Novels by Sweet-muoth

Rain hammered the hospital roof like fists demanding entry. Inside St. Haven Medical Center, the air felt heavier than before, like every wall remembered what had been said yesterday.James Wood walked through the corridor, coat swinging behind him. Nurses stepped aside. Patients lowered their eyes. The silence that followed him felt like a crown, and a warning.He had returned to the world not just as a man. But as something reshaped by betrayal. At the nurse’s desk, Elina hurried after him.Elina: “Dr. Wood, your seven private patients are here again. They came early. All of them.”James: “Good. Let them wait.Elina: “They look… terrified.”James paused.James: “Terror means progress.”THE KILLERS GATHERIn Room 12B, the seven conspirators sat around a table. No laughter. No arrogance. Only fear. Samuel’s left arm twitched uncontrollably. Rebecca blinked rapidly, her vision flickering like broken film.Victor massaged his temples, murmuring to himself. Clinton Reeves fought for bre

The storm rolled across the city like a warning. Thunder rattled the hospital windows. Lightning flashed through the halls, white and violent. The air smelled like rain and electricity, like a world about to change.Inside St. Haven Medical Center, the waiting room overflowed with patients, but seven chairs remained reserved. Seven chairs, separated from the rest. Seven chairs with seven names.Maria Wood. Michael Tenneson. Sandra Blake. Dr. Clinton Reeves. Rebecca Hall. Victor Dane. Samuel Cray.Every one of them here. Every one of them trembling. Nurse Elina rushed to James with a clipboard. “Doctor,”she said, anxious, “they’re all waiting. They want answers.”James slid on his gloves. “They’ll get them,” he replied.“One by one.”CONFLICT IGNITES IMMEDIATELYBefore James could step forward, Samuel Cray staggered out of his seat. Sweat drenched his face, and his left hand twitched uncontrollably.“Wood! We need to talk!”Samuel shouted. The room went silent.James turned slowly. “M

The morning fog clung to the hospital windows like ghostly fingerprints, distorting the light and giving the corridors a muted, dreamlike glow.Dr. James Wood walked through those halls with measured steps, his lab coat swaying behind him like the cloak of a monarch who ruled in silence.His face remained calm, professional, reassuring to anyone who saw him, the very image of a kind, brilliant doctor. But beneath his skin, beneath his pulse and breath, something darker flourished.Vengeance had roots now. It was growing."Seventeen years they've lived without guilt,"James thought, passing a group of nurses. "Seventeen years since they stole my life. Seventeen years since they murdered James Wood the first time."Now, he was ready. Not for their death, not yet, but for their descent. Slow, crawling, inevitable. Like sickness.He reached his office, closed the door, and stared at the files spread across his table. Each one had a name. Each one belonged to a killer.Maria Wood. Michael

The rain hammered the windows of St. Augustine Medical Center, a hospital that smelled of antiseptics, secrets, and ghosts that had not yet learned how to leave.Lightning flickered through the lobby, illuminating the polished floors and spotless walls. On the glass doors, a gold plaque gleamed:DR. JAMES WOOD, CHIEF CONSULTANT & LEAD SPECIALIST.“Where Healing Meets Hope.”A lie. A mask. Hope did not live here. Only revenge with a heartbeat. James stood at the reception desk reviewing patient files. His white coat fit him like armor. His stethoscope felt like a sword. His pen, like a blade waiting to strike.He was ready. Because today marked the beginning. Today… one of the betrayers would walk through his door.THE FIRST STEP INTO THE TRAPReceptionist Mira whispered, keeping her voice low. “Doctor… you have a new private patient. He insisted on seeing you specifically.”James’s pulse slowed. Not fear. Calculation. “Name?”His voice was calm. Too calm. Mira checked her schedule. “T

James stared at the black envelope as though it might breathe.The room was silent enough to hear the hum of the AC.He remained still for a long moment, calculating, weighing, measuring. Then he picked up the envelope. Inside was a single sheet of paper. Black ink. Clean handwriting. One sentence.“You’re not the only one who remembers.”James’s pulse tightened. He read it again. And again. Remember? Remember what? His rebirth? His murder? The truth of his past?Impossible. No one could know. He folded the note slowly, placed it on the desk, and breathed out. Another hunter meant interference. Another hunter meant unpredictability.Another hunter meant danger, for the seven killers, and for James’s perfect revenge. But worse… If someone else “remembered,”then they weren’t just hunting the seven. They might be hunting him. A knock. Soft. Careful. James turned. Nurse Amina stepped inside. “Doctor Wood, Mr. Kelvin… he wants to leave early.”James blinked once.“Is he stable?”“Yes.”Her

