All Chapters of Blood bound: The legacy of the blood king: Chapter 11 - Chapter 19

The city was alive, buzzing with a chaotic mix of shattered pledges and forced smiles. Car horns blared everywhere, and it felt like a thousand voices were all blending into one big jumble of noise. Anyone could feel the bass from hidden clubs shaking the buildings around. But underneath all that everyday clamor, there was something deeper going on…a frantic, almost desperate energy that hinted at the supernatural lurking just beyond what could be seen. As twilight settled in, the sky took on a gentle beautiful glow. The city lights flickered to life for a moment, casting a little brightness on the dirty high-rises before they were swallowed back into darkness. Those buildings feel like they’re just standing watch, their once-shiny glass now worn and gloomy, showing off years of neglect. Those crumbling bricks were just hiding under fresh paint, and the rusty iron looked like it was hanging on for dear life. The windows were so grimy, they felt like they held onto all sorts of secrets

The oppressive silence in the ancient chamber enveloped the council like a heavy blanket woven from dread and uncertainty. The seasoned members, assembled in this solemn space, sensed the weight of centuries bearing down on them. Flickering candlelight played across their faces, revealing the deep-seated worry etched into even the most timeless features. Shadows slinked across the stone walls like hidden secrets, while an unsettling tension hummed in the air, a chorus of unvoiced questions reverberating through their minds. The most urgent inquiry hung over the petrified wood table at the center of the chamber like a looming storm cloud: How? Bran the Bloodclaw, once a fierce and formidable werewolf, sat at the edge of the table, his usual gruff demeanor subdued. He ran a large, claw-like hand through his tangled hair, frustration evident in his eyes. “It doesn’t make sense,” he growled, his voice roughened by centuries of howling at the moon. “We sealed him.” "We condemned him. The w

Riana’s lungs burned with each ragged gasp, a painful counterpoint to the frantic pounding of her heart. Every muscle in her legs screamed in protest, but the image of those crimson eyes, burning with an ancient, unsettling light, spurred her onward. She scrambled down the treacherous mountain path, loose stones skittering beneath her worn hiking boots, each step a desperate flight from the horror she had witnessed in that suffocating tomb. It wasn’t real. It couldn’t have been real. The mantra echoed in her mind, a fragile shield against the terror that threatened to consume her. Corpses don’t open their eyes. Centuries-old bodies don’t just… wake up. Maybe the dim light had played tricks on her. Maybe it was just the shock of seeing a perfectly preserved… body. Yes, that was it. A perfectly preserved body, perhaps buried with its eyes open, a dreadful abnormality of ancient burial rituals. But the questions clawed at the edges of her denial. Who could have eyes like that? Eyes t

The gritty texture of the dried beef snagged uncomfortably in Riana's dry throat. Each deliberate chew was a small victory against her gnawing hunger, a primal response to the sophisticated terror still clawing at her mind. The image of those crimson eyes, impossibly ancient and disturbingly aware, flickered behind her eyelids, a ghostly imprint on her vision. The surrounding woodland, once a welcome sanctuary, now felt like a cage of silent observers. Every rustle of unseen leaves, every snap of a distant twig, amplified her already frayed nerves. She needed to reach civilization and find the reassuring comfort of Silas's voice, but the memory of the tomb, the palpable wrongness of it lingered like a toxic residue. Her lost phone was a stark reminder of her vulnerability, each passing minute deepening her isolation.Just as she swallowed the last morsel of jerky, a distinct snap echoed nearby, closer this time, sharp and unmistakably deliberate. Riana’s hand instinctively tightened a

The pain medication administered by Dr. Harrington had dulled the sharp edges of Riana’s aches, but it did little to soothe the deeper tremors of her unease. Out in the forest, where the thick canopy filtered the sunlight into shadowy patches on the ground, she had felt invincible. Under the open sky, she had been an adventurer, a thrill-seeker, a being who danced with danger. But now, as the night encroached upon her in the unfamiliar confines of the small inn room, a veil of darkness seemed to pull her under, shrouding her in memories that tore at her mind.Sleep came in fitful waves, each descent into unconsciousness a brief reprieve before the haunting imagery pulled her back to a state of anxious awareness. The rhythmic tick of an antique grandfather clock in the hallway sounded a steady march of time, almost like a heartbeat, but it felt both comforting and unnerving. What should have been ordinary now felt fragile, as if the world outside might crumble at any moment, tearing he