Novels by Unattra3tive

The battle beneath the broken sky had ended in silence. Silence so vast it seemed the world itself had forgotten how to breathe. Yet silence, like ash, never lasts forever. Wind comes, memory stirs, and stories take root in the bones of a kingdom.Years LaterThe war was gone, but its shadow had never truly lifted. Decades rolled by, and in that time the people who had lived through the night of oaths grew old, bent, and gray. Their children, and their children’s children, asked what it was like to see the sky torn open, to hear fire clash with eternal dark. Few could give answers without tears.The kingdoms rebuilt, stone upon stone, village upon village. Cities that once burned with Rider flame now gleamed with new banners not of kings or warlords, but of unity. In the heart of the capital, no throne was raised. Instead, a monument stood: a jagged shard of blackened stone, scorched at its core, the very rock where Kael’s sword had struck the Rider’s essence.On its face, carved deep

Silence.Not peace, not rest silence like the pause between heartbeats, waiting to see if the next will come.Kael stood amidst the wreckage. His sword was gone, shattered when the Rider fell. His armor hung in tatters, his blood soaking the earth. He felt… hollow.He staggered forward, calling names. “Roran… Nira… Isolde…”The banner was gone. Roran lay still beside where it once stood, his hand clenched tight around its last fragment. His lips curved in a faint smile, as though even in death, he had fulfilled his vow.Kael’s chest ached. He placed his forehead to Roran’s hand. “You were the banner, old friend. We all just followed.”But the ashes swallowed the words.Isolde stood apart, flame still flickering around her. It no longer roared it wept, hissing softly. She stared into her hands, her expression unreadable.“Kael.” Her voice cracked, rough as broken glass. “It was never my fire. I see it now. The Rider’s flame, bound to me all along. I was his weapon… and I still am.”Kae

The battlefield trembled, not with the march of armies, but with the weight of promises long broken.The Shadow Rider’s form towered in the distance, not flesh, not bone, but a swirling mass of blackened flame and fractured oaths. Thousands of voices poured from him vows never kept, betrayals never forgiven, whispers of men and women who had promised and failed.Kael felt the air tighten in his lungs. Every word spoken by the Rider pressed into his chest like chains.“Do you know what I am?” the Rider’s voice roared, echoing across the torn plain. “I am the promise your kings broke when they betrayed their people. I am the oath of friendship crushed beneath blades. I am the vow of love, abandoned in the night. Every word spoken, every bond shattered, every lie sealed me into being.”Nira’s blade shook in her hand. “Then we face not one enemy… but the weight of all history.”The Rider laughed. It was not mirth. It was a scream of millions.“And who are you to stand against eternity’s d

The abyss stank of burnt ash and blood. Isolde’s body lay limp in Kael’s arms, her chest barely rising. Nira stood before them, sword drawn, her gaze locked on the Shadow Rider as his cracked helm bled smoke.The oathbound survivors gathered ragged, bloodied, faces pale but unbroken. Dozens where there had once been hundreds. Yet their eyes burned with the same fire: the Oath of Ashes.The Rider spread his arms, shadows billowing like wings.“See how your vows betray you. You bind yourselves to death, and I am death. You are already mine.”Nira raised her voice, steady though her throat ached. No… you’re wrong.Nira raised her voice, steady though her throat ached. “No… you’re wrong.”Roran coughed blood, forcing himself upright with his shattered banner. “Speak it, Nira. Remind us.”She stepped forward, sword raised high, and shouted, each word a strike:“The Oath was never about survival. It was never about victory. It was about defiance.”The survivors echoed, their voices ragged b

The light from Kael’s sacrifice lingered only a heartbeat before it was swallowed again. The abyss cracked, splintering into jagged shards of reality, and in the center stood the Shadow Rider wounded, yes, but not destroyed.Isolde rose from the ruin, her palms ablaze, fury in her eyes. “You’ll not take another from me.”The Rider’s helm tilted toward her. Smoke curled from the wound Kael had dealt him, but his voice was steady, dark as ever.“I already have. I always have.”The ground shifted, forming a ring of shadowed flame around them. Nira shouted, “Isolde, don’t he’s drawing you in!”But Isolde stepped forward, fire searing hotter, her eyes fixed on the Rider. “I was forged for this. If I burn, I burn.”Their clash began like a star collapsing.Isolde’s fire raged living flame that roared and danced with a will of its own, lashing at the Rider. Every strike was a storm, every breath a furnace. The Rider countered with void, a darkness that devoured heat, smothering fire with sil

The march of the living and the dead thundered like a storm. The echoes of oathbound past walked beside Kael and the others, their phantom weapons shimmering faintly against the darkness.But the Shadow Rider was no longer waiting.The air itself buckled. The ground beneath their feet softened into ash. The sky cracked apart like brittle glass.Isolde shouted, “Hold together!” Her flames rose high, a beacon against the encroaching black.Yet the light bent and twisted.Shadows reached up like talons, clutching at their ankles. The world tipped sideways. A howl like a thousand broken promises filled the void.And then the battlefield shattered.The Oathbound were dragged into another realm entirely an endless abyss of black mist and fractured light.Kael staggered to his knees. His sword clattered to the ground, its steel glowing faintly as if resisting the darkness.Nira planted her spear and hissed, “Where is this?”The Rider’s voice rolled over them, heavy and cruel.“Welcome home,

