Sans Bones Novels & Stories

The creatures’ bodies tensed, their clothes rippling under the force, but the most disturbing part wasn’t the punishment. As the whip tore through their clothing, the creatures' skeletal bodies were revealed. Beneath the torn fabric, their bones were exposed, stark white under the dying light. No blood. No wounds. Just bones. I trembled, my breath catching in my throat as the sight hit me like a wave of nausea. This wasn’t a normal world. These weren’t normal people. The whip left deep marks on their bones, but there were no cuts, no screams—only cold, silent skeletons.

Here, stripped to the waist, he was a masterpiece of violence. His skin was bronzed and gleaming with a sheen of sweat. His chest was broad, a landscape of rippling muscle defined by deep valleys and ridges. Scars crisscrossed his torso—some old and white, others pink and new—telling a story of a life lived in combat. His dark hair hung loose around his face, wild and tangled. He wore only a pair of loose, rough-spun pants slung dangerously low on his hips, the V of his pelvic muscles disappearing into the waistband.

Silence. The kind that lived beneath the bones of creation. Avery’s breath came out in shallow bursts, fogging the cold air of a place that should not have existed. The wasteland stretched endlessly before her — a landscape of ash and bleached bone under a bruised, unmoving sky. The air pulsed faintly, not wind but heartbeat, the rhythmic thrum of something immense buried beneath the surface. The Vein’s glow was gone. No golden threads, no shimmering light — only the faint silver hue bleeding from her skin, from the tether etched across her chest.

“At least then I wouldn’t have to see myself reduced to this. I wouldn’t have to wake up every day and look down and realize my legs don’t work, and I wouldn’t have to live with the possibility that they might never work again.” Donald inhaled sharply. “I understand where you’re coming from, but…” “Don’t! Don’t you dare try to act like you understand what I’m going through,” I cut him off harshly, staring at him deeply. “You suffered a few injuries that will heal in days while my legs were crushed, Donald. The only reason they look fine now is because of surgery, and because my flesh and skin regenerated. But my bones?” I laughed bitterly. “They refused to reform and you know our wounds heal

The scout struggled for breath. "Nobody knows." Not a reassuring answer. "The ground is moving." Nobody liked that either. Lucien pinched the bridge of his nose. "Wonderful. Ancient monsters, magical crowns, and now moving mountains." "You're coping poorly," Cassian observed. "I'm coping exactly as expected." The argument ended abruptly. The Bone Crown suddenly burned. Not warmth. Not discomfort. Pain. White-hot pain. Lyra cried out. Her knees hit the snow. A scream tore through her skull.

The man standing in front of him was far more beautiful and alluring than he had imagined him to be. It was lingerie. A seducing, see through lingerie. Reaching just at his hip bone. Not even at his thigh. Just as Cyrus wanted it to be. Noodle straps and closed with just a silk ribbon. He gulped hard to look down at the panties. Strapped with beads. Pearl beads shimmering in dim lights as Denzel shifted on other foot. The front was hardly covering the bulge prominent through the silk fabric. And the back...

Half an hour later, Bryson came out half naked, only his back to his chest was wrapped in a circle of gauze, one of his side bones was fractured, it could not be considered as serious, and had already been treated, and was only waiting for it to heal. In the sickroom, with Diya's help, Betty took off her costume and took off her hairband. She sat in front of the bed and looked at the man who was half—sitting on it.

I would come back to him. Julian rose to his feet, swaying. He stumbled to the corner and wrapped both hands around the heavy steel pipe. He closed his eyes. All he could see was me carrying him through the rain. He clenched his jaw, raised the pipe high above his head, and swung it down with every ounce of strength left in his body -- straight into his own left kneecap. *CRACK.* The sickening, brittle snap of shattering bone echoed through the tiny basement. Blinding pain ripped through his entire body. His kneecap was smashed to pieces. His lower leg twisted at a grotesque, unnatural angle.

It wasn’t intact but rather partial; Brad could make out one eye socket and the nose hole, and on one side it curved down into part of the jaw bone. A human skull. U The click-clack of Brad’s fingers striking the keys filled the office, the sound of a dozen pygmy horses galloping. Every so often, the horses would rest, and Brad would stare at the glowing screen, wringing his hands together and murmuring to himself. Then his hands would dive back down and the galloping recommence. He’d been working for over two hours now, the story flowing out of him like sweat. Some kind of wall had been torn down, and he was on a real streak.

He'd obviously already cleaned them and was almost finished. Hail Mary, but he'd taken off his shirt. Sweat gleaned on his dark skin as muscles rippled and corded tendons strained. His jeans were hung low on his narrow hips and his black Stetson shadowed most of his face. He moved with fluid grace, the perfect symmetry of sinew and bone at work. She wanted her camera so badly her fingers itched, but she'd left it in the truck. Bones noticed her first and trotted over. She petted his soft ears and glanced at Nakos. "I brought you a sandwich."