Arcane Steampunk Novels & Stories

"Liam, do you have any idea why your family, the Coles, were wiped out?" "Why?" Liam pressed. "Ever heard of Arcane Manuscript?" Prince Faber asked. Arcane Manuscript? Liam's frown grew tighter, his face a canvas of confusion. He had not even heard a whisper about Arcane Manuscript, clueless about what it could be. With a creased forehead, Liam questioned, "You mean to say that the downfall of the Coles is tied to this Arcane Manuscript?" Prince Faber gave a nod of approval. "Indeed! Arcane Manuscript is an ancient and mysterious tome that has been handed down through the ages, and the downfall of your family, the Coles, is deeply entwined with its history."

With brown and dark green water swirling and dripping from everywhere. The metal monster was not much bigger than Taylor or Damiens six foot four, but had all the makings of a great steampunk robot with rusted bronze gears at every hinge and what appeared to be steam spouting from its cylindrical head. The white-blue flame guy was the smallest of the group, but wider, double the width of any of the other monsters. Its whole being was the sinister dark blue flame that faded to white at the tip. Every time it took a step it left a scorch mark on the ground. Little scars on the earth it was trying to claim.

He would be lucky enough if he had special weapons to use, but at the moment he had none. “Care to tell me what is going on? Because the last thing I remember I was sleeping in my condo.” “I understand your confusion, but to cut it short, there is another world apart from what the human has, which is our world – Terra Lucien.” Lanver brushed his fingers on his hair, one thing he usually does when frustrated. He was still having a hard time processing in his mind that vampires were real, and then there was this another revelation that seemed so out of the world.

I ducked beneath the arc, the back of my tunic singeing against the ambient thermal aura radiating from its steam vents. I rolled across the glass ledge, my hands coming up in a instinctual guard. The crushed iron key was still clutched in my right fist, its shattered edges digging deep into the fused gold runes on my palm. My own blood—dark, hot, and laced with the white spark of our hybrid core—slicked the iron bit, running down into the broken brass gears of the archway's main dial. Where my blood met the shattered brass, a sudden, violent reaction occurred.

The attic of the old Victorian in Salem smelled of cedar, dried sage, and the sharp metallic bite of charged mercury. Moonlight poured through the tall, arched window in pale shafts, catching on the salt-and-chalk circle etched into the wide-plank floorboards. At its center stood Rowan Hale, twenty-nine, barefoot, wearing only a sheer black slip that clung to her full breasts and wide hips, the silk so thin her dark nipples showed through. Her locs hung loose down her back, threaded with tiny silver beads that glinted like stars. In her left hand she held an obsidian athame; in her right, a small copper bowl filled with her own blood, crushed night-blooming jasmine, and powdered star-anise.

It reminded the gladiator of the color of a fine, freshly brewed ale. "What is this called?" "That is called amber," Anaria said. "Master," she quickly added, "it is very rare." Gorlann's gaze switched to the girl. "Turn around. I want to see how it looks on you." Anaria was stunned at the man's order. Only minutes ago, his cock had been pounding into her, savaging her, raping her. Now he seemed almost tender, the way he looked at her. It confused her. Apparently even a monster could be more than just a monster. She turned around and brushed her long, dark tresses aside. He attached the clasp of the necklace at the back of her throat, then had her turn around to face him. Anaria felt self-co

They crossed the flickering boundary of the northern Echo-Zone, where the grass still shifted between soft clover and rigid, emerald-green pixels. There, they found them: The Iron-Keepers. They emerged from the treeline not as refugees, but as a Mechanized Migration. Their vehicles were massive, steam-belching crawlers made of scavenged brass and heavy iron, looking like something from a clockwork nightmare. These weren't survivors of the Grand Stack. "They’re from a Steampunk-Sim," Julian whispered, his prismatic eyes analyzing the pressure gauges on the lead crawler. "Project: Aetheria. It was a closed-loop simulation the Architects abandoned decades ago because the 'AI' became too obsesse

He leaned against the tree. My skin crawled at the vivid images his words painted in my mind. Each new detail made me grateful for skipping breakfast that morning as it felt like my insides were trying to escape. The way Charlie had explained the Arcane Collectors was like a mafia organisation with a thing for ancient relics, but the way Mr Harrison put it, a mafia organisation sounded like kindergarten. What's worse is how it weirdly made sense. The untraceable thefts, thieves that chose death over failure, wrecking houses, and kidnapping teenagers at midnight.

Kade, Rian, Seraphine, and Sorrel are in the center of the group. Selene? She drifted wherever she pleased. Rian whispered, “I really don’t like that the walls are breathing.” “They’re not breathing,” Kade muttered. “They’re pulsing with layered luminous rings bound to an ancient reality spine.” Rian gulped. “That somehow sounds worse.” The tunnel spiraled downward, carved from black stone veined with faint blue patterns. At regular intervals, circular nodes glowed in the ceiling—Arcana sealing glyphs that had clearly been overwritten.

With the ancient text spread out before her, Seraphina began the delicate process of casting a spell, one that would grant her a fleeting glimpse of what lay ahead. As she whispered the Hebrew phrases, her voice infused with magic, the room seemed to shimmer with an otherworldly aura. Seraphina's eyes, usually a deep shade of brown, began to glint with a silvery light as the spell took hold. It was a risky endeavor, for peering into the future often came with a price. It was a realm where uncertainty danced with possibilities, and not all visions were clear or welcome.