The Way Of Wrath Novels & Stories

And on Friday morning, another order for room service had been placed as early as 6:30, only for the waitress to meet no response from Frank's chamber but a sinisterly open door that afforded her the view of senator Frank's corpse in lying around in a pool of blood and his lady guest stripped stark naked, beaten to pulp, and tied to the bed frame. Coincidentally--perhaps not so--it was the second case of murder of top dogs in the city within the space of a week, and in a similar pattern at that. The first murder had struck earlier in the week when Henry West-gate, a famous tycoon in the city was set up for a car accident in his Jeep. It had been discovered that the middle-aged business tycoo

“Hmph, this is nothing!” Zephyr huffed, his eyes suddenly beamed with light. He let out a roar which signaled the coming of the Way, and manifested draconic energies to wipe out the intrusion. Roar, after roar, after roar, it all stormed out of Zephyr, thundering the palace. Typhoon and the Old Khan could only watch in shock as Zephyr expelled the bad energy out of his body through wisps of dark smoke. It was the Way of the Dragon after all.

The darkness covered everything and disappeared so quickly that the smell almost drowned me. There were minutes of silent torture, while the magic of Tennebris hid the world from the fury of the Creator. There were minutes that seemed to last for hours, in which I could hear clearly that something very fast was approaching us, and that the cold that rose next to the shadow was to combat the heat that those meteors brought with their destruction. But nothing hit us. It was not like a barrier that caused them to clash against us and not against the rest of the world. It was as if the rock rains were only absorbed by the darkness. As if the power of the sin of Wrath fought as equals the wrath o

Never like that. The thing inside me pressed its will against mine, hot and furious. My throat tightened. My claws twitched uncontrollably. I roared and slammed my fist into the rune-lit floor. The platform shook. The light fractured into a thousand pieces. The voice screamed in rage. OBEY. NO! My roar cracked the air around us. The awakening inside me surged again, like a monstrous tidal wave threatening to drown me. My skin split along my spine. Bone tried to force its way through. My veins turned molten.

He withdrew an emergency activation key, his voice like an oath: “Seraphim! Phase Two, engage.” The screens flared. A gigantic holy circle appeared over Valenfort’s sky, slowly rotating like the eye of God preparing to open and unleash a blood apocalypse.

He had been applying pressure behind the scenes all along. "You are my son, a member of the Johanson family," my father said, his tone calm and steady. "I will make anyone who has made you suffer pay a hundred times over. Those two… Ruby Lane and Jack Hunter, is it? I will show them what corporate warfare truly looks like." I looked at him, too overwhelmed to say anything. I had never realized my father had been watching over me from the shadows… All I could say was, "Thank you, Dad."

My eyes were red with rage as I shouted, "Don't you dare!" But Susan misread my reaction as fear. Her smug grin widened as she smashed the crystal ball into my face. Pain shot through me, and blood blurred my vision. The shattered fragments on the floor took me back to the year our parents died in the car crash. I had gotten down on my knees before their coffins and sworn to protect Harper. And now, I hadn't even managed to protect the things they left behind. Worse still, Harper was lying naked in the hall, stripped of all dignity.

she said through gritted teeth. With one final threatening glare, she stormed out of the room, slamming the door behind her.

His wings spread wide, feathers shimmering like liquid gold, ready to defend the innocent and uphold the balance of the realms. Flame curled around Wrath's frame, a living, breathing entity that danced and flickered with his every movement. The inferno cast eerie shadows, highlighting the sharp angles of his face and the fierce determination in his molten eyes. His power was raw, untamed, a force of nature that refused to be contained or controlled.

“He’s right. You should have put the crown on. Now you have no army. No throne. Just a timer.” Eighty-seven days. No. I look at Clay. At Cael. At Draven. At the pack standing in the smoke. “We have a pack,” I say. “And we have eighty-seven days to build an army.” Moira laughs. “With what? Wolves?” “No.” I meet her eyes. “With First Blood.” The six Others raise their heads. In unison. And Wrath kneels. To me. “Mother,” he says. Draven goes very, very still.