James tightened the gloves on his hands as he stepped into Ward C.Monitors beeped like restless whispers.The morning lights were dim, almost cautious in how they illuminated the room. Nurse Amina raised her head when she saw him. “Doctor Wood… there’s something off today.”James approached her desk. “What happened?”Amina exhaled slowly. “Three of your VIP patients requested private evaluations at the same time. All insisted it had to be you.”James paused. A slow coil of anticipation wrapped around his nerves. “Which three?”Amina swallowed. “Mr. Kelvin. Mr. Francis. And Mrs. Diana.”Three of the seven. James kept his expression neutral. “Send them to separate consultation rooms.”Amina nodded, uneasy. He turned away, but a small smirk tried to form on his lips. He crushed it down. Nothing yet. Not until chapter fifty. James entered Consultation Room 1.Kelvin sat there with his usual smug grin, snapping gum between his teeth, legs crossed like he owned the place.Kelvin looked up.

Bishop Knox didn’t disappear. He adapted. That truth arrived at 2:17 a.m., wrapped in a single notification that lit Kairo’s phone like a warning flare.UNKNOWN NUMBER: You taught me silence. Let me teach you loss. Kairo was already moving before the message finished loading. “Wake Crow,”he told Lena. “Now.”She was out of the room in seconds. The warehouse lights hummed on, harsh and unforgiving. Kairo pulled up feeds, street cams, financial alerts, anything that twitched. Nothing. That was the problem.Crow entered, jacket half-on, eyes sharp. “What happened?”“Nothing,”Kairo said. “Which means something’s about to.”As if summoned, Crow’s phone rang. He answered. Listened. Went pale.“They hit one of my couriers,”Crow said. “Alive. But broken.”Lena cursed. “Bishop.”Crow nodded. “He left a message carved into the floor.”Kairo’s jaw tightened. “What did it say?”Crow swallowed. “Structures crack from inside.”Silence fell.“That’s not random,”Lena said. “That’s a warning.”Kai

Bishop Knox vanished too cleanly. That was the first problem. The second was how quiet Blackgate became afterward. No retaliation. No rumors. No bodies. Silence that felt staged.Kairo noticed it from the warehouse balcony, watching traffic crawl like veins of light through the city.“Power doesn’t retreat,”he said. “It relocates.”Lena leaned on the rail beside him. “You beat him.”“I displaced him,”Kairo replied. “That’s different.”Behind them, Crow ended a call sharply and joined them, expression unreadable. “Bishop’s assets are scattering,”Crow said. “Not collapsing.”Kairo turned. “Meaning?”“Meaning someone’s absorbing them,”Crow replied. “Quietly.”Lena frowned. “Who?”Crow hesitated. That hesitation was loud. The meeting happened two hours later. Not underground. Not hidden. Forty floors up, in a glass tower that overlooked the city like a god with good taste.Security waved them through without checking names. That was the warning. Inside, a woman waited near the window,

The place Bishop chose was deliberate. An old courthouse downtown, condemned, gutted, forgotten by the city but still standing like a warning. Marble floors cracked. Statues blindfolded and broken. Justice abandoned but not erased.Kairo arrived alone. That mattered. He stepped inside, footsteps echoing too loud, cane tapping once against stone before he forced himself to stop using it. Tonight, he would not limp. A voice drifted from the shadows.“You’re late.”Bishop Knox stepped into the light, immaculate as ever, hands clasped behind his back like a man inspecting property. “I wasn’t late,”Kairo replied. “You were early.”Bishop smiled faintly. “Still correcting people.”“Still owning them,” Kairo said.They stood ten feet apart. No weapons visible. That was the lie. “You cost me three safe houses,”Bishop said calmly. “And embarrassed me.”“You burned down my home,”Kairo replied. “And killed my family.”Bishop tilted his head. “Old Joe was collateral.”Kairo didn’t blink. “So w

