Black Fantasy Novels & Stories

Why is it black? “You are a Blackburn,” Sage said, answering her thought as he retracted his wing and Amber looked at him. “Your kind is special for the black blood that runs in your veins and that is why they call you Nightbloods. Bathilda is one too.” Even after what he said, Amber could not bring herself to lick her own blood and she quickly rubbed it off with her other finger. She looked at him again and caught him staring and she felt it to be overwhelming. “Kyra,” he called. His voice was as soft as the wind and her heart nearly stopped.

I further questioned him Hearing my question Draco face suddenly turned overcast as he said “It’s a Black blood ghost” “Black Blood Ghost?” I was stunned, I haven’t read anything about such a type of ghost in my grandmother book, and this looked something new and dangerous at same time.

I apologize. But for those who like it, don't forget to check my other book. I also have a new ongoing one (PULSE: A CONTRACT WITH DAMIEN.) A seven in one book. Let's give you a sneak peek shall we? Vampires -Death. Fae's - Darkness. Demons - Agony. Werewolves - Curse. Humans - Fear. Witches/ Warlocks/ and Beasts - Dark magic. DOOM(HELL) - ALL. ALL THE SPECIES AND THEIR TRIBULATIONS.

“It was part of my research on shifter myths and legends. I didn’t think much of it at the time, but...” Her voice trailed off as she opened a specific book, her fingers skimming over the pages. “Here,” she said, pointing to an entry halfway through. Ren leaned over her shoulder, his warmth grounding her. The passage was short but chilling: “The Black Fog, born of forbidden rituals, consumes all life it touches. It lingers where the veil between realms is thin, feeding on death and despair to grow stronger. Only the blood of the awakened can dispel its hold.” “The blood of the awakened?” Ren murmured, his jaw tightening.

That's why a lot of people train their children hard in order to be strong. Lastly, the only two reasons that black magic was called a forbidden magic were because it was often used by the cursed people and that it was a lot stronger than the others. People are afraid of the difference that they treat those foreign with contempt. Black magic was the magic that contained every magic and that's why it turned into color black. However, because of that, not many people managed to understand its nature that much since aside from it required a lot of strength, the person’s mana capacity must be large too.

but he had to just for now. The mysterious figure of blackness started reemerging its hand away from Naraja's chest as red-crimson metallic blood dripped off of its hand and at the same time of the figure of blackness doing this Naraja started to form a puddle of blood around himself and the thing that had acted on its gut-wrenching traumatic act. And as Naraja collapsed to the ground full of pain, fear, and loneliness. That's all that Naraja could feel at this very moment. Was just that. The mysterious figure of blackness flicked its wrist to splatter and dissipate the blood that had remained on its hand, in a sense of a way to get the blood off.

Both the pre-ruin and the post-ruin, I wasn't ready for any of it. My movements came to a halt when my gaze flitted across the street and landed on the poster of the new Fantasy series I had been waiting on; All the Beautiful Things. It was a trilogy. All the beautiful things are red, All the beautiful things are gold, and All the beautiful things are black. It was more like Romantasy actually. A wide grin crept up my face and I looked sideways, before slipping towards the bookstore even though I knew there was no car in sight. Volxe bookstore.

Fantasy fodder for late-night scrolling. But the card felt real between her fingers. And the ache it sparked low in her belly was very real. She went. The address led her to an unmarked steel door in an alley downtown. A man in a tailored black suit checked her name against a tablet, eyes lingering appreciatively on the dress she’d chosen—deep crimson silk that clung to every curve, slit high enough to flash thigh with each step, neckline plunging just enough to make her feel dangerously exposed. He nodded once. The door opened.

The runes ignited, threads of light weaving up her arms and into the Mark. The air thickened. The ground trembled. And from the shadows at the edge of the room, something stirred — not an Echo, but something worse. Figures began to form — twisted silhouettes of men and beasts, remnants of those the Black Moon had touched. They moved like smoke and screamed like memory. Zevran’s blade flashed. “Here we go again.” He fought without hesitation, cutting through shadows that reformed as fast as he struck them. Each one that fell fed the light around Kaelira’s spell, fueling her strength.

One of the zombie twins (hell if I know which) is negotiating with the bartender like it’s a hostage situation. Then I see her. Descending the stairs like a personal threat. Melaena Blackburn — the one source of trouble I never manage to avoid. My heart stutters, then slams into overdrive, pumping blood at a speed NASA couldn’t measure. Unfortunately, most of it reroutes south and refuses to come back. That would explain the buzzing in my skull. And the sudden drop in IQ. Her short black dress — deadly, illegal in at least three countries — slides higher with each step. White lace trims the hem with tiny red roses stitched along it like a warning label. Sugar-skull perfection. And a coincide