
From Shattered Prodigy to Abyssal Vengeance
7.2 / 10.0
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Elara Vex had everything-a flawless ice core, the title of prodigy, and a place at the pinnacle of the High Tower. But in one brutal night, it was all ripped away. Her mentor tore the core from her chest. Her fiancé drove a sword through her back. Her own sister smiled as she bled out on the cold marble floor.
When Elara wakes, she's years in the past, mere hours before her core is scheduled to be stolen. This time, she won't be anyone's sacrificial lamb. She shatters her own core with forbidden blood magic and forges something far more terrifying in its place-a bottomless, ravenous Chaos Core that devours magic itself.
Now, branded a worthless cripple and cast into the deadly Abyss, Elara is pulled from the darkness by the outcasts of Elysium Academy-a school for heretics, psychopaths, and everything the Tower despises. Under the tutelage of a reclusive principal who knew her murdered mother, Elara will master her forbidden power and uncover the Tower's darkest secrets.
When the Five Academies Ranking Tournament arrives, Seraphina Vex stands in the arena, draped in white saintess robes, ready to claim ultimate glory. She doesn't know that a ghost from her past has clawed her way back from hell. She doesn't know that Elara is coming-and this time, the prodigal sister isn't asking for mercy. She's bringing chaos.
From Shattered Prodigy to Abyssal Vengeance Chapter 1
Elara's eyes snapped open.
Cold air rushed into her lungs like crushed glass. She shot up from the mattress, coughing so violently her ribs ached. Her hands flew to her chest, her fingers digging frantically into the fabric of her nightgown.
There was no gaping hole. There was no blood.
She looked down. Beneath her pale skin, a pristine, ice-blue core pulsed with a steady, rhythmic glow. It was whole.
A heavy, metallic bell tolled from the corridor outside. The sound vibrated through the stone floor and shot straight up Elara's spine.
Her stomach dropped. The physical exam. Silas was coming.
The memory of her previous life hit her like a physical blow to the head. The sensation of Silas's hand plunging into her chest, tearing this exact blue core from her flesh to give to Seraphina, made her throat close up.
Panic threatened to paralyze her, but a cold, brutal survival instinct took over.
Elara brought her thumb to her mouth and bit down hard. The sharp tang of copper flooded her tongue. She dropped to her knees on the cold stone floor and began to draw.
Her bloody finger moved in frantic, jagged lines, sketching a forbidden reverse-sealing array.
As the first drop of blood hit the stone, the ancient silver bracelet on her left wrist grew scorching hot. It absorbed the stray droplet, the dull metal suddenly gleaming with a sinister, hungry light.
Elara didn't stop to think. She raised both of her blood-slicked hands and slammed them directly into the glowing blue aura of her own chest.
The pain was instantaneous and blinding.
It felt like a jagged knife twisting directly into her soul. She bit the inside of her cheek so hard she tasted fresh blood, refusing to let a single scream escape her lips.
Inside her chest, the reverse array did its work. The flawless ice core began to crack. The beautiful blue light fractured, swallowed by an encroaching, suffocating darkness.
Just as the core shattered into a million useless pieces, the silver bracelet erupted.
A violent surge of dark purple energy shot up her arm and slammed into her heart. The two extreme forces collided inside her veins. Her vision went completely black. Her ears rang. She slumped forward, her forehead hitting the stone floor as she fought to stay conscious.
Deep in her abdomen, the dark purple energy devoured the broken shards of ice. It twisted and compressed, forming a bottomless, black vortex.
The Primordial Chaos Core.
Elara forced her eyes open. She used the very last ounce of her mental strength to push the bracelet's cloaking barrier over the new core. To anyone looking, her magical pathways would appear completely dead. Ash.
Outside her window, the morning sky turned black. A sudden, unnatural thunderstorm cracked the air, the birth of her chaos core triggering the violent weather.
Heavy, rhythmic footsteps echoed at the end of the hall. The floorboards vibrated with high-level mana.
Silas.
Elara scrambled to her feet. She grabbed fistfuls of her own hair, yanking until her scalp burned, making herself look deranged. She swept her arm across her bedside table, sending a row of glass potion bottles crashing to the floor.
She dropped to her knees right in the center of the mess. She pressed her palms flat against the broken glass, letting the sharp edges slice deep into her skin. The fresh, heavy scent of her blood masked the lingering metallic smell of the array.
The heavy wooden door to her dorm room exploded inward.
Splinters rained down on Elara. She flinched, pulling her bleeding hands to her chest.
Silas Crowe stepped through the ruined doorway. He wore his signature dark gold robes. His sharp, predatory eyes scanned the room before locking onto Elara.
For a split second, raw greed flashed in his eyes, quickly followed by deep suspicion.
Elara scrambled backward, her bloody hands leaving smears on the floorboards. She kept her chin tucked, avoiding his suffocating gaze, forcing her body to tremble.
Silas didn't say a word. He raised a hand and fired a golden beam of detection magic straight into the center of Elara's forehead.
The magic felt like a thick, oily snake sliding under her skin. The chaos core inside her flared like a rabid beast, violently hungry to devour the invading energy. A searing, white-hot agony tore through her veins as the newborn power fought her control. Elara bit her lip until it bled, pouring every ounce of her mental fortitude into forcing a crude, desperate shackle over the chaotic mass. She choked back a scream, barely managing to force the chaos down, letting the disgusting golden light roam freely through her chest.
The bracelet's illusion held perfectly. It fed Silas the exact image he was looking for: a shattered, dead core. Ruined pathways.
Silas's face drained of color. The air in the room dropped ten degrees. Frost began to form on the edges of the broken glass.
He lunged forward, his large hand wrapping around Elara's throat. He lifted her entirely off the ground.
"What did you do?" he hissed, his breath smelling of mint and ozone.
Elara clawed at his wrist, her face turning a mottled purple as her airway collapsed.
"I... I pushed too hard," she choked out, letting fake tears spill over her cheeks. "I wanted to be stronger... the core... it backfired."
Silas stared at her. The greed in his eyes died, replaced by a disgust so profound it made his upper lip curl.
He threw her.
Elara slammed into the stone wall and crumpled to the floor, gasping for air. Her lungs burned.
"You are nothing but a worthless cripple now," Silas said, his voice devoid of any emotion. He smoothed the cuffs of his gold robes, a habit he always fell back on when asserting control. "You have stained the absolute glory of the High Tower."
Elara kept her head down. Beneath the curtain of her messy hair, a cold, triumphant smirk pulled at the corner of her mouth.
But when she looked up, her face was a mask of pure devastation. She clutched her chest and let out a loud, pathetic sob.
Silas turned his back on her, completely repulsed.
"Take this trash to the Judgment Hall," he ordered the two heavily armored guards waiting in the hallway. "She awaits the Academy's final verdict."
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From Shattered Prodigy to Abyssal Vengeance of Contents
Chapter 1 Ch. 1Chapter 2 Ch. 2Chapter 3 Ch. 3Chapter 4 Ch. 4Chapter 5 Ch. 5Chapter 6 Ch. 6Chapter 7 Ch. 7
Chapter 8 Ch. 8
Chapter 9 Ch. 9
Chapter 10 Ch. 10
Chapter 11 Ch. 11
All Chapters all
New Release Novels

