Blood Altar Blood Magic Novels & Stories

Micheal answers firsr "We heard the noise, but, it just sounded like a very high pitched scream to us... Then you fell to the ground, and the witch, she was so fast, she was just gone." Ansel nods the whole tie Micheal is talking "Yeah, that's exactly right." He says. "Okay, well, this tells me that we will need some of the alpha's blood, and the some of blood from the original caster of the spell. We have the herbs that we need. We will need a large fire, and Annie, you are not going to like this, but we need something living to sacrifice. Blood magic is very dark magic, each time she renews the spell she is adding another rope around tha alpha's soul, in order for us to untie ALL of the ro

Prince Evan butt in. "The mountain spirit said there's a bordello in the small community beyond this forest. There, we will find a man named Orion. We can ask him about a wine called Blood of the Wise. That is what we need to please the magical healer." "But wait. Bordello?" My brows furrowed when I realized what word was used. "Oh. Sounds like a good place." Prince Evan smirked. He exactly knows what to expect in that kind of place. Probably because he's a regular or what.

The force drove Alana back an inch, her knees grinding into the dust, but her concentration remained absolute. "By the blood of the earth and the light of the full moon!" Alana chanted louder, her voice swelling to overpower the roaring dark magic. She sliced her palm with a small silver athame, letting three drops of pure witch-blood fall onto the center rune stone. " Exorcise the darkness, calm the royal blood!"

She looked to Myra, then Theron, and gave a single command: “Get me to the altar.” The sacred altar of Nightwind, long sealed, carved into the mountain beneath the keep. A place of origin. Of blood vows and bond magic older than Vaelith herself. It could grant one miracle. Once. At a cost. As Liora battled in the skies, streaking silver against Vaelith’s hurricane-black, Aria was laid across the altar stone. Theron sliced his palm. “My Luna, my sister, my queen” He pressed his blood to the stone. Myra followed.

I find the one for dark magic and pull it back. The book is thick and heavy but with a wave of my hand it floats before me. I flip to the page I need and take a deep breath. I glance at the boy. Fear fills his eyes and I can't help the smirk that crawls onto my lips. I clench my jaw and drag my blade down each wrist, watching as my blood drips into the dirt. I raise my hands and read the prayer. "I present my blood to the earth and ask that you grant me a single birth,

Calmly, I took a dagger, casually touching the sharp tip of the blade with my tongue. It was old, dark, made from bronze back during Alethar’s time. The forging style was called Raven’s Claws. It was not poisoned. Sharp steel easily punctured my wrist, and dark, almost black drops of blood fell onto the white plate. This was the focus which powered the blood magic, but it had to be royal blood, given freely.

It takes me a few moments to drink in the scene. A woman in a faded green dress stands on an old crate that looks on the brink of collapsing, looking over the other women in the circle. In the centre of the circle is a variety of dried herbs, flowers and what may very well be a dead animal. My heartbeat stutters. I know what this is. There is a sect of Angel-bloods who have such little magic, they need to use aspects of nature to boost. The effects of it are always small, unnoticeable, but it leads people to find strange, sometimes disturbing ways to use their magic.

I feel sad because I don't know how Aly will react after seeing the blood and dead bodies. I drew the magical circle by mixing one drop of my blood with my mana. " Your majesty, your hand is bleeding..." She rushed to me and bandaged my palm. Actually I'm not a pure or holy mana user. I've learnt many forbidden spells from folklore witchcrafts because holy magic has limited access.

"You're okay." ​I didn't just feel okay. I felt like a walking nuke. ​The magic was singing in my blood, amplified tenfold by the Alpha spark he had just injected directly into my veins. I scrambled to my feet, ignoring the dirt on my clothes, and looked up at the failing purple runes. ​I grabbed the fading magic out of the air, twisted it between my hands, and threw it straight down into the valley. ​The entire gorge flashed a blinding, radioactive violet. A massive dome of solid light crashed down from the sky, instantly vaporizing a thousand undead soldiers before slamming shut directly over the obsidian altar.

Beside me, an ancient witch stepped forward, placed a hand on the door, and began chanting, sealing it with magic. June 23rd I dreamed I was in a dungeon, or something like it. The walls were rough rock, not the smooth stone of the castle from before, but it still felt familiar. Like I was deep beneath that same place. The same twisted old crone stood beside a fire. I was terrified of betrayal. Maybe even by my own wife. This was my last chance to ensure my bloodline survived. The old witch took my hand and drew a blade across the back of my wrist. Sharp pain flashed, then my blood ran down my arm in streams. She caught it in a glass vial, sealed it with a small cork, and dipped the top in t