Torn Novels & Stories

“Then I’ll fight you to the end of time itself before I let that happen.” Lucian stepped forward too, flames dancing in his eyes. “And if she falls, then I’ll burn you and this cursed prophecy to ash.” The two Alphas stood side by side—reluctant allies bound by the same woman, by the same desperate cause. Fenris’s grin only widened. “So noble. So futile.” --- The Rift buckled inward, its edges fraying like torn cloth. Warriors screamed as the pull intensified, dragging wolves, stones, even whole trees into the churning void. The corrupted beasts were swallowed whole, their shrieks echoing as if carried across dimensions.

Granted, I was only going by surface-level observations and had yet to inspect him more thoroughly. “No!” he protested, wrestling his arm from my grip. His voice was hoarse like he had been shouting; he probably had been, given the state he was in right now. There were tears in his eyes, and his cheeks were stained with them, along with specks of blood and grime. “I’m fine! Please, it’s my brother you must help!” His hand tugged at my arm, trying to steer me away from the beds and toward the doors of the clinic.

"You Lycans are fascinating. Razed out, bled to death... still you hold on to life. Kaiden forced his head up. There was a sluggish smirk upon the edge of his mouth. Are you thinking about changing careers, Thorne? Butchery suits you." Thorne hit Kaiden in the jaw with his fist, and broke his head off. His mouth was full of blood, and was warm and metallic. That tongue of yours cannot help thee, thou cruel shrewd, wiping the knuckles with the blood of Kaiden. "But she will." As soon as she was brought up, the muscles of Kaiden stretched against the chains, veins darkening under the influence of wolfsbane on the skin.

Dark energy crackles, lashing out. Get down! Kieran’s voice, useless and frantic, but the instinct is mine. I throw myself sideways. The corrupted earth where I stood explodes. Chunks of blighted soil rain down. The backlash hits the corrupted form. A shriek, unearthly, agonized. The carefully constructed body… fractures . Mossy skin splits, revealing writhing darkness beneath. Glowing veins rupture, spilling sickly light like pus. It stumbles back, clutching at its chest, howling. Not pain. Rage. Betrayal.

I saw how her shoulders dropped as the weight of the heartbreak was lifted. “They’ve painted me black before you because they’re jealous of our love and you—you gave in so easily,” I cried, turning the table around. “If I were in your shoes, Tessa, I would defend you, I’d fight those who tried to stain your white, I’d fight for our love. But no—you danced to their tune, claiming you love me, but the love was too weak to conquer. Tessa, I am fighting and pushing these girls away only to prove my love for you, but I think it’s… it’s just…” I trailed off, tears hanging in my eyes as I stood up to leave.

It was the landscape of ruin laid over it. A jagged, ropey scar, the colour of old wine and raw meat, started just below his left shoulder blade and carved a vicious, asymmetrical path down his spine, disappearing into the waistband of his trousers. It wasn’t a surgeon’s clean incision. It was a tear, a rip, a thing of violence and chaos made permanent in flesh. Smaller, paler scars peppered the area around it—shrapnel, Anton realized with a sickening lurch. The main scar was thick and raised, a brutal topographical line on the map of his body.

Justin eyes watered, the tears fell in sequence. “We have to take him to the hospital! He is going to bleed out!” Justin cried. “Dorian hold on, hold on please for my sake,” He said with tears falling from his eyes. I cursed under my breath, I hate seeing Justin like this. The pain from the bullet burned but somehow the look on Justin's face hurt more than that. I wish that I could tell him the truth that I'll be okay although I kinda need someone to pull out the bullet before the wound closes because that might lead to an infected wound area which will definitely mean a longer and more painful recovery.

Sofia whispered, her hands shaking as she watched the wound in his chest begin to close. The torn flesh didn't just heal; it aggressively fused. The jagged edges of his ribs snapped back into place with a series of loud, sickening cracks. The skin crawled over the opening, weaving itself together with an efficiency that made the Montague stasis pods look like primitive toys. Within seconds, the gaping, fatal hole was reduced to a faint, silver scar. Somito took a deep, shuddering breath—a breath that didn't rattle.

She was defective—' Torin hauled him up by the collar, slamming him against the wall. 'Defective? She slaughtered your rogue allies like vermin.' His fist plunged into Thorne's gut, twisting intestines until they spilled out in steaming loops. Thorne retched, choking on his own fluids, eyes rolling back as Torin finished him with a punch that caved in his chest, ribs shattering like brittle branches.

He had to aggressively balance his shivering weight on his one torn palm and his heavily bruised, bare knees. Rohan walked over with a rough, freezing wet towel. He didn't gently wipe the mud from Aryan’s back; he aggressively scrubbed it. The coarse fabric violently tore at the raised red burn on Aryan's shoulder and aggressively dragged across the deep welts crisscrossing his spine. A muffled gasp of absolute torture ripped through Aryan’s crushed throat, but he bit his tongue, terrified of making a sound.