Wraith Fanart Novels & Stories

I draw my blade, striking wraith-claws, sparks searing, Lena’s spark surging, hymn steady. Lirien’s tablet pulses, runes weaving with Kalia’s orb, starlight flaring on the altar. Theryn’s vision deepens—Zynara’s light sealing a wraith long ago, runes glowing, hymn strong. Their voice whispers, eyes bright. “Her light binds it.” Cassia’s fire roars, blade slashing wraith-shadow, flames crackling, eyes fierce. “Burn!” Renn’s relics blaze, hymn strong, striking claws, stance firm, Zorath at his side, voice low. “Keep the altar!” Maddox’s shadows twist, dagger sinking into wraith-flesh, grunt sharp, darkness fraying. Sylvara’s vines whip, binding claws, aura bright, staff firm, Elara’s rune glow

At the center of the treeline, a figure stepped forward, black cloak billowing around him, the air thickening as he moved, darkness clinging to him like smoke. Tall, broad-shouldered, silver eyes glowing in the darkness, the cruel curve of his mouth sharp as a blade. The Wraith. He lifted his hand, and the wolves fell still, their growls dying into silence. His gaze swept over Shadowstorm’s defenses, the barricades, the warriors standing ready, the archers on the roofs, Thorne’s wolves standing shoulder to shoulder with Raven’s. Then his eyes found Raven. “You’ve built yourself quite the little kingdom,” The Wraith called, his voice carrying across the cold air, smooth and poisonous, too cal

Ezra was the only black-haired wolf in the tribe. William's family swore allegiance to the queen. They are a family that has a great influence on the Wolf clan, they are protectors and at the same time are considered to be the co-rulers of the Wolf Queen. Selina since becoming aware of the world around her has had Ezra befriended by her side. He is a friend and brother whom she trusts wholeheartedly. William's family died in that battle with Selina's parents, so it can be said that Ezra and Selina both share the same enemy.

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.

The energies, violently ripped through conflicting realities and forced through the narrow conduit of my scarred hand, have… merged. It hovers. A wraith. Flickering, unstable. One moment, Kieran’s desperate eyes, wide with residual torment. The next, Arthur’s cruel, arrogant smirk. Their forms bleed into each other, a sickening kaleidoscope of shared agony and poisoned history. Kieran’s anguish twists into Arthur’s cold fury. Arthur’s satisfaction warps into Kieran’s despair. It’s a single entity now, vibrating with the dissonance of two souls forced into one unstable prison, bound by their connection to me, to that fatal moment. The wraith shudders. Its form coalesces slightly, features blu

"Who cares what kind of rain it is? No one can bother us now." I watched coldly as I smiled mockingly. 'Enjoy it while you can. This is the last hot bath you will ever have in your life.' Through the cameras outside the bunker, I saw the people drenched in blood rain begin to convulse. Their skin quickly turned gray, their bloodshot eyes bulged, and animal-like growls tore from their throats. A man in a suit who had been sheltering from the rain suddenly lunged at the person beside him and bit through his neck. Blood sprayed across the storefront window like a fountain.

Then, she sighed, a long, drawn-out breath that seemed to carry all the weight of the knowledge she was about to share. “A wraith is the result of a death left unfinished, unresolved,” Alice began, her voice soft but tinged with something dark. “It’s a spirit, yes, but not the kind you might think. It’s not a simple ghost. A wraith is born from agony—pure, uncontrollable anger and resentment. When someone dies in such a way, with so much hatred and pain in their heart, they don’t just fade away. They linger. They transform into something... else.”

The mere idea that the eerie presence tailing me wasn't just some figment of imagination, but a malevolent entity—a wraith—sent chills down my spine. "Wraiths aren't just any shadows, they're much more than that." His voice, grave and weighted with concern, narrated the sinister nature of this creature. "They are born from the anguish of tortured souls, driven by an insatiable thirst for retribution against those who had wronged it. Since souls, for a better lack for words, can't hold memories…wraiths wait around dark alleys and areas shrouded by darkness, to feed upon the souls of those they deem as threats. In this case, the wraiths have decided to target you for some reason."

Raina, you should’ve continued to run, Poppy growled into her head. They both ran after Alana, gaining on the crying witch as the wraith dragged her through the air. Poppy leaped tackling Alana to the ground, forcing the wraith to release its phantom hold. Without a thought, Raina jumped on the wraith and she was surprised that she felt an actual body beneath her paws. How was that even possible? Wraiths were spirits, not physically there. The wraith screeched in rage. She immediately sank her teeth into it and the wraith squealed in pain as if she was actually harming it. The body she felt started to fade away until her paws found the ground beneath her.

He didn’t yet know who the enemy was—or how close they had come—but the warning was clear and sharp. Back inside, Rashel’s fingers hovered above the keyboard as a chill ran down her spine. The door to her workspace creaked open with a whisper, and a shadow slipped inside, silent as smoke. The Wraith. The figure moved as fluidly as wind, footsteps muffled by leather soles and practiced grace. His mask was featureless, the shape of a wolf’s muzzle rendered in matte black, and his expression unreadable. In his gloved hands, a blade gleamed cold under the faint light.