Grace of a Wolf-Chapter 100: Lyre: Plausibility

Blue-white fire dances across the walls, twisting in impossible patterns and defying all laws of physics. The flames consume nothing—not the blood-soaked concrete or the bodies scattered like broken dolls.

This isn’t destruction.

It’s preparation.

I stand at the center of it all, unmoved, untouched. Fire caresses my skin like an old lover, recognizing what I am and making way. My hair lifts slightly in the heat, rainbow strands floating as though underwater.

The inferno is beautiful in its terrible way.

I lift my hand, palm up, fingers splayed. My nails lengthen just a fraction, blackening at the tips.

"Come," I whisper, and the command reverberates through the chamber. Not with sound, but with intent.

The effect is immediate. Pinpricks of light rise from the bodies—pale blue, silver-white, soft lavender. They drift upward like embers from a dying fire, hesitant at first, then eager. Soullight. Released from flesh which can no longer serve.

The Reapers haven’t arrived, so it’s the perfect time.

Wispy trails streak toward my outstretched palm, hovering inches above my skin. They pulse with awareness—terrified, melancholy, angry. So much anger. I can taste their fury, where it coalesces in my palm.

They deserve better than this forgotten death, better than becoming fuel for someone else’s ambitions.

Deserve more than someone who never wanted to be their hero.

"Cleanse," I murmur, the single word ringing with the power of arcana.

The souls respond, stretching upward like plants seeking sunlight. They know what I am—what I represent. Neither Order, nor Chaos, nor Balance; something between all three, part of everything but belonging to none. Something else entirely.

These poor, forgotten souls spiral higher, streams of light crawling toward ceiling of this place, phasing through concrete and earth and whatever else is between them and the sky above.

My phone vibrates against my hip. Once. Twice. Then a continuous buzz, like it’s an angry hornet trapped against my skin.

Divinity Connect, having an absolute meltdown over my presence here, over what I’m doing. Like I didn’t know what was going to happen from the moment I took this step.

The app is the supernatural world’s most persistent annoyance—part divine social media, part surveillance.

I ignore it.

The souls continue their ascent, streaming upward in ribbons of light, fireflies escaping a jar. Free. Finally free. The last traces of soullight disappear through the ceiling, leaving only the empty shells behind.

The blue-white flames flicker and dim around me. My work here isn’t finished, but the souls, at least, are beyond reach. Beyond corruption.

I don’t speak again. Don’t look back. The concrete beneath my feet cracks with each step as I walk through the chamber, past empty cages and discarded bodies. An avenging ghost leaving judgment in her wake.

Behind me, new flames begin to rise—orange-red this time, hungry and cleansing. They won’t stop until nothing remains.

* * *

The scent of smoke curls at my back, wrapping around my limbs like desperate hands, but never touching my skin. It knows better.

My rage has transmuted—no longer choking or desperate, but elemental. Present. A constant companion rather than a flaring outburst.

Each step I take leaves behind a blackened imprint. I’m still burning, power leaking from my edges where control has frayed.

I stop suddenly, frowning.

Four figures stand in a loose huddle several yards away—Thom, Andrew, Jack-Eye, and Owen. Their heads are bent together in conversation, shoulders rigid with tension. Fear and exhaustion rolls of the wizard especially in a cloying wave.

I’d forgotten they existed.

For a brief, disorienting moment, I’m confused by their presence. Humans. Wolves. Angel-blood. Inconsequential mortals with inconsequential concerns, waiting for me to acknowledge them, when my mind is already set on vengeance.

Jack-Eye notices me first, his head snapping up when he catches my scent. He breaks from the group, striding toward me with determination, as if he isn’t afraid.

But he is.

I guess I’m leaking more than I thought I was.

"What happened down there?" He grabs my arm, fingers digging in as he drags me away from the billowing smoke now pouring from the tunnel entrance. "Get over here. Breathing this isn’t good for your lungs."

I let him pull me along, mildly amused he believes I’m fragile enough to need protection. His hand on my arm is warm and solid—convinced of its own authority.

We reach the car, parked haphazardly along the dirt access road. Owen stands off to the side, his silver eyes fixed on me with wariness bordering on terror.

He knows. Of course he knows. Angels are sensitive to souls; he probably watched them all ascend.

My phone keeps buzzing.

A retching sound draws my attention. The wizard’s doubled over behind a half-uprooted tree, the contents of his stomach splashing onto dead needles and rocky soil.