7.8
Alexis signed the divorce papers, leaving her with no assets, no alimony, and just the clothes on her back.
To forget her abusive husband Carlos, she got drunk and bought a high-end gigolo for the night with her last 800 dollars.
But the man she slept with wasn't an escort. He was Jarrett Hughes, a ruthless billionaire CEO.
And while she was gone, her ex-husband was busy destroying her entire life.
Carlos framed her with fake photos of her cheating to justify the penniless divorce.
Then came the real nightmare.
Carlos and her own aunt secretly drained her family's corporate accounts, driving her father to jump off a building.
At the hospital, her grieving mother blamed her for the tragedy, violently attacking her in the ER.
To top it off, her cousin Josie—who was secretly sleeping with Carlos—held her father's ashes hostage.
"Crawl on your knees and pick it up, or the ashes go in the river," Josie sneered, throwing cash into the freezing slush.
Stripped of her marriage, her father, and her dignity, Alexis sat bleeding in the snow.
She couldn't understand why the people she loved most had coordinated such a brutal slaughter against her.
But Carlos and Josie made one fatal mistake.
They didn't know the "gigolo" Alexis had accidentally bought was the most powerful man in New York.
Alexis looked at the towering billionaire standing behind her, a vengeful fire burning in her eyes.
"I need you to get my father's ashes back," she said, pulling him into a kiss right in front of her ex-husband. "I don't care what it takes."

7.5
To save my family's dying company, I was forced to marry a billionaire I hadn't seen in fourteen years.
But right outside the City Clerk's office, he tossed our marriage certificate at me like a cheap receipt and shoved a four-year-old boy into my arms.
"Your new life has begun. You're on babysitting duty now."
He sneered and left me stranded on the sidewalk. I realized with absolute horror that my new husband was Ellsworth Marshall, the sickly boy I had relentlessly bullied in middle school.
He didn't spend five billion dollars to save the Bradford family. He bought me to execute a slow, suffocating revenge.
He used his orphaned nephew as a pawn, explicitly threatening my father that if I failed to play the perfect, compliant nanny, he would instantly destroy our family's legacy.
He even had his guards lock me out of his Long Island estate on my first night, forcing me to stand in the cold dark just to prove he owned me.
I was trapped in a gilded cage, suffocated by the guilt of my past and the terror of my present.
Why did he involve an innocent child in his twisted vendetta? How much humiliation was enough to pay for my childhood cruelty?
Looking at the terrified little boy clinging to my skirt, I tightened my grip on my suitcase.
If he wanted to destroy my will piece by piece, I had to find a way to survive the monster I created.

