Terrisman Mistborn Novels & Stories

Yet, to my keen eyes, a phalanx of warriors emerges from the ethereal veil. The Mistwalkers move like shadows through the mist. Legend says they are a formidable force renowned for their uncanny ability to vanish, shift and reappear with lethal precision. Their armors are dark, blending in with the sand, making them appear as phantom soldiers. I can feel a sense of dread. These warriors are coming as a follower of Yeri, a woman whose power I thought were in the palms of my hand. I have underestimated her and now, I have to watch the power dynamics and how they change. I have underestimated everything about her. Despite holding her in the harem house, the castle, the servants’ quarters…her he

I whined at him. He smirked coolly and even pouted a little. "What's wrong with what I did? That's exactly what I wanted, Miss Selvestre. That is part of your job description. I expected you to do worse than that... " I looked away and clenched my fist. My breathing became heavy, and I closed my eyes tightly. Yes, I have mortgaged my soul to a minion of Satan. And now I can do nothing but play with fire. I mustered up my courage before facing him again.

He cut his wrist and watched as his blood congealed, and the lid shifted. “Slitna seiðr,” Kiran whispered, and closed his eyes. He reached into the chest and felt the book move. He opened his eyes and looked at the book in his hand. “Thanks, Mom,” Kiran said. The book had opened on the purification spell that he had performed on himself years earlier and he skipped those pages. Adara opened the study’s door and looked at the book in his hand and sighed. “Really, Kiran?” she asked him.

I freeze as an unfamiliar, ageless, and genderless voice fills my head like someone screaming in my ear. “Warrior of the ages, the gods call you. How they gossip about your victories. I believe they’re right. Come to me, child of blood and vengeance. The dawn of the Firestones is upon us. Your destiny has been written in the stars, and now it’s time to answer to your calling.” “Misty,” I rasp. “Misty, who is that? Who’s speaking?” Misty groans, coughing and wheezing. “I can’t–I can’t breathe–my ribs–”

The atmosphere is overwhelming for me, but i try to dress up and not show how bad i'm feeling. After taking shots at the bar, I start to feel lightheaded and nauseous. Ruth dismisses my discomfort as the excitement of being out and feeling free. Sarah suggests going to dance, but I opt to go to the restroom instead. In the restroom, I become sick and vomit into the sink. As I try to compose myself, I notice a handsome man in the mirror. It turns out me accidentally entered the men's restroom. The man acknowledges this and I engages in conversation. He's attractive, but i wary of his intentions.

The red mud of the canyon, the green sap of the trees he had birthed, and the grey ash of the perimeter didn't just wash away—they dissolved. The mist was a chemical solvent, a "purification" agent designed to strip away every trace of the natural world. It was a symbolic execution of the "wild." Ressi felt the liquid stinging his eyes, the smell of lemon and high-grade bleach filling his nostrils until he could taste it. When the mist finally cleared, they were standing in a bay that was perfectly, blindingly clean. Their tattered clothes were gone, replaced by simple, seamless tunics of a soft, grey fabric that felt like a second skin. "Your external impurities have been managed," the voic

I only felt the burning, obsessive need to see Bane Blackwood stripped of his pride. "Get the car," I commanded. The Grey Marsh was a place where the modern world died. The air was thick with the smell of sulfur and decaying vegetation. We walked through the knee-deep fog until we reached a shack that looked like it was being swallowed by the earth. Inside, the Liminal Broker was a thing of nightmares—shriveled, ageless, and smelling of copper. She didn't look up as we entered. She was busy grinding something in a bowl made from a wolf’s skull.

Sânge Furtună hits the rail that runs straight off our broken balcony and I drop with it, wind roaring in my ears, Hellebore Mist drawn and hungry. The first soldier dives at me, spear leveled for my heart. I flick my wrist. Lightning answers before I do, forks out of clear sky and punches straight through his chest plate. He explodes into wind and feathers. One. Remy is a black-and-gold blur on my left, full dire-coyote, leaping from island to island, tearing wings off with his teeth. Every time he lands, the ground cracks like thunder. Seras is a sunrise with fists, she punches straight through three soldiers at once, armor blazing so hot their armor melts off them mid-scream.

I croaked, struggling as the poison devoured my strength. “Be still, or you'll earn another cut,” Erebus hissed before stepping through the magical barrier. I felt a tingling sensation as the magic licked my skin. Then all battle sounds faded. Erebus dropped me down on the ground. Only then did I see it—more than ten warriors wearing the Fiery Mist Pack's mantles, and that large thing next to them…

Serafina Pov. The Violet mist rose from the stone bowl, curling into the air like a serpent tasting the magic. I stirred slowly, the pestle moving in careful circles. Moonstone dust shimmered within the potion, glowing softly under the flickering candlelight. “Patience,” I whispered. The corrupted bond was progressing nicely, faster than I had anticipated. The bond was fraying. I saw it unravel in my projection mirror. Lucas twitching in his sheets, Bennett’s heartbeat spiking mid-dream. The corruption spell was soaking deep now, twisting their connection into something volatile. Something feral.