Train Destruction Oblivion Novels & Stories

She must be projecting my past self—alone and helpless—onto the Kramer sisters. I composed myself and said slowly, "Alright. The zombies right now are all low-level. Their movement and strength are about the same as a normal person’s. This is actually a good opportunity for everyone to get some real experience. Brother Cassian has been training us for a while, so let's treat today as live combat training to adapt to the apocalypse." Inside the garage, two Dongfeng Mengshi trucks were parked quietly. Next to them, an unlicensed Paramount Marauder stood like an imposing iron beast, radiating power.

The tires spun briefly on the slick earth before gripping. “I don’t know you, fucking psycho. Where the hell are you taking me?!” Matteo gasped, wiping the rain and a few stray tears from his face. His eyes were wide, holding a terrifying mix of shock and pure, white-hot hatred for me The expression satisfied my ego. I glanced in the rearview mirror, meeting his gaze. A small smile crept up my lips “Somewhere quiet,” I replied, pressing the accelerator. “Somewhere far from your grieving family, far from your father’s control, and definitely far from that arranged bride you’re desperately trying to avoid.”

Left a shell behind. One clean bullet later, Dante stood alone. And he finished what the old man started. I remembered it too clearly. Weeks after the funeral, Dante started peeling the Morellis apart. Not with brute force. With silence. With precision. Drones. Remote charges. Strikes timed down to the second. No bluster. No heat. Just pieces falling off a dying empire while Dante watched from behind his screens. Safe houses. Convoys. Supply chains. Leaders. Gone. They didn’t even know where to look. By the time they realized it was him, there was nothing left to fight.

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I frowned in confusion. "You'll need to cross the treacherous Blue Sea. Many have perished in its depths, and their bodies were never found. Lucifer is cunning, and I've never been to his lair, but I've heard he has creatures and demons guarding it, even more formidable than mine. To defeat him, you must destroy his heart. You'll see a green light near it. If you destroy it, he'll lose much of his power, and then you can kill him," he explained.

The path to freedom was dead. A massive, three-ton structural pillar—solid concrete reinforced with dense titanium rebar—had collapsed directly across the primary exit tracks. It was a solid, impassable wall of rubble, burying the automated blast gates under a mountain of smoking debris. There was no maneuvering around it. There was no reversing. Behind us, the fuel extraction lab exploded in a towering column of green plasma fire, the shockwave violently rocking the heavy transport forward. "Dominic!" I shrieked, my thumbs locking onto the primary throttle. "Get in!"

It looked as if a colossal, invisible eraser was casually dragging itself across a painting. Hovering above the atmosphere were the vanguard of the True Admins. They were not ships. They were colossal, perfectly smooth, featureless white obelisks, completely devoid of windows, engines, or weapons. They simply drifted, projecting a silent, invisible wave of "Null-Code" that reduced whatever it touched into absolute nothingness. "They're formatting the grid," Scarlett whispered, a cold chill running down her spine. This wasn't combat; this was an uninstallation. Caleb didn't look at the obelisks. His acute Lycan vision zoomed in on the Blackwood Wastes.

Any drogar technicians who were working down there were literally smothered by a fine powder of ores and compounds and raw materials. Some of the hatcheries and datanodes and offices were breached as well, which allowed fabrication sand to fill them up and contaminate them. But the Einherjar’s attack hardly stalled. Up above, the ships raked their beams across their targets. They literally scored them over and over until the facilities themselves could hardly remain standing. Each and every single one of the ships blasted the plateaus until every fabrication bay was nothing more than piles of useless debris. Freya and Thanatos floated above the plateau in the center and exuded an overwhelmin

of the North were no longer just for survival; they were for the surgical removal of the old world. ​The ruins of Oakhaven were a graveyard of glass and shattered dreams. The Sun-Tower lay like a broken spine across the city’s central plaza, its crystal shards reflecting a sky that was now a permanent, weeping grey. The "Blight-Prime" was thickest here, coiling around the base of the fallen buildings like a shroud of liquid obsidian. ​Rhea and her strike team moved through the ruins with a grim, mechanical efficiency. They didn't use the main roads; they moved through the maintenance tunnels, the "teeth" of the cold stone providing their only protection from the nanite-sludge dripping from t

But over the last year, they promoted him to general. Second, The AD (Assassin Division) is in charge of getting rid of everyone and everything that gets in La Reu's way. The head of the AD is Mr. Stryker, a bulky guy with tanned skin that always got a knife hidden in his boot. Others might not notice, but as one of the SD's best agents, I do.