Terrisman Mistborn Novels & Stories

I was no longer recognizable, yet I still managed a faint smile at the camera. “Today,” I said, “I buried eighteen skeletons. Exile Island was never some romantic place. It’s a graveyard for boys.” Then, the scene shifted to me sitting beside piles of stark white bones. I wasn’t the only one brought here. There were far too many. At that point, I paused, then raised my hand and waved at the camera. “Hi, Agnes. Long time no see. I wonder, by the time you see this video, will I already be dead? But even if I am, my body will stay here, just like these bones. So, Agnes, don’t forget to come and collect my corpse.”

Sometimes he missed the idea of people, who they could’ve been, if the world was different. He hadn’t brought anyone home in six years. — He found her one early spring morning by the river, searching for minerals for his arrays. Instead of what he expected , he got a girl She was curled up against the wall fast asleep like the world has long stopped being her problem, bruishes covered her skin in dark patches,some were swollen. One shoulder was dislocated, her expensive robes were no recognisable now, the upper part were tore,streaked with blood that had dried into the fabric.The strange part—she radiated power. Not the kind that crashed and sparked, but old and steady, slow like leftover h

Chapter Thirteen: Sister of Ash The sky had turned a deep, smoky gray, as though the heavens themselves mourned what was awakening beneath the soil. Seren stood at the edge of the crater, surrounded by the wreckage of her birthright and the screams of the cursed tree that once marked Black Hollow’s sacred heart. Her robes—dark blue with silver embroidery—fluttered with energy. She hadn’t aged past her early twenties, her presence defying time, her expression carved from stone.

Chapter three: The keeper of Ashes The morning after the storm came silver and silent, with a breathless hush that pressed upon the cobbled streets of Duskmoor like the closing of a tomb. The gaslamps flickered in retreat against the gray light, and a fine mist curled in the alleyways like smoke from an unseen pyre. Isabelle Montrose stood at the tall windows of her townhouse, the sketchbook open in her hands. She had not slept.

“And when I find you, I will show no mercy. The dogs will feast on your flesh by the wall, and vultures will pluck out the eyes that dared gaze upon my crown.” The assassin froze. He tilted his head, voice now a whispered thunder, “And this shall be my gift to the carrion beasts of the land — your bones, Miss Everia.” Her entire frame locked. He knew. He knew her origin. She didn’t speak. She didn’t dare. She ran. Samarth faced the terrace as her figure vanished into the night. His fingers still twitched with fury. And then, his voice broke into a low, chilling chuckle — so quiet, yet so final, it rang like a curse.

There were three other doorways like this on the right and left sides of the room. Teris came into the room wearing some type of body armor and a maroon colored leather ensemble. A woman with short, blonde curly hair and a curvy figure came out of the room behind him, holding another woman by the arm firmly. She was wearing what looked like an armored bra and leather mini skirt with high heels. The other woman had dark, cocoa brown hair that had deep waves and curls at the ends. Her eyes were a bright amber color and they were filled with fear. She was wearing the same outfit as the blonde but she was barefoot. Her skin tone was a smooth, milk chocolate brown and she was petite with an hourg

The male snapped before letting out a huff akin to what a petulant child would do when sulking. Sierra was quiet for a moment as she tapped on the tablet before holding up a picture of an elderly male. "Do you recognise this man?" "No." "Are you sure?" Sierra asked. "You've not even looked at the photo." "I'm sure." "Let the record state that Mr Thorn is unable to identify the male in the picture marked BM19. The picture is of Former Alpha Hal Cuzens who disappeared nineteen years ago from the Blue Mountain pack." The silence said it all but if it didn't the look of sheer panic on Nathaniel's face did. He had been caught in his first lie. Just like that, the tone of the interview changed, th

“No, what does it mean?” “Lucy is one of the Cambions, the half demons, the ones prophcied to kill the Nephilim.” Ornais pointed out, staring off. Daniel had no idea what he was talking about. He knew about the prophecy but he never really paid attention to what it really said. All he knew was that if he managed to fuck up collecting Abigial’s soul Azazel, Abaddon, and Lucifer would have not only his head but Elizabeths as well. Now that the deal with the Seven was secure, Daniel no longer had to play their little game.

Forseti didn't dismiss his uncle's words, but he would be foolish to ignore the opponent's strength. "Indeed. Even you would have difficulty maintaining such a spell. And from what I know, this fog has been here for thousands of years." Thor calmly delivered some shocking information. "You know of this place?" Forseti asked in amazement. "Yes" Thor replied. "You don't go out often but I have been here a couple of times. This mist appeared about three thousand years ago. Only it wasn't as large and thick. It grew stronger over the years, and more dangerous. The people of this planet call it 'Misty Island'. Because the mist is so strong that it seems as though whatever is hidden within is its

It’s been a month since I had tried to kill myself. I should have been paying my debt by sleeping with clients, but Ty had strong-armed Tom and they decided to make me a stripper instead. Tom was a monster and every time I saw him; I still got the shivers and he always gave me a smug smile I wanted to wipe off his disgusting face.