Novels by Mystic beauty

Chapter Ten: The Feast of ShadowsI. Morning’s GhostsThe dawn seeped through the filthy glass, painting Elior’s tiny room in a frail, anemic light. Nightmares clung tight beneath his skin as he lay motionless on his cot, staring up into the mildew-flecked ceiling. Every muscle ached—the residue of battles both external and within—but the wounds had sealed overnight, leaving only faint, silvery lines upon his skin. Magic coiled in his marrow; with every beat of his heart it pulsed, restless, refusing to let him find peace.Knock. Knock. Knock.Sharp, urgent—too brittle, too early. Elior squeezed his eyes shut, fighting the urge to will the world away, but the knocking persisted, gaining a rhythm that made his bruises throb. He forced himself upright, the blanket slithering to the floor. An echo of pain flared in his side, and faded instantly—as if his flesh had never been torn, as if suffering itself was denied permanence.He crossed the chill room, the floorboards creaking quietly be

Jayce’s apartment was a prison of shadows and silence, where exhaustion and fear tightly coiled together. The air felt thick, almost suffocating, charged with a sense of dread that clung to every cracked corner. His eyes glowed hollow beneath bruised lids, dull yet burning with a tortured fire, as if haunted by fighting demons only he could see. His jaw clenched so tightly it hurt, the muscles twitching involuntarily from the weight of restless nights tumbling endlessly into dawns soaked with sweat and dread. Every night, he sat in his worn chair, staring at the cracked wall opposite him — a fractured canvas littered with peeling paint and ghostly stains — convinced it held the whispers of ghosts that trailed his every step.Memories invaded like vultures. The cold barrel of a gun pressed to flesh. The roar of breathing choking in panic. Rico’s blood pooling beneath his own shaking hands. That night, three years ago, had clawed its way into his bones, never loosening its grip.And the

Chapter Nine: The Sin in the Circuit 1. The Descent The air in the old lab was humid and electric. Mold crawled up the peeling tile, and somewhere water dripped in a rhythm as tense as Jayce’s heartbeat. The battered memory drive in his palm felt volcanic, humming with secrets. He glanced sidelong at Zion, who wiped sweat off his brow and hunched over an ancient console, tirelessly plucking at the broken keys. They had been at it for hours—the sound of fingers on plastic, code on code, silence swelling between them and the world outside. Every now and then, the lights would flicker and Jayce caught his own reflection—a face wracked with exhaustion, eyes too sharp for someone his age. Below ground, it felt as if the world had split away and left them in the marrow of memory itself. Jayce thought of every promise broken: to Pops, to the crew, to Zion. He thought of Maya, her laugh echoing from some gilded room, always ten steps ahead. Grinding his teeth, he waited for answers, the g

The Warehouse — A Crucible of Rage and Doubt The dilapidated warehouse reeked of rust and long-forgotten sins, with a single flickering bulb barely illuminating the bloodied concrete floor. Rain hammered the tin roof, a cold metronome to Jayce Carter’s trembling fists. His knuckles were raw, shredded from hours of brutal reckoning, red rivulets dripping down like the silent testimony of his self-inflicted torment. Across the room sat Zion, slumped in a heavy chair, wrists bound tight with thick chains carving wounds into his flesh. His face was bruised, swollen, and stitched with dark cuts, yet his silence was deafening—less a sign of guilt and more a stubborn projection of defiance. Nothing Jayce did could draw out more than the shallow rasp of a ragged breath. The tension in the air was suffocating, a choking silence punctuated only by the sharp drip of Jayce’s blood hitting stone. Rage and confusion wrestled inside Jayce’s chest, a storm unleashed and bottled all at once. Diesel

