Blackwater Novels & Stories

No scratch that, were probably using me as a pawn to please themselves and their side pieces. I laid awake in bed, staring at the cracked pristine of the Blackwater chambers. According to the little piece of lore and backstory I'd managed to gather, the Blackwater fortress was one of the most fortified place in the entire pack. It had been built and carved out of pure stone, with the intention of lasting for centuries. It was a fortress like they called it, and best believe that it lived up to its name.

The dawn in the A****n did not break; it bled. Light filtered through the triple-canopy rainforest in suffocating shades of bruised purple and sickly yellow. The air was no longer just humid; it was heavy, pressing against the skin like a wet wool blanket. Jack Miller stood at the edge of the "Silent River," staring into the abyss. The river didn't look like water. It looked like flowing obsidian. It was black, opaque, and terrifyingly smooth. There were no ripples, no eddies, no whitecaps. It moved with the sluggish, oily viscosity of mercury.

"I need to see it." We left Alexei with the column and moved west through the tree line and reached the river bank in four minutes and I looked at what Morvanna had done to it and felt something cold move through me that had nothing to do with temperature. The water was black. Not dark from depth or shadow. Black the way oil is black. Moving with the particular sluggish heaviness of something that had been replaced rather than contaminated. The smell coming off it was the same rot we had smelled on the road but stronger here, concentrated, the source of what was spreading outward through the land in every direction from the water lines.

Kael had used the final, desperate reserves of his processing power to simulate the only place where our souls were still jaggedly tethered. The Black River. Ten years ago. The snow fell in heavy, silent flakes that tasted of ozone and ancient regret. The water was a black ribbon of churning ice, the same hungry water that had tried to swallow me while the world watched from the bank. Standing by the rocks was Kael.

​The smell of the new batch was rancid and heavy, filling the locomotive shed with the sharp, toxic tang of industrial petroleum and old friction. Yusuf hoisted the tin bucket onto the workbench, splashing a thick, viscous dollop of the black sump-sludge onto our mixing slate. It didn't look like ink; it looked like the blood of a dead machine—viscous, iridescent under the cracked skylight, and clinging to the wooden spatula with stubborn weight.

*Move. She pushes up. Legs shake. Vision swims. She forces one foot in front of the other. The ground begins to soften. The grass thins. Ahead, the first tendrils of fog rise from the earth like ghosts waking. The Blackwater Marshes. She can smell them now—rotting vegetation, stagnant water, the faint metallic bite of blood long spilled. Dangerous. Deadly for most. But small. Light. Quiet. A child might slip through where a grown man in armor sinks.

Chapter 36 Drowning of Saint Michel The rupture in the concrete platform did not release a shower of stone or earth; it unleashed a solid, pressurized column of stagnant, black water that smelled heavily of ancient sulfur and chemical waste. The force of the underground eruption was so violent it threw Laila backward, her bound blades cutting through the air as she crashed into the concrete base of a structural pillar. The three New Breed monsters were caught directly in the path of the black geyser, their spider-like limbs instantly dissolving into a purple slime as the highly acidic water stripped the flesh from their bone structures within seconds.

His Royal Assholeness is standing on the other side. Of course he fucking does. Roman is dressed entirely in black, because apparently Christmas couldn’t convince Satan’s heir to discover color. Dark coat, black sweater, black jeans and damp hair from the rain and snow outside. He looks tired, but there’s no obvious guilt waiting on his face. Instead, his hands remain buried inside his pockets, jaw tight and expression frustratingly unreadable. The same man who told me I wasn’t worthy of him now looks back like appearing outside my dorm after destroying what little confidence I had left is completely reasonable. I consider shutting the door. His eyes flick towards it before returning to mine

I hit the iron bar and try to scream, but it seems like my voice melts along with my heart. I see two gloved hands clutch on the bar. I turn my head and see the Black Tiger standing beside me, staring with his cold eyes. I look away as I don’t look pretty when I cry, my eyes must be red and swollen. He doesn’t say a single word; he just keeps staring at me until my sobs disappear.

Blood and Water is a story that points to a civil war in West Africa, Nigeria and the hovering hunger for survival by two teenage boys. Hope you enjoy. Completed version with no coins for now. Make sure you drop your reviews... *** Rumours of a War A proverb says that when it rains everyday, there is a bound of sorrow within the rain. Maybe we were not that rich but we were happy or we claimed to be. The only problem was that I was no longer in school. I think I liked it that way, school stress was so hard especially now that I was in the junior secondary.