Altar Blood Magic Novels & Stories

“Where did the idea of using blood magic to save the Prince come from?” Calder scoffed. “What does that have to do with anything?” The Grand Sorcerer never took his eyes off the young Fire Sorceress. “Blood magic is considered a dark art, and as such, the only way to know of it, would be for it to be passed down from an elder Dark Sorcerer. If she was indeed self-taught…” Astasha’s throat felt dry as all eyes fell on her. “It was in one of the books handed down to me from my grandmother. I never knew her.”

“Okay Argon do not let Anyone get to me if you must throw them in the vortex in the spell they will be consumed by the magic“ he nodded I looked to the other mage and she gave me a wink and pushed her power into me. I started to fight the barrier trying to break it down but it was so thick it was going to take a minute for sure. I started ripping through the spell left and right but to no end it was draining . Then I thought of something Falcon had said of her magic and blood. I looked around and saw a screw and pricked my hand with it and pushed the blood out the pain from the sting of it pricking me was little to nothing but it was a weird feeling. I spelled my blood with my magic making m

I feel sad because I don't know how Aly will react after seeing the blood and dead bodies. I drew the magical circle by mixing one drop of my blood with my mana. " Your majesty, your hand is bleeding..." She rushed to me and bandaged my palm. Actually I'm not a pure or holy mana user. I've learnt many forbidden spells from folklore witchcrafts because holy magic has limited access.

Magnus questions, his brows knitting together in confusion. Morgana leisurely crosses the distance between us, and stops at my feet before she explains, “A little alpha blood can go a long way in providing magical energy for the spell. But you’ll wish you were dead, Elara. That’s how much it’s going to hurt. And that scar on your arm will likely remain forever.” I find her words uncomfortable, and the look on Magnus’ face says he feels the same. “You’re performing blood magic? You said it was advanced alchemy,” I say, accusation evident in my tone.

Calmly, I took a dagger, casually touching the sharp tip of the blade with my tongue. It was old, dark, made from bronze back during Alethar’s time. The forging style was called Raven’s Claws. It was not poisoned. Sharp steel easily punctured my wrist, and dark, almost black drops of blood fell onto the white plate. This was the focus which powered the blood magic, but it had to be royal blood, given freely.

He was taken aback by my tone, "Tell me, please." "His little son, Malric, was required for a forbidden spell. In Malric's blood is the potion that keeps this dark magic running for dcades and in my son's," he shook his head, "in my son's is what can turn this potion into a cure. Alruin is born with something special, a fluid in his veins known to only to primordials. I was so close to Sabeleon before all this that I was stupid enough to tell him about my son. Malric is what we need to stop Sabeleon's madness, but he needs my son." I swallowed hard and backed away. That's why Malric is the bloodbearer. And that's why I must do what Marla says I must to him when the time comes.

A sickly, pulsing crimson light. Agony. It hits like a physical blow. The carefully constructed walls inside me – Arthur’s roots, my own scarred will – groan. The blood-magic resonates with the original curse, the one woven into Kieran’s betrayal, the one that birthed the Alpha. It scrapes against my prison bars, seeking weaknesses, prying at the seams holding Kieran’s echo. It burns. A cold fire searing my spirit.

el that she had brought with her, one that she had kept concealed, even from Dickson and Theo. She opened it and took out a book with care.It was small, but it was old, its binding bound in black, supple leather, its pages weathered to a golden brown. The cover was adorned with curling, delicate symbols so slender they were nearly invisible until the light hit them just right. It gave off a faint, earthy scent, like old paper and desiccated spices."What is that?" Alex Henry said, her eyes flying wider as she caught the arcane power emanating from the book."This," Sama Arthur replied, holding the book in his arms, "is a spellbook. It used to belong to my mother. It's been passed down through

It takes me a few moments to drink in the scene. A woman in a faded green dress stands on an old crate that looks on the brink of collapsing, looking over the other women in the circle. In the centre of the circle is a variety of dried herbs, flowers and what may very well be a dead animal. My heartbeat stutters. I know what this is. There is a sect of Angel-bloods who have such little magic, they need to use aspects of nature to boost. The effects of it are always small, unnoticeable, but it leads people to find strange, sometimes disturbing ways to use their magic.

Kinsley said as she pulled her long dark waves into a messy bun and away from her face as Liam ran into the room with everything Weaver sent him for, clearing off a portion of the desk so he could set them down, quickly moving and setting the candles down in 5 points around the room. “The magic is attacking his soul, eating away at it, much like a necrosis.” Weaver looked concerned as they cracked the seal on the jar and dumped some of its contents into the mortar and pestle and then grabbed the athame and held their hand out to Kinsley. “You have the strongest magic and blood magic is stronger than them all.”