The Warehouse — Rage, Blood, and Unanswered Questions Rain battered the battered roof. The light overhead was one naked bulb, flickering a pale pulse over Jayce’s bloody hands. The warehouse air reeked: sweat, iron, betrayal. Each drip of blood from Jayce’s knuckles hit the cracked floor with its own judgment. Across from him, Zion hung limp in the chair, wrists tied so tight they’d begun to purple, bruised face mottled and swelling, but his mouth stayed stubbornly shut. Jayce’s fury was volcanic—a storm threatening to blind him. He’d wanted to break Zion. He’d wanted to make him beg. But every silence, every half-lidded glare was a new wound in Jayce’s gut. Diesel stomped in, eyes wild. “He played us, Jayce! Fed Grim every damn move. We’ve been rats in a cage!” His voice was raw, alive with betrayal’s poison. Jayce wiped his split knuckles on his shirt, scowled at Zion, then at Diesel. “Then why didn’t he run? He had chances. Why’d he stay?” Diesel spat, face dark as thunder. “Y

Jayce’s Loyalty TestThe abandoned building wore its scars like a war veteran—cracked concrete, rusted pipes dangling overhead, and shadows pooling in every corner like blood spilled long ago. Jayce led Zion inside without a word, his footsteps echoing hollow and hard, the silence between them thicker than any steel.Jayce stopped in a barren room, the detritus of forgotten lives swirling in dust motes caught in the weak shafts of light. At the far end, a man was tied to a chair — bruised, bloodied, eyes wide with a mixture of fear and pleading.Jayce grabbed a cold pistol from his coat, then slid it firmly into Zion’s palm.“You want to be one of us again?” Jayce’s voice was flat, dangerous. “Then kill him.”Zion stared at the man, then at the gun, hesitation bleeding into every breath he took. The captive’s voice cracked, shaky and urgent.“I’m innocent. I swear it. You don’t have to do this.”Jayce’s eyes were ice. “I don’t need a maybe beside me. I need a monster.”The air tighten

Chapter 32: The Crimson VoiceThe medical wing smelled like burned flesh and healing salves. Elior sat on a cot while a nurse wrapped bandages around his hands, her face carefully neutral. Across the room, Olivia was getting his own burns treated, wincing every time the healer applied the green paste to his blistered palms.Liora stood by the window, watching the courtyard where her father lay in a sealed healing chamber. The man hadn't woken up yet, but his vital signs were stable. That was something.Desmond entered, his expression grim. He closed the door behind him and cast a privacy ward with a flick of his wrist. The air shimmered, sealing them off from any eavesdroppers."We need to talk," Desmond said. "Now."Elior looked up. "What happened?""Keal is gone. Vanished from his office, his chambers, everywhere. But before he left, he took something from the archives. A text we thought was safely locked away.""What text?" Olivia asked, standing despite the healer's protests.Desm

Chapter 31: The Mirror's PriceThe Flame Mirror pulsed with an unnatural light, casting shifting shadows across the ruined courtyard. Elior stood five feet from it, close enough to feel the heat radiating from the creature that had once been Liora's father. The thing's massive frame shuddered with each labored breath, flames licking from the cracks in its charred skin."Son?" the creature rasped again, the word distorted by a throat that was more furnace than flesh.Elior's stomach twisted. The monster wasn't looking at him with hunger or rage. It was looking at him with recognition. With something that might have been hope.Desmond raised his hand, fingers glowing with protective wards. "Elior, step back slowly. Don't let it touch you."But Elior couldn't move. The fire inside him was singing, resonating with the creature's presence like two halves of a broken whole. His mark burned hotter, the tattoos crawling up his arm beginning to glow."It knows me," Elior said quietly. "Not as

Chapter 28: The Monster Wears His FaceI. The Ash Storm RisesA darkness pressed over the academy—dense, suffocating, unnatural. For hours, oily clouds had churned above the towers, circling in impossible shapes and swallowing the last vestiges of sunset. Bitter wind lashed the shuttered windows, carrying the taste of scorched ash and distant terror. Panic coursed through the halls: students whispering in their locked dorms, teachers clinging to dwindling authority, and everywhere, the chilling rumor—something had escaped.Elior drifted on the edge of consciousness, pain pulsing at his temples. The world around him blurred: Olivia hunched beside his bed, bandaging a wound with shaking hands, blood soaking through his own shirt. The bronze glimmer of Desmond’s protective wards shimmered around the chamber’s doorway, faintly humming, keeping out more than just the wind.Elior saw nothing but Olivia’s face—pale, eyes ringed with exhaustion and stubborn hope. “Stay with me,” Olivia whispe

