Wraiths 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.

he answered. Her face grew serious in a way that made my stomach turn. Astrid was playful, but she was not foolish. If the word wraith unsettled a Prima, then whatever they were, they belonged to old dark places even wolves and Primas did not touch lightly. “How?” Astrid asked. “Wraiths are not supposed to…” She stopped. “They are not supposed to walk like common creatures,” she finished. “They do not walk like common creatures,” Spiro corrected. “They bargain.”

It was a protective gesture that had become a habit over the last few days, one that Scarlett found herself leaning into more than she cared to admit. "It’s the Blood-Wraith," Scarlett replied, her fingers tightening around the cold jade handle of her cinnabar brush. "A creature born of centuries of greed and violent ends. It doesn't just kill; it feeds on the memories of the soul." They were met at the door by a stone-faced butler who led them deep into the bowels of the mansion. The elevator descended far below the basement level, eventually opening into a damp, stone corridor lit only by flickering gas lamps. At the end of the hall stood a massive bronze vault door, etched with ancient ru

Kaelen rasped, his mechanical exoskeleton groaning as the red fog began to corrode the titanium plates. ​From the dark waters of the bay, the first of the Blood-Wraiths emerged. They weren't shifters, and they weren't machines. They were spindly, multi-limbed horrors made of a dark, oily substance that seemed to absorb the light around them. They didn't have eyes; they had "Scent-Slits" that pulsed with a red, bioluminescent glow. ​"They're not hunting us for our Resonance," Maya said, her golden-white aura flickering as she raised a shield. "They're hunting us for the 'Zero-Variable.' They’re scavengers of the 'New-Evolution'."

At one point, Ava saw a vision of her mother kneeling on the ground, cradling an infant in her arms—her. She froze. The others noticed. "What is it?" Ashton asked, tension in his shoulders. Ava blinked. The vision faded. "I saw her. Holding me. She was... crying." As if summoned by the memory, a ripple of magic burst through the air. And with it, came the wraiths. Shadows solidified from mist, taking wolf-like shapes with elongated jaws and smoky fangs. Their eyes glowed with ley-fire, hollow and endless. Kaelin didn't wait. "Wraiths! Defensive circle!"

It grew colder and heavier, and an unnatural stillness settled over the clearing. “Something’s wrong,” Ewen said, his body tensing. “We’re not alone.” A low growl rumbled through the air, and my blood turned to ice. Shadows began to move, slithering along the ground like living entities. From the darkness emerged creatures, unlike anything I’d ever seen. Their eyes glowed a sickly green, and their twisted forms radiated malevolence. “What are those?” I whispered, my voice barely audible. Lucian stepped in front of me, his body radiating a protective energy. “Wraiths. Servants of the dark force tied to the prophecy.”

Its body was wrapped in black robes, face hidden beneath a cracked porcelain mask with runes etched into its surface. I froze. Another emerged from behind it. And another. There were four in total. Wraiths. Bound spirits twisted by dark magic. Bryan stepped in front of me. “Stay behind me,” he muttered, his voice suddenly colder than the air itself. One of the wraiths raised its hand, and the fog hissed, curling upward like smoke from a fire. The runes on its mask glowed a deep crimson. “Don’t let them chant,” Bryan growled.

“They’re approaching.” The wraiths moved in a strange, jerking rhythm, their paws barely grazing the ground. They weren’t alive, but they weren’t entirely dead either. Pale mist seeped from their mouths as they encircled the camp. Luna stepped forward. The Mark on her wrist pulsed again — not painfully this time, but as if it recognized them. As if it desired to assist them. She swallowed hard. “They’re trapped souls… forced into these forms by the corrupted moonlight.”

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 <

“There’s a list.” I flipped to the next page, my heart sinking further as I read the descriptions. “Creatures Unleashed by Zerathos: 1. The Nyx Wraiths – Shadow-like assassins that can phase through walls, nearly invisible in the dark. Weakness: Light-based attacks. 2. The Hellhounds – Massive, fire-breathing wolves with dark, corrupted fur. Weakness: Silver and enchanted weapons. 3. The shadow slaves– Undead warriors, immune to most physical attacks.