Bishop Knox did not rage. He adjusted. That was why people feared him. The call came at dawn. Crow listened in silence, phone pressed to his ear, eyes unreadable. When he ended the call, he didn’t look at Kairo right away. “He knows,”Crow said finally. Lena stiffened. “Knows what?”“That Marrow folded,”Crow replied. “That someone spoke into his ear.”Kairo exhaled slowly. “So he moves.”“Yes,”Crow said. “And he won’t come for you first.”Kairo frowned. “Why not?”Crow met his eyes. “Because killing symbols is louder than killing men.”The first body dropped before noon. A street enforcer named Holt. Found in his car, hands bound, mouth stuffed with cash. The message spread fast. Bishop’s signature. Lena slammed her fist against the table. “He’s punishing disobedience.”“And resetting fear,”Crow said. Kairo stared at the photo on the screen. Holt had laughed with him once, over cheap beer. “He wants me to respond,”Kairo said.Crow nodded. “If you don’t, you look weak.”“And if I d

The smell of smoke clung to Kairo’s clothes long after the flames were gone. They stood across the street from what used to be the pawnshop. Blackened brick. Twisted metal. A crowd held back by yellow tape and quiet curiosity.Lena hadn’t spoken in ten minutes. Kairo hadn’t breathed properly in longer. Detective Mara Quinn moved through the wreckage with practiced detachment, eyes sharp, notebook already half full.She stopped in front of them. “You knew the owner,”she said. Kairo nodded once. “He was family.”Mara studied his face. “Then I’m sorry.”He believed her. That made it worse. “We think it was arson,”she continued. “Targeted. Fast. Professional.”Lena’s voice cracked. “You think?”Mara glanced at her. “Someone wanted to send a message.”Kairo met the detective’s gaze. “Message received.”Mara hesitated. “If you know something,”“I don’t,”Kairo said evenly. She nodded slowly. “You will.”She turned back to the wreckage. Lena exhaled shakily. “She knows.”“Yes,” Kairo said.

The city didn’t wait for decisions. It punished hesitation.Kairo felt that truth settle into his bones as he stood on the pawnshop roof before dawn, watching Blackgate breathe beneath him, traffic lights blinking, sirens fading, secrets moving from hand to hand.Lena joined him, coffee in one hand, tension in the other. “You didn’t sleep,”she said. Kairo didn’t turn. “Neither did you.”She handed him the cup. “Bishop’s been making calls.”“That’s never good.”“No,”she agreed. “It means someone’s about to disappear.”Kairo finally faced her. “Who?”Lena hesitated. “Maybe you.”Silence stretched between them. “You met Crow,”she said. “Yes.”“And you didn’t tell Bishop right away.”“I told him,”Kairo replied. “I didn’t agree to anything.”Lena studied his face. “That’s not what scares me.”Before he could respond, Bishop’s voice cut through the air. “Both of you. Inside.”The back room felt smaller than before. Bishop stood by the table, a burner phone glowing in his hand.“Elias Cr

George hit the ground HARD.Air slammed out of his lungs, dust exploding upward as his body skidded across cracked pavement. The world around him spun, blinding light, blaring horns, shouting voices. He lay on his back, staring up at a gray morning sky. Rain clouds choked the horizon. Car tires screeched somewhere nearby.A woman shouted, “HEY! YOU ALMOST HIT HIM!”George groaned, pushing himself up. His bones felt… new. Softer. Younger. The familiar heaviness of a seasoned fighter was gone. His joints didn’t ache. His muscles were lean, not hardened by violence.He wasn’t broken. He wasn’t dying. He wasn’t bleeding. He was alive. And human again. A teenager, maybe seventeen. A crowd gathered around him.“Kid, you alright?”“Should we call someone?”“Is he hurt?”George blinked. Final life… this is my final life. The boy’s last warning echoed like thunder in his skull: “If Asher hesitates even once, RUN.”George staggered to his feet, ignoring the hands reaching to help him. He didn’