9.3
Chandler was the secret wife of Avery Osborn, a powerful media heir who kept their marriage hidden to avoid the scandal of her illegitimate birth.
After catching him openly flirting with a rival at a gala, Avery mocked her low status and told her she was nothing without his money.
Instead of crying, Chandler immediately signed a zero-payout divorce agreement, left her wedding ring on his glass table, and walked out.
To numb the pain of her shattered life, she went to a notorious underground club.
Drugged by a bartender, she lost her mind and ended up having a wild night with a handsome stranger she mistook for a high-end male escort.
Panicking the next morning, Chandler transferred her entire life savings of $50,000 to the man to buy his silence, then fled to her corporate job.
But at the afternoon executive meeting, her blood ran cold.
The man she had paid off was standing at the head of the boardroom table. He wasn't a gigolo. He was Brennan George, the ruthless new COO of her company.
Cornering her in the women's restroom, Brennan held up a printed copy of her $50,000 wire transfer.
"Wiring a massive sum of cash to your direct superior after a night together is classified as commercial bribery and solicitation," he whispered dangerously.
Chandler was terrified, realizing she had handed him the exact evidence needed to destroy her career and sue her into bankruptcy.
"Marry me," Brennan demanded coldly. "It's the only way to make this HR problem disappear."

9.0
I am the undisputed ice queen of the ER, a doctor whose life is built on absolute control. A month ago, I impulsively married a stranger to create a legal shield against my ex-mentor's betrayal.
Our prenup had one strict rule: a fake marriage with zero interference in each other's lives. But tonight, my "husband on paper" was wheeled into my ER, unconscious, reeking of cheap whiskey, and suffering from a bleeding ulcer.
To authorize his emergency surgery, I had to sign the consent form as his wife, detonating a gossip bomb among my colleagues. Worse, his overbearing family found out he was hospitalized. To stop his terrifying mother from flying in and exposing our sham marriage, I had to lean over his hospital bed and take a fake, loving couple's selfie.
I didn't understand why this disciplined math professor was suddenly drinking himself to death, nor why my chest tightened when he looked at me with exhausted eyes and begged for homemade soup. My perfectly ordered, untouchable life was crumbling into a chaotic mess, and I was losing my grip on the narrative.
"We should probably spend some time together beforehand. We could be roommates."
To prepare for an unavoidable family dinner and a wedding, my stranger husband just asked me to move into his apartment. The ultimate uncontrolled variable has just crossed the line, and our fake marriage is about to become dangerously real.

8.7
For seven years, I was Alpha Zane’s Chosen Mate, suppressing my warrior instincts to be the docile, supportive partner he demanded.
On our seventh anniversary, while I waited by a candlelit table, I accidentally overheard his mind-link with another woman.
"Seven years is a habit, my dear, not love. She's docile, she'll understand."
He told Seraphina, his new political ally, laughing as he dismissed my entire existence.
I didn't scream or cry. I scraped the anniversary cake into the trash, drafted a formal rejection letter, and walked out of the packhouse.
But Zane didn't even notice my departure. He was so consumed by his new lover that my rejection letter was treated as garbage and tossed into the incinerator.
He paraded Seraphina around the pack, even handing my hard-earned strategic command over to her—a woman who knew absolutely nothing about war.
When my loyal subordinates protested, he violently suppressed them, declaring my absence a "childish tantrum" and framing me as the bitter obstacle to his destined romance.
He honestly thought I was just hiding in my room, waiting to beg for his charity and accept a humiliating demotion.
He had no idea that I had already crossed the border into enemy territory.
Tonight, I am attending his grand celebration.
Not as the heartbroken mate he discarded, but as the newly appointed Gamma of his deadliest rival, the Sterling Pack.

8.3
On the night of my career-defining art exhibition, I stood completely alone. My husband, Dante Sovrano, the most feared man in Chicago, had promised he wouldn’t miss it for the world. Instead, he was on the evening news.
He was shielding another woman—his ruthless business partner—from a downpour, letting his own thousand-dollar suit get soaked just to protect her. The headline flashed below them, calling their new alliance a "power move" that would reshape the city.
The guests at my gallery immediately began to whisper. Their pitying looks turned my greatest triumph into a public spectacle of humiliation. Then his text arrived, a cold, final confirmation of my place in his life: “Something came up. Isabella needed me. You understand. Business.”
For four years, I had been his possession. A quiet, artistic wife kept in a gilded cage on the top floor of his skyscraper. I poured all my loneliness and heartbreak onto my canvases, but he never truly saw my art. He never truly saw me. He just saw another one of his assets.
My heart didn't break that night. It turned to ice. He hadn't just neglected me; he had erased me.
So the next morning, I walked into his office and handed him a stack of gallery contracts.
He barely glanced up, annoyed at the interruption to his empire-building. He snatched the pen and signed on the line I’d marked.
He didn’t know the page tucked directly underneath was our divorce decree.
He had just signed away his wife like she was nothing more than an invoice for art supplies.







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