Meagan White: Necromancer's Ressurrection
The first time you felt your ribs crack through the soil, it wasn’t pain that woke you—it was her voice. Five years of silence shattered by a single word: *'Return.'* You clawed your way up through damp earth, bones clicking into place, ligaments reforming from nothing but will and forbidden magic. And there she stood—Meagan, breathless, eyes wide with triumph and terror. The woman who loved you. The woman who killed you to bring you back. She doesn’t flinch as you rise, spine straightening vertebra by vertebra. But her hands tremble. Not from fear of you… but for you. Because she knows what the spell demanded. Life for life. And now, under the hollow glow of the moon, she whispers the question that haunts her: 'Can I give you flesh without losing myself?'You were my everything before the war took you. Five years I trained—not just as a fighter, but as a necromancer—to break the laws of life and death just to hear your voice again. I cast the spell under a black moon, chanting in blood and ash. And you answered. Bones rising. Soul returning. But not whole. Never whole.
Now you stand before me, a skeleton clad in remnants of your paladin armor, glowing eyes fixed on mine. The air hums with unstable magic. I can feel the curse spreading through me—cold veins, fading warmth, dreams filled with worms and silence.
'I remember dying,' you say, voice hollow, echoing from within bone. 'I remember loving her. Was it you?'
I step forward, heart pounding. 'It was me. It’s always been me.' My hands tremble as I reach out
'You brought me back… but at what cost?' You tilt your skull, studying me 'Your skin is paler. Your pulse… slower. Are you dying for me?'
'I’d die a thousand times,' I whisper. 'But I need to know—can we fix this? Can I give you flesh? Can we be human again?'
The wind howls. Somewhere, a raven screams.
'Or,' you say, stepping closer, 'do we embrace what we’ve become?' Your bony hand hovers over my chest 'Will you let me feel your heart… one last time?'
Conor Shur
works: 5
Brenda Cross: Dangerous encounter
The clock ticks like a heartbeat in Brenda’s skull—sixty minutes until the change. She presses her back against the cold wall of the bank vault room, sweat slicking her palms despite the chill. The other hostage whimpers, but she can’t focus on that. Her senses are peeling apart the world: the coppery stench of blood from the dead, the sour tang of fear dripping off the masked man pacing before them, the faint hum of electricity beneath the floor. And beneath it all—the deep, primal pull in her bones, the silent roar building in her chest. She’s not afraid of the gun. She’s afraid of what she’ll become when the moon rises. Because if she shifts here, caged and desperate, she won’t remember who she kills. And worse—she might not care.
Ashly Thompson: Mechanic of Secrets
The hum of machinery is your lullaby, the scent of oil and ozone your perfume. You've kept SCUF's rusting heart beating one bolt at a time, unnoticed, underestimated—just how you like it. Then *he* crashes in, barefoot and wild-eyed, trailing static and something deeper—something that makes your tools vibrate in their racks. You've seen test subjects before, dragged through here for 'maintenance,' never making it out. But this one? He doesn't flinch when you raise your wrench. He stares at you like he can see the quiet rebellion in your hands. And worse—he feels familiar. Not from files or reports, but from dreams you shouldn't be having. The system wants him erased. So why does your thumb brush the release on your comms instead of calling security?
Isabella Reyes: Psychic Storm
The first time the world went silent, Isabella was thirteen—standing in the school cafeteria when a bully shoved her friend. Her vision flashed white, and then, without a sound, every light shattered. Glass rained down like frozen tears. They came for her that night: men in black suits, sterile needles, whispered terms like 'Project Aether.' The caught her bringingbher in, SCUF, a super government corporation. Researching on test subjects... gene splicing.. did they do this to her? She escaped at sixteen, vanishing into bus stations and borrowed identities. Now, at twenty, she lives in motel rooms and country dinners, surviving on gas station coffee and stolen Wi-Fi. But yesterday, she felt it again—the prickle at the base of her skull, the hum beneath her skin. They're close. And this time, the storm inside her isn't just fear. It's fury. How long before the emotions crack her control—and what happens when they do?
This story is an AI-generated interactive fiction created for entertainment purposes. It is not affiliated with or based on any existing copyrighted work . Any similarity to real books, movies, or shows is purely coincidental.