The hallway narrowed. No windows. Red lights bled across steel floors. I moved slow, rifle ready. The server core ahead hummed like a heartbeat. Guards froze, oblivious. One by one, I dismantled them—precision, silence, brutality. Jayla’s voice cut through static: “Jakari, you’re in the blind zone.” I plugged in her drive. Data flooded my HUD—contracts, shipments, assassinations. Alarms flared. I yanked the drive free, heart steady. “Got what we came for,” I said. Jayla’s voice whispered, “I’ve got you. No matter what.”

She was trained to silence the cracks. But now she listens — and the world is starting to remember. In a desert where petals drift upward and roads ripple with memory, a rogue demon knight kneels beside a glowing fracture. The Bloomless Order calls her a traitor. The cracks call her back. When the Blooming Hour begins again, she won’t seal the wound. She’ll speak to it.

The forest withdrew before him. Sound failed. Distance lost meaning. Men moved, then did not. Orders were spoken to emptiness. This was not a battle—it was an audit. Resistance lasted seven minutes, not because it was strong, but because mortality requires time to realize it no longer applies. When judgment finished, the world exhaled and forgot their names. Somewhere far away, something listening understood: correction had resumed.

Rain sliced across the windshield. Jayla drove, precise and silent, while shadows clung to the road like predators. Lina hunched over her sketchpad, pencil moving faster than her pulse. Evelyn Crowe’s house rose from the earth, dark and breathing, and inside, the air shifted. “He’s coming,” Evelyn said, eyes locking on Jakari. My chest tightened. I glanced at the group: Asia poised, Jayla calculating, Lina trembling yet defiant. Whatever came for us, it would face all of us. Together.

The men laughed on the flight deck—until the wind died. Azrathion raised his hand, and their shadows peeled away from their bodies like living things. Blood ran from their eyes as armor grew from bone and darkness swallowed their screams. They knelt not by choice, but by command. Dakota watched, frozen, cigar trembling between his fingers. This was no ally. This was what the world sent when death itself had failed—and it had come for Jakari.

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Join the twin Witches, Yeta and Yater, as they venture out to find a demon to seed their perfect child. Part of a series of short stories that make up the Anataya Chronicles. Story contains mature subject matter. With that, enjoy.

The airport was a graveyard frozen between fire and ash. Smoke twisted into the sky, planes lay melted on the tarmac, bodies scorched and lifeless. No sirens, no help—just silence. I felt them—faint whispers of trapped souls—but I shoved the voices away, hiding my gift. Jakari’s eyes never left me as I sketched shadows and chained figures, symbols I barely understood. “Who are these?” he asked. I swallowed. “I don’t know… I just see them.” Something was coming. Something close. And we weren’t ready.

In this note we dive into the wonder and world of the Stygianus Tribe. The galactic travelers of Mythrendar™️

She was forged to silence the cracks. Now she listens to them. In a desert where petals fall upward and roads ripple with memory, a rogue demon knight kneels beside a forbidden fracture — not to seal it, but to hear what it remembers. The Bloomless Order calls her a traitor. The cracks call her back. When the Blooming Hour begins again, she won’t fight to contain it. She’ll fight to understand it.

She was forged in ritual, armored in silence, and trained to kill what blooms. > > But now she picks flowers. > > The demon knight walks again.

A crack in the wall widens overnight, exhaling petals and memories that aren’t yours. When something small and hungry slips through, you realize the wall isn’t just breaking — it’s waking up.

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This note offers an exclusive glimpse into the birth of the Celestine Dragons of Mythrendar™️and the darkness from which they were born.

In this note you will find what you can expect from Mythrendar™️and from its creator, Nefarious J.R. Bane

A young man finds himself being chased by a beast. After falling and fearing for what remained of his life, a hunter appears to save the day...or night.

A singed dwarf emerges from the catacombs with news of widening cracks that breathe smoke and flame. Valdis’ cursed sword pulses with hunger. Persephone’s roots twitch with underworld winds. And Medusa’s snakes recoil as the sky darkens unnaturally fast. Something ancient is waking beneath them—older than gods, hungrier than death, and no longer content to stay buried.

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This is the first chapter of my book. I hope you enjoy. In this chapter, Leir finds himself entangled in a destiny beyond his awareness.

Well, the Elders Council found out about his little.... problem... but things will be alright. Won't they?