Azure Forsaken Novels & Stories

“You think he wrote something else about the Forsaken?” “He knew more than he let on,” Nicola replied. “I just need to find it.” Finally, she came upon a passage that caught her attention. The page was heavily annotated, the handwriting sharper and more hurried than usual. “The creation of Forsaken is not random - it’s deliberate. A corrupted energy source fuels their transformation, but it requires a willing participant to guide the process. Look for the signs of manipulation, the whispers of betrayal among your own.” Nicola’s heart skipped a beat. “A willing participant…”

She started to chant in a whisper under her breath, her lips barely moving as she uttered some strange words which seemed foreign and sinister. In a blink of an eye, a wild horde of forsaken souls rose from Oribus' river. Her forsaken souls swarmed through the air in a breeze towards Lycans at lightning speed. She seemed to be in deviant but harmonious synchrony with the forsaken army. It looked like she was composing a bloodbath ode. As she waved with her hands in different directions, forsaken seemed compelled by her hand movement and continued to advance deeper amongst Lycans warriors spreading blood and destruction. Her eye pits were of neon crimson colour filled with what looked like el

Somewhere beside her, Estelle's breath shuddered, and Roger's hand rested briefly on her shoulder. ... Martin Fallow's empire collapsed faster than anyone expected. One week after that night in the club, Martin Fallow's name was plastered across every news outlet in the country - fraud, bribery, trafficking, assault. The list of charges seemed to stretch without end. His so-called friends vanished overnight, business partners severed ties, and the man who had once moved in the same rarefied circles as Victor's V Group now sat behind reinforced glass, awaiting a trial he had no hope of winning.

The walls pulse with their voices. Sigils flicker like they’re breathing. I repeat it. My voice doesn’t sound like mine anymore. One more line. Nyssa leans in close, her eyes endless frost. “Until the last dawn burns black, I am Forsworn.” The words leave my mouth. And the world breaks. The black flame explodes without heat. The chains on my wrists turn to dust. The cavern swallows all sound for a heartbeat— Then shoves it back with a roar that isn’t wind.

And the Forsaken Knelt. The shadows stilled. The whispers faded. And when Lyla lifted her gaze The door was open. But she was the one standing on the other side. And for the first time in history The Forsaken had an Alpha. And her name was Lyla Blackwood.

The idea that the cursed goddess might try to protect her from her darkness aroused a latent suspicion in Salazan. In his deep forest hideout, Salazan made a decision. It was time to leave the comfort of the shadows and head to Forks. He, the supreme being of darkness, felt it was time to witness with his own eyes what was happening in that small town, where plots and destinies were intertwined in an intriguing way. Salazan's imminent arrival cast an additional shadow over the plot unfolding in Forks. The pieces were being moved on the board, and the confrontation between supernatural forces and humans was approaching, promising an outcome full of mysteries and revelations.

"We're going to the cellar. And I'm going to take my mother home." "You won't even reach the gates," Ashford said. He turned his back to me, walking toward the shadows of the southern cliff. "The New Order doesn't need a Mother. They need a sacrifice. And Fenra is already sharpening the hooks." He vanished into the mist before the salt-cyclone could reach him. I looked at Kael and Ronan. They stood together, their chests heaving, their human skin glowing with a faint, earthy light. The shared ledger was different now. It wasn't a wound. It was a bridge.

Morga whispered, dropping the scroll as she fell to her knees. Ash lunged for the balcony railing, his eyes scanning the horizon. Far to the north, beyond the Silverfang Valley, the black disc of the sun began to crack. But it wasn't white light that bled through the fissures. It was a thick, oily darkness that moved with a sickening, liquid grace. The sky didn't turn blue; it turned a bruised, bleeding red.