Chapter 26: Thorns and FlamesPART I: Liora Begins to BreakThe dim light from the ancient crystal flickered softly in the corner of Liora’s chamber, its shimmer casting fractured shadows against the cold stone walls. She sat alone, fingertips trembling as they traced the smooth surface, watching Elior through the visions it revealed. His figure was distant but vivid—walking the academy grounds with the burden of his blazing powers visible in every tense step.Her breath hitched, chest tightening with guilt. The weight of all she had done pressed on her like a crushing tide. Memories surged—a flash of Elior’s trusting eyes when he confided in her, a soft smile that now felt like a wound tearing open. The fragile warmth of friendship, the sincerity she had betrayed.Her mind shattered further as her father’s face flickered before her—stoic, worn, but unmistakably alive. The image closed tight around her heart like a vice.Her hand hovered over the threshold spell resting on the intrica

Chapter: The Fire Unleashed Elior’s footsteps echoed hollowly through the deserted garden courtyard, each step weighed down by a storm raging within. The rain whispered cold, relentless secrets through the skeletal branches above, drumming steadily on the stone paths slick with slick puddles reflecting the muted gray skies. The air, heavy and thick with the scent of scorched earth and something far darker, clung to him like a second skin, a burning tension coiling tighter beneath his ribs. His head throbbed fiercely, a warzone where his own battered thoughts skirmished endlessly with the ancient fire’s insidious voice.The two wrestled inside him—his reason pleading for mercy, for control, for sanity, but the demon’s voice, raw with hunger and fury, screamed louder.Then from the shadows stepped Liora—pale as a ghost and almost trembling, though her eyes burned with a steely resolve. She was framed against the rain-drenched darkness, a fragile figure burdened by secrets and remorse.

Chapter 25: Shadows at the DoorI. In Keal’s Office: The Trap TightensThe lamp glow in Keal’s office threw hard shadows on the stone walls, sharpening every cruel angle of his grin. He paced behind his massive desk, hands folded, shooting sidelong glances at Liora. The room itself seemed to pulse with anticipation—dark, grave, every surface and silence charged with a threat only Keal could relish.He leaned in close to Liora, his smirk widening. “A little more, my dear. Just a touch more and Elior won't be able to contain what’s inside him. Do you see it? The fire, the shadows—they’re clawing their way out. You’re pushing perfectly.” His voice was velvet over knives—smooth, but every word drew blood.Liora didn’t answer, couldn’t trust herself to speak. Her hands tightened at her sides, nails half-moons in her palms, stomach sick with guilt. She wished she could find anger, blame, anything besides this ache that crushed her with every one of his compliments.Keal’s voice was intoxica

Chapter 10: Victoria's FallVictoria's credit card was declined at the fourth hotel she tried. The clerk, a tired-looking woman in her fifties, handed it back with the practiced sympathy of someone who'd seen this situation before."Do you have another card?"Victoria had three more cards in her wallet. All of them were maxed out or frozen. "No. Thank you anyway."She walked back out into the Manhattan evening with her suitcase and her phone showing 23% battery. The cheap hotels near the airport wouldn't take her. The mid-range places downtown had looked at her designer luggage with suspicion—clearly someone running from something. And now even the budget chains were turning her away.It was 7:43 PM and Victoria Sterling-Chen, who'd woken up this morning in a penthouse apartment, had nowhere to sleep.Her phone rang. Her mother. Victoria almost didn't answer, but some masochistic part of her needed to hear her family say they'd made a mistake, that of course she could come home, that

