The Shattering Book Novels & Stories

This get away is more of a toxins related one. I need to get my mind off this bullshit. Now. S H A T T E R E D "ASSHOLE!" I grunted while laying another punch to the jocks now broken, bloody, damaged face. He was almost knocked out cold on the dirty alleyway ground as I kept his body pinned down which was almost two times bigger than mine. He pissed me off at the wrong time. I looked up for a split second during my chain of punches and that's when I saw it. The red and blue flashing lights.

The rhythm that had once been one heartbeat split into two. Half flowed into Lunara. Half remained in Seren. For the first time, divinity was shared. --- The Second Shattering Across the cosmos, the Heart’s glow rippled outward—meeting the Blood Moon’s pulse head-on. Creation convulsed. Stars collapsed, only to explode anew. Worlds shattered, but their fragments fused with others. Old timelines fractured, and new ones bloomed in the same breath. It was not destruction. It was a reformation. And through it all, a single, unbroken note sang—a sound that wove chaos into meaning, and meaning into rebirth.

I continue to smash and destroy everything within reach, each crash and clatter echoing the turmoil in my mind. A framed picture of Graham and me, once a symbol of our partnership, now feels like a mockery. I grab it and throw it with all my might, watching as it shatters into fragments. The glass cuts my hand, but I barely feel it through the haze of rage and despair. The bookshelf is next. I yank books from the shelves, flinging them across the room. The titles blur together as they hit the walls and floor with dull thuds. The room, once a place of order and control, is now a chaotic mess, mirroring the ruin of my life.

The hills fell apart into wireframe geometry, then into lines, then into a single point of hard, white glare that blinked and was gone. The chamber shook. Every wall flared. The other mirrors surrounding us trembled—as if the sound of that shatter had run circuits through the entire maze. Cracks raced along their surfaces too—not deep enough to break them, but enough to fracture the scenes they showed. Office‑me’s cubicle buckled, fluorescent lights bursting in a shower of sparks. Ethan‑forever Willa’s ring shattered on her finger, the fridge magnets falling away. The writer‑who‑left’s stack of pages blew out of her hands in a whirlwind, scattering like birds.

I needed to be alone to see if this would work. As I walked, I mentally scrolled to the page in the book I needed. A shatter spell. It was pretty simple. But it had rules attached. It could cause no physical harm. If it did, it would rebound three times stronger back to the caster. So practice was necessary. I picked a big rock, and with a flick of my hand and a quick mumbling of the spell, it violently shattered, sending shards everywhere. Well, that would kill Amara. I turned to the next, but someone had come running, and I froze.

I found mentions of the blood-sundering, a ritual so dark its name was often scratched away a violation of the natural order it spoke of a shard of oblivion a weapon against the soul. My hands shook turning the pages. There was no cure listed only warnings the bond once shattered could not be remade the souls would forever walk wounded halves of a broken whole a phantom pain for eternity. I slammed the book shut, the sound a gunshot in the quiet dust bloomed around me a grey funeral shroud no. I would not accept that.

“Don’t. It feels wrong.” He studied me for a moment, then nodded, withdrawing his hand. “Burn it.” The wolves gasped, some in protest, but Edward’s voice cut through the noise. “Now.” I stared at the shard, my hands trembling. The fire inside me surged, eager, hungry. Slowly, I extended my palm. Heat built, flames coiling around my fingers until they roared in my hand. I dropped the fire onto the shard. For a heartbeat, nothing happened. Then the stone screamed. A high, piercing sound that rattled through my skull. The flames twisted violently, fighting against something that didn’t want to die. The fire flared brighter, searing white, until finally—with a crack—the shard split in two.

That had been fine. Until the day it wasn’t. One afternoon, Gabriella returned home to find her little sister giggling with a group of friends in her bedroom. The moment she stepped inside, her heart had stopped. The pages of her favorite book—her most treasured possession—were scattered across the floor, torn apart, mutilated. Some of the pages had been folded into crude princess fans, others trampled under tiny feet. The sight had been unbearable. Tears welled up in her eyes. Her lips trembled. “Why?” she whispered, her voice barely audible.

The edge we'd leaned over hadn't simply broken; it had ruptured, and I was left crouched in the wreckage, with the taste of shattering on my tongue and want and the cold bitter tears of the ash and mine, aware that the destroying plummet was yet to come. The taste of shattering was all I had.

Cracks bloomed across the mirror like spreading frost, splintering the distorted face into a thousand jagged smiles. Then the glass gave way. The mirror shattered with a violent crack, raining shards into the sink, tinkling like mocking applause. Seraphine collapsed, knees buckling. She curled onto the cold tile, arms wrapping tight around herself, rocking as tremors wracked her body. Her breath came ragged, shallow, tasting of dust and copper. She pressed her forehead to her knees, tears streaking hot down her cheeks. For a moment, she thought she might disappear entirely, break apart into ash like the words on her pages, scatter, and be forgotten.