Scorched 소설 & 이야기

Hard pass. As I towel off, something catches my eye in the mirror, and my heart drops into my stomach. My back. I freeze, the air turning thick and heavy, like I’m suddenly trying to breathe underwater. My hands shake as I stare at what used to be my back, its now a ruined mess of angry red ridges and thick, ropey scars crisscrossing like a roadmap to hell.

I can't do anything, but watch everyone get eaten by the fire. "Fuck you." "I'm sorry," he softly said, his voice has a trace of sadness and worries, but I'm in pain to notice his words, the next thing I knew is getting myself eaten by darkness. "I'll look for you, I promise..." it's the last word I muttered until I lost my consciousness. "Darling, You'll thank me for this."

' He poured himself another glass of scotch, his other hand running atop of his slicked hair. Christian's manhood hardened, his hands itching to feel her skin yet again. He whispered to himself after sipping the burning liquid, eyes fixed on the wall. I will find you, even if I have to turn the entire fucking city upside down.

“I HAVE THEM! I HAVE THEM!” The voice isn’t familiar. It grates through me, however, igniting a sharp pain in my back that threatens to split my spine. Suddenly, the light is too much. The pain ebbs before exploding with heat. Searing, blistering heat. The smell of scorched meat. My skin. I’m–I’m burned– My breath comes in a rattling whoosh as hands reach for me, and I’m lifted, naked, into the sunlight, through feet of rubble.

Even when I did, the scenery up front did nothing but anger me the more. Fuck. I allowed a string of curses slide past my lips as I went down the stairs that connected the porch to the garden. I'd exited the dining room with the hopes of going somewhere else to cool off, but now that I was here, the garden only seemed to stoke the fire that was already burning bright inside me. It wasn't the garden. It was the memory attached to it. I wiped my face with my palm as I fought over the control of my mind. No matter how hard I tried to suppress it, I only found the memory climbing back up with more intensity than I was using to push it back down.

The ground was scorching, and I tried to get up, but my back was broken, and I could not move. I could only watch as the sun cooked me. That kind of terror, most people could not handle it. Then, to make things worse, I saw Gavin and Jennifer eat me like I was a dried-up roast lamb. Snapping out of it, I realized my back was drenched. I put down my chips and gulped down a bottle of Earl Grey tea to calm down.

"Don, the knife work was lethal. If you'd truly meant to kill me, I wouldn't be here breathing." A flicker of madness in Wade's eyes froze for a split second before he erupted into a wild laugh. His laughter twisted the scars on his face into something even more sinister. Out of nowhere, he lunged and clamped down on my wrist. His grip was so strong I thought my bones might snap as he tried to shake me off. However, the moment his fingers brushed the inside of my wrist, he froze. There, an ugly burn scar marred my skin. It was an old wound, shaped like a scorched butterfly.

The aftermath of the Inquisitors’ initial descent was not a scene of victory but a landscape of shimmering, violet wreckage. The beams of moonlight that had incinerated the North Tower left a residual ozone smell in the air, thick and metallic, mingling with the scent of wet pine. Silas Blackwood stood in the center of the scorched courtyard, his breath coming in jagged, white plumes. His gold-and-sapphire skin was still pulsing with the rhythm of the battle, but the fire in his eyes had been replaced by a hollow, aching clarity.

He engaged the magnetic bipod, locking it onto the rusted railing of the fire escape, and peered through the high-powered thermal scope. The digital crosshairs zoomed in on the plaza. Behind the barricades of crushed cars and steel shipping containers, the Scourge horde waited. Through the game's 100% graphical filter, they looked like a terrifying swarm of alien monstrosities. Jagged, chitinous armor. Glowing, hostile red eyes. They were huddled together in the pouring rain, holding crude, glowing alien staves and makeshift energy shields. "What's wrong with their pathing?" Ren asked, keeping his crosshairs trained on the largest Scourge Brute in the center.

“You smell good.” Aaron blinked once. “It’s the rain. Focus, Victor. You’re-” “I’m burning.” Aaron reached for the wound again, but Victor caught his wrist, fast, faster than before. His strength was spiking unnaturally. “You don’t understand,” Victor growled, voice low, fevered. “It’s not just the wound. It’s everywhere. My skin, my spine, my cock...every nerve’s screaming.” Aaron stilled. Victor's grip didn’t ease. “I don’t think it’s just poison. It’s something else. Something that I want.”