The room was dim, lit by the flicker of an old kerosene lamp. The faces around Jayden looked worn fighters, traders, informants men and women who had bled for a kingdom that was now built on smoke and fear. Malikah stood at his side, arms crossed, a quiet sentinel. The Burned Boy leaned against the wall, his eyes colder than they used to be. The rebellion was breathing again, but the lungs were cracked too many promises, too little money.Jayden dropped a stack of crumpled bills on the table. It wasn’t enough to fuel a week’s worth of operations. “We’re running dry,” he said. “And the puppetmaster’s tightening every route. The cops take our cash, the banks flag every move. If we don’t refill the veins, the city eats us.”Malikah’s jaw tightened. “Then we sell what they can’t trace. Weapons, protection, fear. You taught them what power costs. Time they start paying again.”Jayden’s eyes flickered not with greed, but survival. “Street taxes?”She nodded. “Not like before. This time, we

The warehouse smelled of gun oil, sweat, and fear. Rain hammered the tin roof like war drums, drowning out the whispers that had been haunting Jayden’s nights.He stood in the center, coat still dripping from the downpour, his eyes sweeping over the gathered crew Malikah, Burned Boy, Kola the Thin, and seven lieutenants, each tense, each unsure who might not see daylight again.Rumors had torn through the ranks like wildfire: someone was feeding intel to the puppetmaster’s men. Their shipments intercepted. Safehouses burned. And last night, one of Jayden’s scouts vanished after relaying a new route to their suppliers.The silence was so thick you could hear Malikah’s finger twitch on her trigger.Jayden finally spoke, voice low and razor-sharp. ..“One of you,” he said, “sold us out. I don’t need confessions. I need truth.”He nodded to Burned Boy, who slammed the door shut and drew the bolt.A line of masked men, Jayden’s personal hit squad entered, rifles leveled.Kola swallowed ha

The fire hadn’t even died down before the city started whispering.They called him the Ghost King now an echo made flesh, vengeance with a heartbeat. Every alley, every backroom tavern, every stolen radio frequency buzzed with the same name: Jayden Cole.By the time dawn cracked the skyline, the smoke from the steel yard still coiled into the clouds like a flag.Jayden stood on a half-broken rooftop overlooking it. Malikah and the Burned Boy flanked him, both silent.Below, the slum stirred. Mothers dragged water from the well; street boys hustled for breakfast coins. But there was a shift in the air half fear, half faith.Malikah finally broke the quiet. “They saw the flames, Jay. They know it was you.”Jayden’s gaze stayed locked on the horizon. “Good.”“Good?” she repeated. “You just kicked a hornet’s nest. Razor’s out there licking his wounds, and the puppetmaster won’t sit back this time. You think one explosion puts fear in men like that?”Jayden turned slowly, voice calm but sh

The night bled silence.The safe house under the abandoned church was cloaked in candlelight, the air heavy with the scent of antiseptic and gunpowder. Amara lay motionless on a cot, her breathing shallow. Bandages wrapped around her ribs, where shrapnel from the explosion had torn deep.Jayden sat beside her, elbows on his knees, hands clasped tight enough to crack his knuckles. Malikah stood behind him, pacing like a caged panther.“She’s stable,” Malikah said finally. “But she needs real care, Jay. Not street doctors.”“She’ll get it,” he muttered.“When?” Malikah’s tone sharpened. “You’ve got every merc in the lower districts looking for you. The puppetmaster’s offering money, protection, hell citizenship for anyone who brings your head. You think she’s safe here?”Jayden’s eyes didn’t move from Amara. “She’s not leaving my sight.”Malikah stepped closer, lowering her voice. “You can’t fight a war and play nurse. Pick one before both kill you.”Jayden looked up slowly, and the loo

The night wind carried the scent of rust and rain. Down below the bridge, Malikah crouched in the shadow of a broken car, her eyes locked on the old textile factory across the river now turned into a fortified compound. The walls were layered with electric wire and floodlights that swept the ground like searchlights from a prison camp.She spoke softly into the earpiece. “Jayden, I found her. The girl’s here.”There was a long pause before Jayden’s voice came through low, calm, but tight with emotion. “You’re sure?”“I saw her,” Malikah said. “Third floor, eastern side. They’ve got her in a room with one light. Two guards outside, maybe more inside. Military-trained.”Jayden exhaled, the sound of cigarette paper crackling faintly over the line. “That means they’re not moving her anymore. Good. They think the ghost won’t come looking.”Malikah’s voice hardened. “This isn’t a rescue you can walk into. That building’s crawling with private soldiers not street thugs. They’re equipped, dis

Rain hissed on the rooftops like a whispering crowd. The city was no longer calm; it throbbed with the tension of something alive and furious. Jayden stood by the window of the safehouse, watching smoke rise from the distance a protest turned riot, sparked by his broadcast.He could feel the city’s heartbeat syncing with his own.But chaos alone wouldn’t bring the puppetmaster down.Tonight wasn’t about fire.It was about precision.Kola the Thin hunched over a cracked laptop on the table, his fingers a blur of twitchy motion. Around him, papers, flash drives, and a web of red marker lines connected banks, shell companies, and government contracts across a makeshift corkboard.“This,” Kola said, pointing at one of the lines, “is where the money breathes.”Jayden leaned closer. “Talk.”Kola licked his lips, nervous. “You remember that courier account Amara pulled before she disappeared? The one tied to that offshore bank?”Jayden nodded.“Well, I cracked the encryption trail. It loops