Novels by Baeksy

The silence in the interrogation room was a physical weight, thick with the revelation Iris had just whispered into Cassian’s mind. Director Rian’s grey eyes were predatory, fixed on Cassian’s face as if trying to read the very thoughts Iris was transmitting."What’s wrong, Director?" Cassian asked, his voice a rasping challenge. "You look like you’ve seen a ghost. Or maybe you're just looking at one."Before Rian could respond, the cool white light of the room flickered violently. A sharp, rhythmic chirping erupted from the consoles behind the one-way mirror."Cassian, now!" Iris’s voice cracked in his head, distorted by static. "I’m overloading the local suppression grid. Your wrist guard—it's going to blow!"The device on Cassian’s left wrist suddenly shrieked, a high-pitched whine that set his teeth on edge. It didn’t just deactivate; it buckled. Blue sparks showered his lap as the internal dampener succumbed to the external hack. The oppressive fog that had muzzled the symbol on

The world blurred around Cassian. He was half-dragged, half-carried towards the waiting black transport, the armoured figures moving with an unnerving, synchronized efficiency. The device clamped around his left wrist throbbed with a low hum, effectively muzzling the symbol on his palm, dimming its crimson glow to a faint, internal ache. His eyes met Iris Bellamy’s for a fleeting moment – hers wide with horror and a desperate, knowing fear that spoke volumes. Then the heavy door of the vehicle slammed shut, plunging him into near-total darkness, leaving the sounds of the distorted district and Iris’s whispered warning behind.The transport moved with silent speed, its interior devoid of windows. Cassian slumped against the cold, hard seat, his body screaming in protest, every muscle protesting the immense exertion and the sudden paralysis of his unique ability. The hum from his wrist guard was a constant, low thrum, a dull roar in his bones that kept him on edge. Time became a fluid c

The black sedan was still there, a predatory shadow in the quiet residential street, its windows like impenetrable obsidian mirrors reflecting nothing. Cassian’s heart hammered a frantic rhythm against his ribs, each beat a stark reminder of the dread coiling in his gut. The pale glow of dawn was still hours away, yet the world felt acutely alive, humming with an unseen tension. He was a target. The hunt had begun.He stayed at the window for what felt like an eternity, but was probably only minutes, his gaze fixed on the sleek vehicle. No movement. No visible occupants. Just the silent, watchful presence that screamed "threat." He considered running, packing a bag, disappearing. But where would he go? Nemeor's words echoed: "He... The Unmaker... will return. You must prepare. Find the truth... before He consumes all." And the chilling revelation: "HOST STATUS: IMPOSSIBLE." He was irrevocably marked, pulled into a conflict far beyond his understanding. Running wouldn't erase that.The

Cassian stumbled back, gasping, sweat plastering his hair to his forehead. His entire body ached, his head throbbed, and his palm felt like it had been held in a forge. He leaned against the wall, trying to regain his equilibrium, the acrid smell of ozone still clinging to the air. The crowd was silent, staring at the now-normal subway entrance, then at Cassian, a mixture of awe and terror on their faces.Then, the system interface, which had been flickering wildly during the collapse, steadied. One final message appeared, stark and undeniable:[HOST STATUS: IMPOSSIBLE.]His mind, a void of exhaustion and confusion, struggled to process the message. Impossible. He was impossible. The raw, visceral truth of it settled deep in his bones, heavier than any academic concept. The weight of it, combined with the lingering adrenaline, made his legs tremble. He pushed off the wall, turning to face the onlookers. The mother of the boy he’d saved rushed forward, not to him, but to the normal, st

He jolted awake, gasping for air, a sharp, searing pain exploding behind his eyes. It was a throbbing, relentless headache, unlike anything he had ever experienced. His room was bathed in the pale light of dawn, the world outside eerily silent. Nemeor's cryptic words, "He… The Unmaker… will return," echoed in his mind, an unwanted guest. He pressed a hand to his forehead, trying to rub away the pain.As his fingers brushed against his left palm, a jolt of alarm, then a sharp, burning sensation, shot through him. He pulled his hand away, staring. Etched deeply into the center of his palm, a vibrant, glowing crimson against his skin, was a symbol he had never seen before. It was intricate and alien, a swirling vortex of interlocking lines that pulsed faintly with an inner light, like a tiny, contained nebula. It felt hot, almost branded, a permanent mark.Cassian stared at the glowing symbol, his mind a frantic scramble for any explanation, any way to fit this into his meticulously orde

The insistent chirping of his alarm carved through Cassian Ward’s tenuous grip on sleep. It was 6:30 AM, precisely, a time he’d come to both resent and rely upon, a steadfast anchor in the swirling current of his university life. He slapped the snooze button with practiced apathy, rolling onto his back, eyes still sealed. The scent of stale coffee from yesterday’s forgotten mug mingled with the faint, comforting aroma of old textbooks. Another day. Another lecture. Another hundred pages to digest before his thesis proposal. His life was a symphony of predictable rhythms, a meticulously orchestrated routine that, while occasionally monotonous, offered a certain peace. He preferred the quantifiable, the demonstrable, the solid ground of academic logic. Strange occurrences, supernatural phenomena, whispers of the impossible – they were diversions for late-night documentaries, not aspects of his reality.He dragged himself out of bed, the familiar ache in his lower back a constant compani