Chapter 9: The Chen Family EmergesThe Chen family estate sat on twelve acres in the Hamptons, behind gates that opened with facial recognition and security that made the Secret Service look casual. Alex hadn't been here in three years, two months, and seventeen days. Not since the morning he'd told his grandfather he was getting married and wanted to do it without the family name attached.The old man had called him a fool. Turned out he'd been right.Alex's car pulled up to the main house at 2:34 PM. Before he could get out, the front door opened and Marcus Chen appeared, looking exactly like what he was—the oldest son who'd taken the traditional path, run the family business competently, and never once questioned whether he wanted the life that had been planned for him."Three years," Marcus said, not bothering with hello. "Three years you ghost the family, and you come back because your wife cheated on you?""Good to see you too, brother.""I'm serious, Alex. Do you have any idea

Chapter 8: The Morning AfterVictoria woke up at 6:47 AM to sunlight cutting through curtains that Alex had forgotten to close before he left. For three seconds, she thought it was a normal Tuesday. Then reality crashed back in waves.Her husband was a billionaire. She'd been cheating on him for three months. He knew everything. David Morrison was in federal custody. And she had until noon to pack one suitcase and leave.She reached for her phone out of habit and found seventeen missed calls. Her mother, her father, her brother James, several former colleagues, and three numbers she didn't recognize. No calls from Alex. Not one.The first voicemail was from her mother, timestamped at 11:52 PM."Victoria, your father and I need to speak with you immediately. The Morrison situation has created serious problems for our business. Call me back the moment you get this."Not "are you okay" or "we're worried about you." Just business problems.Victoria deleted it and moved to the next message

Then you would have loved my bank account instead of me. Just like you loved David's apparent wealth instead of him." Alex turned back to face her, and Victoria saw something pitiless in his expression. "At least this way, I know exactly what our marriage was worth to you." "That's not fair—" "Fair?" Alex's voice rose for the first time, carrying three years of suppressed anger. "Was it fair when you let your brother humiliate me at every family gathering? Was it fair when your mother treated me like the help? Was it fair when you spent fifteen thousand dollars on a watch for your lover while telling me we couldn't afford a vacation?" Each accusation landed like a slap. Victoria realized she was crying, but the tears felt useless against the weight of Alex's cold fury. "I'm sorry," she sobbed. "Alex, I'm so sorry. I didn't know—" "You didn't want to know. There's a difference." Alex moved to the sideboard and poured himself a scotch—Macallan 25, she noticed now, another expensive

# Chapter 6: The Price of Betrayal Victoria stood alone in the dining room for seventeen minutes, watching the candles Alex had lit slowly burn down while her world reorganized itself around a truth she'd never seen coming. Her husband wasn't who she'd married. The question was: who exactly had she been living with for three years? At 8:02 PM, her phone erupted with calls. David's name flashed on the screen again and again, each missed call accompanied by increasingly desperate text messages. *Victoria, where are you? I need to see you.* *Baby, please answer. Everything's falling apart.* *My father's cutting me off. The company's finished. I need you.* The desperation in his words should have moved her. Three hours ago, it would have. The passionate, confident David Morrison she'd fallen for would never have sent messages like these—pleading, weak, clinging to her like a life preserver. But then again, three hours ago she'd thought Alex was a struggling marketing coordinator

# Chapter 5: The Moment of TruthThe penthouse smelled like jasmine rice and lemongrass when Victoria stepped through the front door at 7:43 PM. For a moment, standing in the marble foyer with her heels clicking against stone that cost more per square foot than most people's cars, she felt like she was stepping back in time.Back to when coming home meant warmth instead of guilt, when the sight of Alex in the kitchen meant comfort instead of complicated emotions she couldn't name."Perfect timing," Alex called from the dining room, his voice carrying that gentle warmth she'd somehow forgotten how to appreciate. "I was just plating everything."Victoria set down her purse and walked toward the sound of his voice, her steps slower than usual. The dining room table was set for two with their wedding china—the Waterford crystal they'd registered for but never used because it seemed too precious for ordinary nights.Tonight, apparently, wasn't ordinary.Alex emerged from the kitchen carryi