Jack-Eye sighs. "That’s the third time."

Andrew pauses from where he was about to climb into the back seat of the car. His words are flat as he observes the situation. "He’s human. They have weak stomachs."

There’s no judgment in his tone, no mockery—just quiet resignation. They’ve seen too much today, these creatures whose lives are measured in decades rather than centuries.

Jack-Eye’s fingers finally release my arm, leaving behind red marks. They fade as soon as I notice them, but he has no idea; he’s too focused on the retching spellblood. "You gonna make it back to the car, or do I need to carry you?"

Thom straightens, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand. His glasses have gone askew. "I’m fine," he mutters, though he sways slightly on his feet. "Just—give me a minute."

The phone at my hip continues to vibrate, more insistent now. I let out an irritated sigh, yanking the damn thing from my pocket. My vague sense of disassociation disappears, my mind grounded by the irritations of reality. The screen’s bright enough to illuminate the space around me.

This isn’t a regular notification—this is divine spam.

Expected... but still annoying.

I thumb through the app with a grimace, already knowing what I’m going to find. And there they are: three plausibility warnings flash immediately, angry red alerts scrolling across my screen.

[PLAUSIBILITY WARNING: Unauthorized Soul Transit.]

[PLAUSIBILITY WARNING: Unsanctioned Purification of Uncategorized Souls.]

[PLAUSIBILITY WARNING: Excess Magic Discharge.] ƒrēenovelkiss.com

I clear them with a mental fuck off, swiping through the alerts without reading the details. Like I need their permission to help these souls pass on. If I’d stayed, they wouldn’t have needed it. They’d be settled into some safe house somewhere. Eating dinner. Talking. Maybe even laughing for the first time in years.

Unsanctioned, my ass.

Fuck their rules.

The app chimes again, a new notification sliding into view. Then another. And another. New messages flood in, each one carrying the distinct energy signature of its sender.

[SANCTION: You’re bordering on systemic violation. Reapers were already on their way, @Lyrielle.]

Of course. Order’s faithful bulldog, always first to bark when someone steps outside the lines. The next message pops up with a sparkle effect, stabbing my eyes with its enthusiasm.

[WHIM: Ohh, baby @Lyrielle, keep going. This is delicious. Why aren’t we allowed to use emojis? Imagine three fire emojis right here, okay?]

[WRATH: You’re spiraling again. Is it really worth it? You took years to recover last time.]

Jack-Eye clears his throat. "Are you okay?"

"Fine. It’s just work." Stepping away from the group, I let my thumbs fly across the screen. How long has it been since I entertained them on this thing? Probably when it was first made.

[LYRIELLE: If you’re not going to help the mortals who keep your pathetic little shrines warm and your worthless names remembered, shut up and enjoy the show, you self-righteous cowards.]

I’m not done. My fingers keep moving, venom leaking into each word:

[LYRIELLE: Or better yet—do something. But you won’t, because Plausibility gives you the perfect excuse to do nothing. Fuck all of you and your stupid winged horses.]

The air crackles around me as I finish:

[LYRIELLE: You all feed on worship, and yet leave your people bleeding in the dirt. You’re not gods. You’re parasites.]

Of course, it doesn’t stay silent for long.

[SANCTION: This borders on insubordination, Echo Witch. Your status will not shield you from formal repercussions.]

[WRATH: You’re going to trigger another plausibility review. Is that what you want? After last time?]

[MADNESS: She has a point, though.]

[TIME: We are bound by Causality. Desire is irrelevant. Even gods have limits. Did we ask for this, @Lyrielle?]

I roll my eyes and slam the app closed. My phone screen darkens, but not before I catch the reflection of my own eyes in the glass—slitted and glowing with too much power. I need to rein it in before shit really hits the fan.

If I get hit with a review, I won’t be able to do anything for a while. Could be days, could be years, depending on whose stick is up whose ass.

Owen’s still watching me, and I snarl until he jerks his eyes away.

He knows what I’ve done. Angel-blooded always recognize soul work. But he doesn’t need to make it obvious. He was flinching every time I so much as breathed earlier, and now he won’t stop staring. The more attention brought to my actions, the worse the Plausibility slap will ring.

"I’m hunting down whoever did this," I announce to the group at large. "Come with me or don’t, but stay out of the way. I’m taking the car. Walk back if you don’t want to follow."