Spirit Soldier Novels & Stories

The evil spirit attacked Andy as fast as the wind. Andy dodged by jumping into the air, Soraka helping him do the impossible with his powers. “Po Chi, do you think you can easily kill me? Just a dream.” Andy taunted the evil spirit named Po Chi, darting around as if playing with him. Po Chi produced a spear as a weapon; Andy became cautious, remembering Jo's warning. Soraka asked Andy to focus his mind so that a sword could appear in his hand. Andy, trying to avoid every attack from his opponent, found it a bit difficult to divide his concentration. Several times he cursed himself for not being able to concentrate.

“You will also assist Arion, the Spirit Guardian, in guiding the souls of fallen Weres across the veil to their eternal rest.” A shiver ran down my spine at the mention of Arion, a name spoken with reverence among our kind. The Spirit Guardian was known for his dedicated commitment to guiding souls, a role imbued with both honor and deep sorrow. “How long must I serve?” I asked, bracing myself for the answer I dreaded.

[Silas’s POV] Ignoring the voices that tried their best to degrade me and the pain of the thorny vines that attempted to confine me, I continued to move towards the small speck of light I could see at the end of this tunnel of neverending torture. ‘You’ve got this.’ My wolf urged, indicating that he was with me. ‘You are stronger than the darkness.’ ‘Right.’ Letting out a growl of determination, I continued to fight, digging my claws into whatever I could until finally, it was just right there.

Saiba and his men had probably never expected things to end like this for them. Just then, however, the Ark King's gaze had landed on Wilbur and the man. Countless ghostly soldiers continued to appear from the formation, pouncing onto Wilbur's end. Wilbur gripped his spirit energy sword, slashing all the ghostly soldiers that came his way and sending them straight to hell. Ryder and Isabella stood behind him nervously, wary and prepared. "What powerful spirit energy. I must admit it's quite rare. We'll see just how long you can hold on then, for my army of death is infinite."

For twenty years, nobody had ever seen through their game before. Yet, this rookie nurse did in less than fifteen minutes. “That’s impossible,” Chris whispered, stripping away the fake Charles act as he stared at her like she just grew two heads. Spirit slid off her chair, grabbing her phone from the dining table. She looked down at the three stunned brothers, her eyes flashing proudly like a genius. “I’m your nurse, boys,” Spirit grinned, giving them a triumphant wink as she turned toward the door.

Her body still twitched with residual trauma, but the gut-wrenching wails that had drawn us to her room had finally subsided. "Mother used to tell fables of vengeful spirits when I was young," Caspian explained, his gaze fixed on the darkened window. "El Silbón was a boy cursed by his grandfather to eternally carry the bones of the father he murdered. He wanders the plains on rainy nights, harvesting souls in a cycle of revenge. Driven into the wilderness by his grandfather’s hounds, he grew gaunt and wretched under the weight of his father’s remains. Even in life, he was a creature of spite; now, as a spirit, he claims lives as if he were a collector of rare rubies."

"Physical strength is an easy thing to build over time." ​Cassian looked at his King, thoroughly confused. ​"But spirit..." Kael’s voice turned almost thoughtful, a dangerous light gleaming in his crimson eyes. "...spirit is something a creature is born with. It either survives the crushing weight of this world... or it doesn't." ​Back down on the freezing ground, the broad-shouldered recruit swung his heavy wooden sword directly toward my head with a vicious, ending arc. ​I ducked blindly, the wind of the blade biting my neck. But as I did, another recruit kicked my legs out from under me from behind.

Used Soren as bait—which nearly gave me a heart attack, but he insisted. "I'm fastest, Mama. If it comes, I can run until you catch it." He was right. And three years old. Gods, what was I doing to my child? But we needed this contract. Needed the reputation of handling impossible situations. The water spirit appeared on the third night. Soren sat by the stream, apparently alone. Actually surrounded by seven hidden fighters. The spirit materialized from the water itself—translucent, vaguely humanoid, with too many teeth. It reached for Soren.

“Rise, my lambs. My darlings. Rise.” Cornelius Pritchard came ahead. Smiling. He heard something nearby, and then noticed the ghostly shapes surrounding him in the nighttime mist: dangerous silhouettes materializing, low to the ground, panting, their rough breath jetting. The smile died on his lips. Dogs. Big ones, their eyes glowing like red coal embers in the gloom, hackles raised. Hundreds. “What is this?” he rasped, faltering. Pritchard recognized a few of them, some of the ones he’d drugged and stolen from yards to practice his fledgling knife work upon. Yet here they were, back again, spectral . . . the unclean, detestable beasts. At his back, in front. All around him, dotting the fiel