The Deathworlders Novels & Stories

“It will be much like it was at the World’s Fair opening, Evelyn. Simply follow my lead. Can you do that?” Evelyn’s pulse kicked up a notch. Their trip to the World’s Fair had been like visiting an alternate existence. It went beyond simply politely 'familiar'. That had been an imaginary World of Tomorrow where the natural hierarchy and boundaries of wealth and social status had been erased, like the idealized Democracity or the egalitarian Futurama. Where people attracted to one another were free to explore that gift in each other's company without question.

I had returned to this very day when Sophie went to the beach by herself. In my previous life, today was the day Jeffrey wanted to take Sophie out to sea for New Year's. I did not agree and insisted he could not go, and the whole thing blew up in front of the Graham family. The Grahams locked Jeffrey up, and Sophie, in tears, went to the beach alone, where she met a tragic end. When Jeffrey heard about her death, all he said was, "She's dead, so what? She was just a toy. She's not worth my concern."

Needed something good in world of death and darkness. Even if it was just comfortable lie. From mother who had become very good at lying. Very good at killing. Very good at everything except being human. Three weeks until war. Until eight deaths. Until everything changed. If Damien survived—we faced it together. If he died—I faced it alone. Either way—I faced it. Because that is what Ashfords do. We face death. We create death. We are death. And somewhere—in the darkness—our enemies were planning. Preparing. Coming.

The villains didn’t just attack randomly. They came with a message. —END OF CHAPTER 4— A single shadowy symbol burned itself into the ground where the villains vanished, and it spelt one word: “AWAKEN.”

The reason for their sudden and extreme reactions to the event wasn’t too difficult to figure out. An Otherworlder was dead. Otherworlders were the Nation’s only chance at facing the Dragons, and losing even one was a significant blow. That realization was enough to make them waste valuable resources to keep the barrier up and running while encroaching on the liberty of the very champions they had previously sucked up to. Desperation was a dangerous thing—especially when mixed with fear. The United Human Alliance couldn't afford to lose any more of the remaining twenty-eight, so they were trying their hardest to do damage control.

Lucas said with regret in his voice. Xavier ran his fingers gently along the edge of my portrait. His lips moved soundlessly, and I leaned closer and heard him whisper, "I'm sorry." But what good was his apology now? I no longer cared about the Lowes. "I'm sorry, Willow. We owe you so many apologies, but we know they mean nothing now. In your next life, I hope you find a family that treats you with the love and warmth you deserve." My vision blurred, and I realized ghosts could cry, too. I gently wiped the tears away from my eyes and felt at peace before my soul faded away.

“I am death itself! You are nothing but life—fragile, weak, temporary!” He lunged at them, his hand outstretched, his touch like death. Cole and Lila fought back, their power merging with the Tree of Life’s, clashing with the Death Weaver’s death energy. The sky filled with light and dark, life and death, their battle shaking the very fabric of the world. Below, the gods and guardians were struggling. The Death Weaver’s creatures were overwhelming them, and more people were falling, their life forces feeding the Death Weaver, making him stronger. The Tree of Life’s leaves began to turn brown, its power fading as death spread across the city.

They swarmed in hordes, eyes glowing with feral hunger, tearing into the defenders with relentless, otherworldly fury. Elian staggered back in his spectral form, horror coiling in his gut. These weren't beasts of his world; they reeked of the void, summoned from cracks between realities, their howls a cacophony that rattled his essence. The warriors fought valiantly—clad in weathered leather and steel, swords flashing in disciplined arcs—but they fell in droves, bodies rent and steaming on the blood-soaked earth.

I had a war to fight. I buried the question and moved on. I led tens of thousands of warriors through the night to the borderlands. The situation was worse than I'd imagined. Smoke billowed into the sky. The air reeked of char and iron — the smell of burning and blood. I had to steel myself just to keep breathing. Bodies lay within every ten paces. Wolves who had lost their homes and families knelt on the scorched earth, howling in grief. This place was pure hell.

The Horror stood above shattered kingdoms. Mountains collapsed beneath its shadow. The world was ending. Thomas recognized the battlefield immediately. It was their world. His world. And standing before the Horror— was himself. Alone. Every other Crown Holder was gone. Ava. Rowan. Cassian. Valen. Dead. The realization hit him like a blade. The future Thomas fought desperately. But he was losing. Slowly. Inevitably. Then darkness swallowed the vision. A second future appeared. This time the world survived.