Writheblood Ruins Novels & Stories

PROLOGUE The battlefield was ruined—scorched earth, broken stone, and skies ripped apart by magic that should never have existed. Mountains had crumbled into blackened dust. Rivers boiled and twisted away from their beds, fleeing the wrath that had been unleashed. The air reeked of ozone and blood, thick with the scent of burnt gods and shattered spells. Corpses lay strewn like forgotten relics—mortals, celestials, beasts of realms unnamed—all silenced by the cataclysm that had torn through reality.

My axe met her wrist with three hard slams, detaching the wrist from her ulna and radius. Her screams echoed, her blood spewed relentlessly, and I reveled in her pain, giggling like a crazy lunatic. Turning to the camera, I waved the girl's hand to it, already aware that Ricardo was watching. After I had walked away, the continuous screams of the read-head kept echoing—screams I had decided to ignore until she began cursing at me again. Laughing maniacally, I strolled back to the girl who was seated on the ground, trembling with pain.

The Sanctuary burned. Ash rained from the cracked heavens like a death shroud, swirling around the once-sacred halls of light. Wolves of every allegiance lay slain among the smoldering ruins—white fur singed black, black fur streaked with crimson. And at the heart of it all, Caelum knelt in the ruins, clutching his bloodstained claws. His breath came in ragged gasps, his silver eyes flickering with tendrils of corrupted red.

“When the bloodline reset, the pack hierarchy shifted. Alphas lost control of their bonds. Rogues started feeling the call again—but not just to one pack. To all of them. It’s chaos, Nora. Wolves are turning on each other, instincts clashing. Some can’t handle it.” I exchanged a look with Kael. The Luna’s warning echoed in my mind: Balance is not peace. “We have to stabilize it,” I said. “If we don’t—” “It’s already spreading,” Janie cut in. “And there’s something else.” Her tone dropped, quiet and grim. “The Silver Ash ruins are waking up.” My heart stopped. “That’s impossible. The ruins were sealed centuries ago.” She shook her head. “Not anymore. There’s energy coming from the underground

Cold air from another world seeped in, carrying the scent of ash and metallic rain. Before her, the world lay in ruins. The werewolf tribe no longer existed—only charred walls, scattered shields, and bones beneath the blackened grass remained. The wind swept through the debris, dragging the names once called by the hearth—names that now had no mouth to answer.

A memory of how she looked while she still lives with her father flashed in her mind, now, she looked prettier and healthier. She smiled but it faded all of a sudden, images of people mangled and lying. Pictures of the world entirely drenched in red. Bloodstained ruins , bloodied people, bloody mountain of corpse, bloodstained land. Even the skies and clouds were dyed in a frighteningly dense shade of blood. The bloodstained ruins were the halls of a castle, the bloodied corpses were made up of the pack members; some that she was familiar with and others that she has never met. The pool of blood flowed like a river.

She was in critical condition. Witnesses said Vincent had looked completely deranged, screaming over and over. "It's all your fault! You ruined everything! Grace! Without you, Fiona would still be mine!" In the footage, Vincent was being pinned down by the police, wearing that same black suit, tattered and dirty, but unmistakable. He had once scorned that suit, and after Julian had thrown it away, he went back and picked it up. Even as he was dragged off, he kept twisting toward Grace's fallen body, repeating the same hateful words again and again.

Blood seeped from her wound, staining the floor a vivid scarlet, a stark reminder of the fragility of life. My world shattered. I dropped to my knees, my arms enveloping Zyra's fragile form, her lifeblood seeping through my fingers. The metallic tang of blood hung heavy in the air, intermingling with the raw scent of fear and despair. It was a scene etched into my memory, a portrait of helplessness and fractured bonds.

Through the window, I saw many peers of horrible red-glowing eyes staring at me. "Alyssa!" I cried. "Hold on," she said and did this unexpected thing- Alyssa slammed her black Benz against the side of the undead's, causing them to sway off the road. "Yeah!" Cammie cheered. "That's what I'm talking about!" But the red one bummed us from behind with a loud thump. We jolted forward. I heard Cammie swear something in Russian. Alyssa punched on the gas and swerved hard onto another street and then hauled up the bridge. The sports cars followed suit. I felt as if we were in a racing tournament.

GABRIELE'S POV The basement smelled like copper and piss and death. I looked at my bloodstained hands and the knife that was still dripping with blood. This was who I was. A monster. A killer. And anyone who threatened what was mine ended up exactly like this. Dead in my basement. I pulled out my phone and called Angelo as I walked to the door. "It's done," I said when he answered. "Send the cleanup crew. Dispose of the body and leave no trace."