Age Of Gods Novels & Stories

Professor Damaris also said that every Summoner has a spirit animal who can protect and guide them. The Healing Caste is the sixth caste in the Olympus wherein people like Dr. Foster have the ability to heal and revive someone from death. If not so, others from this caste can create different kinds of potions—good potions to be exact. Professor Damaris didn’t elaborate on it because she said that I’m able to know it soon.

Energy swirled around it, creating a vortex of light and shadow that spiraled toward the sky. “This is it,” Kaelin whispered, his voice filled with awe and dread. Rayka’s grip tightened on her artifact. “We have to stop them before the ritual completes.” Before Sylvester could respond, a figure stepped forward from the altar’s base. Tall and cloaked in black, the figure raised a hand, and the chanting ceased. The robed figures turned as one, their glowing eyes fixed on Rayka’s group. “Well,” the leader said, his voice echoing unnaturally. “You’ve arrived just in time to witness the beginning of a new age.”

asked an old man standing in the sky, his eyes fixed on the forbidden land's door. "Well, let's see. If this kid really has the key, there's no harm in fighting the whole world. Because maybe we can create a new god for this world!" said the old woman beside him with a smile and high hopes when mentioning gods. All the elders who were hiding now had one hope and one desire that had become their lifelong obsession: to reach a higher level called godhood. That was their hope. Perhaps everyone also hoped to become a god, especially in this world that had lost its direction.

Her eyes looked wild and full of fury, her lips pulled back over her teeth and her canines extended before my eyes. “Ahh… okay” I groaned, the pressure on my chin starting to ache. “The last Triple Goddess died two hundred and sixty-four years ago. She had very limited powers but was able to move small amounts of water. She died in her sleep at the age of ninety-six. There hasn’t been another since then” I spoke softly and slowly. Hina let go of my chin and roughly threw my face out of her hand. She stood up and huffed in annoyance.

Evelyn has seen mages, elves, dragons, giants, and goblins in this other world, but not demons. Demons are a collective term for all the foul and unclean demons of the Abyss that grow in the Old Realm, cut off from all time and space, and are the offspring of the Old Gods. Thousands of years ago, the Old Gods were overthrown by the New Gods and banished to the Old Realm, and it is the New God system that the off-world continent Evelyn is on believes in.

I snap in a snarky tone. “Fair point, I shall continue to refill your glass then.” “Thank you,” I say as I take another sip, then take another deep breath as my foot taps anxiously against the footrest of my stool. “So, this new God…” “His name is Azadou. God of Malice also known as the Demon God, and the creator of the eyti,” they explain, walking over and placing a plate in front of me along with a fork, but despite the dish looking absolutely delicious, the thought of food entering my stomach right now makes me want to hurl.

"I am saying The Elders made a deal with ancient gods three thousand years ago. They gained immortality and power in exchange for serving the gods' will. And the gods' will is to reshape reality into something they can control completely." "That is impossible," Owen said, though he sounded uncertain. "Ancient gods are myths. Stories." "I am three hundred years old, Owen Prescott. I have seen things you cannot imagine. And I am telling you that the magic I felt in Montana was god magic. Which means our fight is not just against The Covenant. It is against the forces that created The Covenant. Against powers we cannot hope to defeat with armies and weapons." I felt like the floor was dropping

The cold water hit my skin but all I could feel was the heat building inside me. In the dream, I pulled out, flipped him over with his face down on the bed. Ass up. His shorts ripped away and skin bare. I spread his cheeks, licked him there and his moans filled the room. "Please," he begged. "Kieran... my god..." Yes. God. I was his God. I fucked my fist faster, water streaming down my chest an back. I leaned against the tile. Head tipped up. Moaned his name low. "Ezra..."

" I had once loved the twenty-three-year-old Julian Sterling, the man who held an umbrella for me in the rain, terrified even a corner of my clothes would get wet. I had also loved the Julian Sterling who held me through all those nights when I suffered because the oracle blocks never blessed me, whispering comfort into my ear. But I also hated the Julian Sterling who said he loved Celia and abandoned me without hesitation. Even more, I remembered the thirty-year-old Julian Sterling who set traps for me with his own hands and cost me my mother and child. The twenty-three-year-old Julian Sterling had, in the end, been killed by the thirty-year-old Julian Sterling. I lifted my head and looked

Isra was holding the heavy leather-bound ledger, already outlining the chapters of a world that was no longer confined to a single continent. And Elias stood at the edge of the dock, his silver band glowing with a steady, infinite pulse, anchoring a grid that was now growing larger than the borders of our own earth. I was sixty-six years old. I had run through the Thornback woods with bare, bleeding feet. I had knelt in the great hall to stop an execution. I had carried the screams of the dying, and I had thrown fire onto the beaches. My story was over. The violent, beautiful, terrifying era of the Chosen had finally, truly reached its conclusion.