trembling. "Brave words," he said, taking a step forward. "But bravery can only go you so far here. The Rift feeds on weakness, and whether you admit it or not, you have enough of it." I scowled at him, but the earth beneath me changed again, and the entire world swirled. I tripped, and when I glanced up, I was no longer in the vacuum.

I watched with bated breath as the Rejected tore their way nearer and nearer to the Rift, By the time they massacred their way into the middle of the battle, horsemen laid dead and torn to pieces all over the battlefield. I knew the invader were no match for the Rejected. How do you fight against a horde of fearless, angry and tireless werewolves whose only aim was to kill? I sucked in a shocked breath as the Rejected began to jump into the Rifts in large numbers. “If he knows what is good for him, he would close those damned Rifts,” Dominic muttered beside me. I watched in trepidation but the Rifts remained opened. “Perhaps we should encourage him,” Kieran said and as if on cue, two helicop

I insisted. For a moment, his mouth twitched. Not amusement exactly. Maybe approval that I pushed. “The wraith lands are worse than neutral territories,” Spiro explained. “Neutral paths may kill you because no law holds. Wraith lands may take you even if you survive.” I did not like the difference. Astrid’s voice came quieter. “Wraiths exist there?” Astrid asked. Spiro looked at her. “Yes,” he answered.

It didn't fall; it suspended itself in a Anti-Gravity Well at the center of the forest. "The Rules are simple," the White Wolf announced, his whistle glinting. "My Cyber-Pack vs. your Primal Six. If you can take the vial and bring it to the 'Physical Threshold' Rift, the boy lives. If we take it... the simulation is finalized, and you become the permanent prey of the White Wolf's private hunting ground." The Cyber-Wolves moved first. They didn't run; they Calculated. They moved in a "Swarm-Logic" pattern, their movements perfectly synchronized to cut off every exit.

Jacob’s POV The sky above the central tent had become a nightmare. A massive shadow portal hung open like a bleeding wound, raining down endless waves of shadow-armored wolves. They dropped from the violet rift, landing hard on the ground with snarls and the clash of dark armor. Every corner of the camp was now engaged. Portals kept tearing open faster than we could close them. Fires raged unchecked. The ground shook with the constant impact of new cursed beasts. The war had reached its biggest and most savage scale yet.

Chapter 29: Riding into Hell The hell rift tore open the eastern sky like a wound that refused to clot. Raven felt it before she saw it—a deep, unnatural vibration rolling through the earth, up through the black stallion’s hooves and into her bones. The air tasted of sulfur and scorched iron; the horizon bled crimson where the Widow’s Veil should have been quiet under dawn mist. Instead, a jagged vertical tear pulsed there, thirty feet high, edges flickering with molten light. Shapes moved on the other side—hulking silhouettes with too many limbs, eyes like furnace coals, war-hounds with jaws that dripped black flame.

At the center stood a young man, dusty from travel, his cloak torn and eyes bloodshot. He bowed low as Aria approached. “My name is Fenrik. I bring news from the Red Hills.” Gasps erupted across the room. “The Red Hills were destroyed during the rise of the Thirteenth,” Ressa said. “There was nothing left—no survivors.” Fenrik’s hands trembled. “That’s what we believed. But something else… something worse is happening there now.” Aria stepped closer. “Tell us everything.” “There’s a creature roaming the ashes. Not a man. Not a wolf. Something in between. Tall, covered in runes that pulse like veins. It speaks in dead tongues and walks like it’s… hunting. My people—they followed it into the c

“Lucifer—Fierro here! We found Sloth—he’s awake, but we’re surrounded! Rogues and wraiths—something’s pulling them straight from the Rift!” Static burned through the bond before Fierro seized control. “We need backup! Now!” Sloth lifted his gaze to the black sky above, where faint gold light flickered. Heaven stirring, Hell watching. The wraiths shrieked louder, their numbers growing by the hundreds. The grove trembled, roots cracking open, black mist flooding the trees. Fierro gritted his teeth and slammed his blade into the soil, channeling lunar fire through it. “Marion, hold the east line! Saillus, guard the barrier!”

“Surrender your pack. Kneel, and I will spare the children.” Raven tilted her head, Shadow pulsing around her. “You think fear will break me?” The Wraith’s smile was cold. “It always does.” Raven lifted her blade, letting Shadow slide along the steel, black flames licking along the edge. “We are Shadowstorm,” she said, voice low but clear. “And we don’t kneel.” Lightning cracked in Ragnar’s palm, a sharp scent of ozone filling the air. The Wraith’s smile vanished. “So be it.”