Wrath Of God Book นิยาย & เรื่องราว

Sol collapsed to the ground, his body limp, allowing the Enforcers to take him away. At this moment, only one thought remained in his mind. It was over. Completely over. Three days later, the Temple of Judgment delivered its verdict. Sol was stripped of his status as the God of Dawn, demoted to a mortal, and cast into the Well of Reincarnation to suffer through a hundred cycles of rebirth. In every life, he would experience the pain of being betrayed and abandoned until all his sins were atoned for. Overnight, the once high-and-mighty God of Dawn became a mortal about to endure the suffering of reincarnation.

The Price of Defiance I made it to my bedroom before my legs gave out. My hands shook as I locked the door, pressing my back against the wood. The bravado drained from my body like water through a sieve, leaving behind the trembling, terrified girl I actually was. What had I done? Downstairs, voices erupted—my father's rage, my mother's tears, Victoria Ashford's cutting accusations. And beneath it all, Richard's voice, calm and controlled, like a predator deciding whether to pounce now or wait.

Two of them started toward me, their hands already reaching for their weapons, which was understandable, because I didn't exactly look like I was there to shake hands with their master and smile. I looked like what I was: fucking pissed off and ready to spill blood. "Sir…" one of them began. "Move," I growled, not slowing down. The men exchanged a glance, debating whether to follow protocol or trust their instincts. One of them moved to stand in my way. "I'm sorry, Alpha Wrath, but you'll have to…" I grabbed the imbecile by the shirt and shoved him aside. He pitifully crashed into a stone pillar, groaning and losing consciousness.

“It was wrought from divine wrath and bound with the breath of the goddess herself. Its power is vast beyond mortal comprehension, for it does not merely command flesh— It commands the sacred threads that bind soul to soul.” My voice felt distant in my own ears. “It breaks the unworthy. It binds the defiant. And when resistance rises, it burns from within—searing spirit before skin.” A chill crawled down my spine.” I flipped the pages with steady fingers, searching for the part that applied to us. To me. I didn’t care about what it did to people.

“Smart. Hide it in habit. That’s how they trained young minds.” “Any major standouts?” I asked. Andy nodded, a little too fast. “The history section.” I raised an eyebrow. “Yeah?” “It’s not just world history. I found timelines on werewolf wars, vampire treaties, coven migrations, hybrid purges… and something that looks like pantheon lore. Like, actual accounts of god and goddess activity.” My lips parted. “Say that again?” He pulled a thin volume off the top of a growing pile and handed it to me. The title was in an old dialect—one I could read only because of the Goddess blood thrumming in my veins. Divine Imprints: The Last Age Before Silence.

Inside there are black candles, several scrolls, and a thick pitch-black book. Of course, it is the book that gets my attention. I took it and inspected it if there are dents, torn pages, or mites. Fortunately, although the book looks old, it also looks new, feels new, and smells new. It has gold writings on it, Death of God. "Death of God?! How did this get to here? I am sure if Mama saw you, she's gonna burn you," I said laughing at my own jokes. See, I am not just unlucky, I am also corny and crazy.

And the earth beneath me buckled, cracked, groaned like it wanted to weep. The battlefield froze. Wolves. Witches. Demons. Even Aldrian. Everything stopped. Because the air was no longer air. It was wrath. My wrath. The ancient kind. The kind that didn’t forgive. The kind that razed kingdoms and drowned gods. The kind the world once sealed away for a reason. I felt it break loose inside me. Like a dam shattering. Like a scream without end. And still, I let it go. I couldn’t stop. I didn’t know how.

Not a prize to be displayed. I was priceless. Because a god cannot be bought. A god cannot be caged. And yet… here I was. Iron pressing against my back, steel biting into my wrists, tape choking the words out of my throat. I, a god, reduced to merchandise, stripped down to a body they could sell. And tonight, they would sell me anyway. The crowd roared louder, voices colliding like storms, but I no longer listened to their words. My ears caught only the sound of my own rage, steady, unrelenting. For every bid they shouted, my fury rose higher.

He asks, “While you think of something to choose, I’m gonna get something. Stay here.” Goldie watches Darryl walk away from him. He stands still for a moment, before looking at the books that surrounded him. He notices a book that is not much bigger than his hand. The cover is simple, with nothing but the illustration of red circles within a circle at the bottom half, and the name “Dante” written on the top half. He picks it up and inspects it, trying to read other words on the back of the book. He was able to process some of the words, but could not understand the whole paragraph.