Wraith Artwork Novels & Stories

The Source had sensed the active Seed in its graveyard. Intrusion detected, a booming, ancient resonance vibrated through the static. The Failed Seeds must be purged. The New Seed must be reclaimed. From the depths of the static, the "Harvesters of the Dead" emerged. They weren't the Centurions we had fought on Earth. They were "Wraiths"—creatures of pure, entropic data designed to scavenge the Liminal Zone. They looked like giant, skeletal hands made of black glass, reaching through the mist to snatch the flickering ghosts of the failed children.

"Yes. The Malphas mirror. It’s the only thing capable of reflecting a Wraith back into the void. But the mirror is a passive tool. It needs a catalyst. It needs a surge of focused, raw energy to trigger the seal." "I... I can do that. I can use the ring!" Arthur stopped and turned to her, his grey eyes searching hers. The intensity was different now; the predatory hunger was still there, but it was laced with a desperate, protective urgency. "You can, but not alone. A Wraith feeds on isolation. It will try to convince you that I’ve abandoned you. It will try to whisper that you are alone in the dark. The moment you doubt me, the moment you try to stand on your own, it will rip your soul out

"So um Eclaireuse Ma'am, can I ask you a question?" "What do you want to know kid?" "Can you transform into a soul form? I once met an artifact that can transform into a soul form and I'm just curious if you can transform into one." "I can. But why would I transform for you? For an artifact to manifest its soul form, a part of its soul is needed to create a body, and that results in the artifact weakening. Weak artifacts can manifest their soul form in a short time and the cost in doing so will be their whole existence. I do not see why I should show you my soul form in that case."

Koa had arrived. Tora’s scales shimmered in twilight hues, catching the sun’s dying light. Maggie’s wings unfurled, each scale glittering like stars, eyes burning the color of sunset. Chelsea condensed into Athena, a grey wolf with white-tipped toes and black ears, moving with fluid, precise grace. Nalia burst into flame and feathers, her phoenix body blazing bright and fierce, wings spanning wide as the air itself seemed to shimmer with heat. Isolde’s shadowy form twisted and expanded, her vampiric energy coalescing into something terrifying, beautiful, and dangerous all at once.

I felt something beneath my skin, the mark was burning not sharp or loud, just low like a pinch on the skin. The shadows slipped across the floor before I even touched the stone. They poured from the edges of the wall, curling toward my feet like they’d known me long before I knew myself. I didn’t move or step back. “Come,” I whispered. They did. The first wave brushed my fingertips. It didn’t hurt. It was singing silently. Power hummed. Memory hummed. I saw flashes behind my eyes. My mother was screaming and bleeding. A woman in silver armor standing on a battlefield of bones. A wolf with no eyes howling under a red moon. Then I took a look at the woman and to my shock, she was the older a

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A Wraith is a predator that has already lost everything, which means it has no fear of the dark. I stood in the center of the melting Vault, my heart hammering a frantic, uneven rhythm against my ribs. The scent of Elena’s "Anti-Matter" blade was a sharp, metallic sting in the air, but the smell coming from Dante—the raw, ozone-heavy scent of the Void-Titan—was overwhelming. The "Shadow-Heir" in his arms let out another cry, a sound that vibrated through the floorboards and made the obsidian walls bleed liquid shadow. Dante didn't pull away from the dagger Elena had buried in his chest. Instead, he leaned into it. He stepped forward, forcing the hilt against his own ribs, his eyes locked on

I say, pushing the final sheet, which now contains full sentences that I had been working on, towards her. She leans down, frowning as she reads the heading. This was a language long forgotten… and although there are still parts of the passage that are too damaged to read, or simply not fully readable, it makes sense overall. “Shadow Wraiths…” Her heart thunders as she scans the page. “Shadow wraiths are subspecies of the wraith family… What on earth… they don’t exist.” “Are you sure?” I ask, sitting back and looking up at her.

"I know this might sound stupid. But I swear I could hear it whisper my pack's name. I don't know....I was already messed up in my mind from seeing the death rates. Maybe I didn't hear properly." "You did hear properly." He stood up with the empty bowl and placed it on the center table. "It whispers the name of it's target. It did with me too. And when I put my claw through it's dark mist. It whispered my name even as if dispersed." "So it didn't die?" "Wraiths cannot be killed. It's a huge form of shadow taking a physical gait. It has no flesh or blood whatsoever. The best you can do is make it vanish."

My study becomes a war room, papers and books scattered across every surface, notes scrawled in margins as I piece together everything I can find about the creature we're facing. The wraith is old. Ancient. One of the few remaining creatures from an era when magic ran wild and unchecked through the world. It feeds on emotional memories—the bonds between mates, between parents and children, between friends. The stronger the emotion, the more powerful the memory, the more sustenance it provides. Which means it will sense me coming from miles away. My shields are strong, yes. But they're also a beacon. A challenge. The creature will know someone with power is near, and it will come for me.