Black Fantasy Novels & Stories

A huge black wolf with golden eyes sculpture is placed in front of it. Black is usually associated with death and darkness and this place seems to be filled with it, the power and elegance it screams can’t be neglected. Even most of the interiors is black with a golden touch. Gloomy yet mysterious. But mostly the ambience pulls towards the power side of it rather than the bleakness it radiates but sometimes when heart is heavy, no pull can drag us away from it. The heaviness. The darkness. We get strangled by them just like how Fiona is fighting off the darkness squeezing her senses.

Below it, two opposing forces met in a cataclysmic confrontation. I recognized the faces of the Lycan brothers, their ferocity unleashed, fighting with a primal hunger I hadn't witnessed before. And then, a moment that stole my breath—a massive, shadowy creature, its eyes burning with an infernal light, rising from the depths, casting a pall over everything. It was a being of pure malevolence, and my blood ran cold as I felt its gaze, even through the vision, pierce directly into my soul. The final image was of a colossal, ancient tree, its roots reaching deep into the earth, its branches stretching towards the heavens, yet its leaves were withered and black, as if cursed.

Well, at least I finally got something I can do as a mage, right? Water splintered like glistening crystals as I turned and followed the rhythm with precision. I closed my eyes as I continued on my track, there was another smooth splash. Once again, I turned and leaped a little, then faced the audience and opened my eyes. I thought I'd see my expectants watching me in awe. But to my surprise, my line of vision was directed to a pair of unfamiliar pitch black eyes, the darkest shade of black I've ever seen in my whole life.

I held back a laugh at his mocking tone and returned my gaze to Blackthorn. “Did your Beta catch you up now?” he said sarcastically, and I held back from rolling my eyes at his condescending tone. “Yes, thank you,” I replied with the same level of sarcasm. “So this supernatural is releasing information how, again?” I asked. “In the form of fiction books,” Blackthorn snapped. “Well, if the books are marked as fiction, then why is it an issue? I mean, it’s not like the other tripe that is out there is causing us any harm,”

He was doing this, what he’d been brought into the world to do. Ridding. Killing. Misbred mistakes. Deviate from us. Kill the innocents. Were they, though? Innocent? No. Oh no-no. A sound came to him, interrupting his reverie: an obscure howling noise, not unlike a dog, or wolf baying far off somewhere. Except . . . He became stock-still. His eyes glittered with mild irritation. The unearthly howl rose again, floating across Blackwater Valley and filling the night. A shudder rippled through his misshapen body.

Ronan’s reasonable whisper was prompt ignored when it reached my ears where I was hunched over the frail woman, tracing my fingers over her arms in an effort to calm her. This was all my fault. I did this to her…me. Tiny black threads seeped in from the corners of her eyes, making the elite wolves who stood the closest gasp. Black arts. Did she have confessor powers too? No…no, that couldn't be. Confessor powers were bright white…black had to mean something else…something from The Darkness. “What on earth?” Laziel’s cold hiss came above me and a second later, a wide circle had cleared around us…the other wolves terrified of his rage.

I stutter. “Your blood.” I shake my head. “No.” “You are descending the stairs of denial again, Faye.” He sighs, throwing the blade into the table. My eyes are glued at the spot pulsing gently with black blood. It is the same I have seen with the vampires, and other creatures in Alkhemi—the dead. “No, i-it’s…” “It is black because you have died, and have been reborn through Sin,” he says. “Like every one of his creations.”

The central chamber of The Black Faes' stronghold was a cavern of nightmares, its walls writhing with shadows that seemed to breathe with malevolent life. I could feel the weight of darkness press against my fur as Jude and I crept forward, our steps silent but hearts thundering. "Alpha Biansky," I called out, my voice echoing off the stone, "your reign of terror ends tonight." From the depths of the chamber, a figure emerged. Alpha Biansky stood before us, his gaunt frame almost skeletal in the dim light, but his presence radiated menace. His cold eyes locked onto mine, and I felt the chill of his hatred.

However, use of a black book usually backfi res with serious consequences. Some black books are said to be written in BLOOD as a PACT with the DEVIL. According to a German tale, a black book of unknown origin was passed down through inheritance and came into the possession of some peasants. Its magical powers were released by reading it forward and backward. If anyone failed to read the book backward, the Devil was able to take control of him or her. Once activated, the book enabled people to acquire great wealth and do terrible things to others without punishment.

Instantly, the once-red liquid turned pitch black, swirling ominously as if alive with malevolent intent. "Is this... black magic?" I muttered, my voice barely audible over the sudden tension in the air. The transformation of the blood felt unnatural, a violation of something sacred, and it sent a shiver down my spine. In a flash, flames erupted around the blackened blood, encircling it with an intense heat that filled the dungeon with a harsh glow. Yennefer let out a piercing scream and dropped to the ground, as if the flames were tearing at her very soul.