Soul Of Great Hero Novels & Stories

Only if I had known my soul would have been sold for nothing, I would have ended it. The room hadn't changed a bit all these years. Same dark walls that made the room intimidating and the absolute perfection in the way it was organized just as its owner, hiding all that evil just barely underneath the surface, simmering and waiting for the perfect time to strike its prey. I repressed a shudder and took a seat waiting for him to notice my presence in the room. He was writing in a journal on the desk, I had always wondered what he wrote in there, the number of people he killed, or the latest mission he accomplished?

But . “What? Get back what, Jake?” “His soul, dammit. Fuckin gook took my dad’s soul, and I’m fuckin gettin’ it back. “Tonight.”

“Hmm, it seems that choosing you was indeed a mistake. Too bad you've destroyed the soul of that smart child. Celine Diamond is a better pawn than you." Cecilia furrowed her brows in annoyance. “What do you mean better?! I am the Heroine, not her!” "Whatever fits." The Great God's voice echoed in the empty space. "That smart girl may be smarter than you, but your luck is better than her." Cecilia was still offended, but she calmed herself down. This man was still a god who rules the universe. “You are already on the right track. Awaken the dragons by giving the serum to the dragon-blood humans, and they will awaken into a suitable vessel for me.”

She seemed to be out cold, and his stomach knotted as he thought of how she might react when she woke. Sighing, he nuzzled his face into her neck, breathing in her beautiful scent. He hadn't known it would happen this way, but he was glad she was finally his, even if she didn't know it yet. It would take time, but the darkness would become a part of her, until she was as strong as he was now, a full 'Shadowsouled', as the few of her kind that knew of their existence called them. Her former kind, he corrected, smiling and wrapping his arms tighter around her. He'd grow stronger from his too, much stronger, and some of that power would flow through to his brothers in turn, and their cousins, t

"What am I?" "You are what is known as a marked soul." "What is that?" Molly asked. "It is a soul that has been marked." "Marked for what?" "For greatness. A singular soul that has been marked with immense power to achieve greatness," the admiral answered. "And that's what I am?"

“You are a great killer. You deserve to join. Put the weapons down. Take a blood test. Give your soul to your soul. Live forever and know the ecstasy of endless struggle. Who was the soul, Ragnar wondered. The name was strangely unfamiliar and frightening. Why did his followers seek allegiance from Ragnar? It really doesn't matter.

Yes, I could remember it, I recollect all the memories perfectly, I could remember seeing her in agony, with red liquids dropping from her pretty mouth, the cold looks on her face before she gave up the ghost, and her last Words for me. "At your darkest hour, when all seems lost and there is no hope of light. When you feel the darkness pressing in on you from every side, when you find yourself standing on the precipice of oblivion, A Hero will descend from the Moon. His glittering silver face will cast a bright light upon your path. Avoid him, but it will be impossible. You will thrive hard to run... that's when the beast in you will Awake, and you'll meet the real you" I was there thinking

"But I remember a day when our forebears conducted sacrifices to appease powers greater than our own. They believed that the curse was the work of blood and fire." I leaned in closer. "Who conducted these rituals? What did they believe? He hesitated. "There was a mystic, a very old priest. They say he had the eye of life and death. He lived in darkness and dressed in a cloak of many colors. Others tell us that he vanished when the curse was visible." I chilled. "What was his name?" I inquired. He slowly shook his head. "I know him as the Seeker. He told me in parables that dark magic comes with a price."

"And if one kills, we all carry it." Our mother, the village midwife, is the most formidable woman I’ve ever known. Her strength is not loud—it’s implacable. She didn’t speak with sweetness, but her love was unshakable. We saw it every time she returned from a delivery, soaked in blood and snow, only to ensure we had food on the table. "A man is measured by how he protects his blood," she told us. "But the gods measure him by how he carries his destiny."

The beast had burned my ash arrow, the only weapon that might have helped me fight back. Ash. The one known weakness of the wiz. The only reason humans had survived the ancient uprising. I scanned the forest for signs of the pale-barked tree with its wild sprays of branches, but saw nothing. The stillness around us was suffocating. Nothing stirred. Yet even in the quiet, the beast beside me felt more dangerous than anything that might have lurked among the trees.