Wraiths Novelas e Histórias

The day they threw me into the horde was the same day I planned to propose to Sasha Frost. The crystal-core ring I had bought with every last cent I had rolled across the ground. It was stomped into the mud by someone in the garrison uniform. It was my best friend, Rafe Donovan. "Nico, don't blame me." He looked down at me without a shred of guilt in his eyes. "Sasha deserves better. And you, some deadbeat who talks to corpses, were never going to give her a future." I stared past him at the familiar figure behind his shoulder. Sasha, the woman I had loved for three years, was leaning into Axel Kain, the base commander's son. She did not spare me a single glance. Her eyes were locked

She wasn't just a woman anymore; she was a flaw in our world. "The Key has arrived," her voice boomed, vibrating in our very marrow. "And she brings a graveyard with her." With a flick of her wrist, the ground erupted. Thousands of shadow-wraiths—the spirits of every Atoner ever sacrificed—rose from the earth. They weren't the "Hollowed" we had saved; these were twisted by centuries of hate. The battle was a slaughter. Silas and the Winter-Fang were being swallowed by the tide of shadows. Ronan fought like a god possessed, but for every wraith he cut down, three more rose.

CHAPTER 117: THE FEAST OF THE WRAITH The "Lagos-grit" had taught me that a predator is never more dangerous than when it’s cornered, but a Wraith? A Wraith is a predator that has already lost everything, which means it has no fear of the dark.

I close my eyes and fall into a variation of my usual nightmare. It’s quiet, too quiet. The only sounds are the soft patters of mouse paws skirting across wooden floorboards. I’m in the old slave holding cell from my childhood but I am, as I am now, an adult. I’m in my assassin outfit. There are slaves all around me, but they are frozen in time. Their mouths are agape as if they are afraid and their eyes are empty as if they’ve lost the will to live. Their forms are distorted into odd postures, some with their legs bent over their heads or an arm bent backwards against the joint and up. They don’t have hair or distinguishable faces, and they all wear the same rags I remember from my childhoo

Twelve monoliths arched upward like the ribs of a dead god, each etched with sigils that burned white-hot as Astra’s blood soaked into the grooves. She did not cry out. She had learned long ago that pain fed the wrong things. Behind her, the wind howled—no, screamed—as something massive strained against chains of light at the edge of the circle. The Winter Wraith. It was not a wolf. Not anymore. Once, perhaps. Long before corruption twisted it into something that wore shadow like flesh. Now it was hunger given shape, a vast silhouette of ice and night, eyes like dying stars, breath that froze the air into shards.

Toby, who had been scouting in the vehicle’s blind spots, signaled a warning through the link. "Wraiths! They’re coming out of the ice!" Toby shouted. I looked out the viewport and saw them: the Frost-Wraiths. They were the Hollowed wolves we had once hoped to save, but the Void Howl had reached them first. Their fur was no longer mangy or grey; it was a translucent, crystalline black, and their eyes were pits of absolute white. They moved with a jerky, unnatural speed, their paws leaving trails of frost on the metal plating of our transport. They weren't hunting for meat: they were hunting for the heat we carried in our marrow.

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.

Everything I had tried to bury, everything the Rift had sensed and stored over the centuries, coalescing into one dark, watchful pulse. A sudden shift in the shadows drew my eyes. The Wraiths appeared, not in swarms this time but individually, tall and thin with translucent bodies that bent the light of the silver veins into fractured specters. Their eyes glowed faintly, observing, judging, waiting. “Do not falter,” Cael whispered. “They feel fear. They feed on hesitation.” I took a step forward, feeling Auren’s hand on my lower back, steadying, urging. Cael’s gaze bore into mine, molten silver, burning away the remnants of doubt. Together, we approached the p

"And it led me to you." Her pulse kicked. "You're a hunter?" "Something like that." The wind shifted, carrying a metallic scent. Blood. Kael's expression changed. "We're not alone." Before Seraphina could speak, shadows broke through the mist-five shapes, crawling low, their eyes glowing white. Wraiths. Demon wraiths. The kind that tore souls from the living. She swung her blade as one lunged at her. Blue fire burst from the runes, cutting it clean in half. Another came from behind, but Kael moved faster-his hand flared red, and a wave of heat exploded from his palm, burning the creature to ash.

“We have to warn them.” But as she spoke, the ground began to shake. A low rumble echoed through the empty world, growing louder with each passing second. From the gray dust, figures began to emerge—people, but not quite. Their skin was pale as snow, their eyes empty, their bodies thin as twigs. They moved slowly, silently, toward the guardians. “These are the remnants of the world’s people,” Lyra said, her voice filled with sadness. “The Frost Wraith didn’t kill them—he turned them into his servants. His ‘Frost Tethers.’”