George slammed back into existence with a violent jolt, landing on hard stone. His breath ripped from his lungs as a shock of pain shot through his ribs. Darkness surrounded him. Cold. Heavy. Wrong.He coughed, pushing himself upright. The chamber he was in felt ancient, pillars carved with shifting spirals, walls breathing faint silver mist. The air tasted like metal and forgotten prayers. He wasn’t alone.A massive shadow formed behind him. George froze, every muscle locking. “Seventh Soul…”The voice was everywhere. Inside his ears. Inside his skull. Inside his bones. The Sovereign had followed him. “No,”George whispered, backing away. “You shouldn’t be here. The First Soul said”“The First Soul is gone,”the Sovereign rumbled. “The White Layer has broken. You cannot hide anymore.”The temperature dropped so fast George’s breath turned to frost. He forced himself to stand straighter.“You said they built me to end everything,” George spat. “Why me? Why not someone stronger? Smarte

George’s body plunged through the collapsing floor, swallowed by a blinding white abyss. No gravity.No sound. No air. Only endless brightness stretching in every direction.He twisted in free fall, arms flailing, but there was nothing to grab, nothing to slow him, nothing to define up or down. Just falling.Forever. “HELLO!”he shouted, but the sound scattered like dust in the void. His chest tightened. His breath vanished. His bones vibrated from the Sovereign’s touch that had seared into him like a brand. They built you to end everything.The words echoed again inside his skull. “No…”George gasped. “No, NO!”He tried to steady his mind, but fragments of visions slammed into him, destruction, flames, galaxies breaking apart, thousands of spirits bowing around a ritual circle.And at the center of the ritual, a child with his face. George clutched his head and screamed. “STOP! STOP SHOWING ME THIS!”The white void trembled. A ripple formed in the distance, spreading outward like a s

Blue light shimmered against George’s skin as he stumbled through the underground hall. The walls pulsed like living veins, carrying streams of trapped souls whispering in languages older than Earth.He forced himself upright, breath ragged. Footsteps echoed behind him. Not the Collectors. Something softer. Smaller. A child’s steps. George spun, muscles tight, and froze. There he was.The Boy.The same boy who had appeared five times across three years. The boy who spoke prophecies no child should understand. The boy who never changed, never grew, never aged.Now he stood in the glowing corridor, barefoot, wearing the same white shirt and shorts, his eyes dark pools of knowing. “You’re late,”the boy said calmly. George’s throat went dry. “You, how did you get here?”“You’re not the only one who can cross the folds between lives,”the boy replied. His voice carried no echo in the cavern. “I warned you this would happen.”George stepped back. “You told me I was on my last reincarnation

The tower quaked as the Sovereign stepped fully into the chamber, each footfall shaking the stone like a heartbeat made of thunder. Golden fire poured slowly from the creature’s hands, dripping like molten sunlight and burning the floor where it touched.George’s pulse spiked.Rion grabbed his arm. “Up the stairs! NOW!”George didn’t argue, he sprinted. The spiraling staircase clung to the inner wall of the tower, steep and narrow. Blue lanterns flickered wildly as he ran upward two steps at a time.Behind him, the Sovereign’s voice thundered: “SEVENTH-SOUL. YOUR THREAD ENDS HERE.” George shouted down, breath ragged. “Rion! Why is that thing after me?!”Rion sprinted behind him, cloak snapping like torn wings. “Sovereigns hunt what threatens the balance! Your stolen fates, your extra lives, they see all of it as corruption!”“I didn’t ask for any of this!”“Intent does not matter to a Sovereign!”A beam of golden fire ripped past them, blasting through the staircase. Stone crumbled. G

George hit the ground hard enough to knock the air from his lungs. Dust exploded around him in a blue-lit cloud. His palms scraped against rough stone.For a moment he lay there, gasping, trying to understand what had happened, where he was, why everything felt wrong, heavy, unreal. Then he heard it.A low hum. Like thousands of distant whispers bleeding together. He pushed himself up The sight froze him.He stood on a platform overlooking a massive cavern a city carved into the rock, its walls glowing with blue veins of light. Towers twisted upward like spirals of bone.Bridges hung like spiderwebs between impossible structures. Below, countless translucent figures drifted, souls, wandering aimlessly, their faces blank and shimmering.The place pulsed with an energy he could feel through his skin. “Where the hell am I…?”His voice echoed strangely, swallowed by the humming below. A sharp whistle cut through the air. George turned just in time. The Collectors were coming.Descending l