World War One Fiction Books Novels & Stories

Maurice walked ahead as I scurried behind him, gazing around at the unending land of graves, "Growing up, my grandfather would tell me stories, about how people started to go missing in a bulk 50 years ago, the police had no leads, and when no one was coming forward with information, one after the other the cases became cold, and the public became outraged, started a fucking world war, end of the fucking world," he chuckled with a snort, looking back at me who was fighting to keep up, I was growing weaker and weaker with every step I took, "Why? Why were they fighting?" I swallowed hard, "Instead of trying to figure out where these missing people are?"

Wow. I was drooling. It wasn't just a room with books. It was a sanctuary. Floor-to-ceiling shelves packed with hardcovers, a rolling ladder, a massive fireplace that looked like it hadn't been used in decades. The scent of old paper and leather hit me, comforting and familiar. I ran my finger along the spines. ‘The Art of War’, ‘Sun Tzu’. ‘Histories of the Roman Empire’. Biographies of kings and conquerors. Heavy stuff. Interspersed with them were fiction classics. Hemingway, Fitzgerald, Dumas.

She told herself that again and again until her breathing slowly came back to normal and she could no longer hear the rustling of the wind outside. Rie turned her gaze back to the book she’s reading. It was the historic account of the war that happened a hundred years ago. Before the world, as everyone had known it, ended. In the year 2025, the third biggest war in the history of mankind happened. But it wasn’t between two countries or group of countries. It was between vampires and werewolves. That’s right, vampires and werewolves. When nobody believed in such beings, they suddenly appeared and changed the course of history. That was followed by the appearance of witches, wizards, even fair

I screamed. The entire room was a mess. My clothes were torn and littered all over the floor if claws had been used to rip them apart. The books Emily had gifted me to kill time were burned, and their ashes were everywhere. The curtains, flower vases and other items were either smashed into bits or broken. But the worst part was the wall. The wall was covered in blood. Blood that spelt out one word. Traitor.