Blood On The Clocktower Grimoire Novels & Stories

"That has to be the answer, your blood may just be the key. I need a few drops of your blood" Devon immediately stopped forwards. He didn't want Diana to take more blood than necessary from Alice. The witch was crafty. He pricked Alice's hand a little and allowed a few drops of her blood to pour on the Grimoire. The Grimoire, which was once blank, suddenly started to show writing and drawings on the page. "It worked" Joan said in Surpise. They all stared at the Book with Curiosity laced in their eyes. Everyone wanted to know the Secrets which had been kept for centuries. This was their stepping stone in stopping the Dark witches from their evil hatch once and for all…

I wanted to tell him those would not fight off ghosts to lighten the mood, but the seriousness of what we were about to do, to attempt, weighed too heavy. I was able to open it with my blood alone before, but I thought, for some reason, I needed to let the place know who to recognize. So we all cut thin slices, and they dripped their blood onto my palm. I pressed it against the cool stone, and the blood seeped into it immediately. It creaked and groned to life and then opened for us. The blue lights lit the way to the small chamber. The pool was glowing, alive. “Wow,” Nolan said, spinning in a circle, taking it all in.

In the center stood a plinth, and on it, the anchor: a black bell, etched with the same sigils, a hairline crack running its curve. I moved closer, pulse hammering. The silence pressed at me, heavy as water, a pressure that begged for something to break it. My hand shook as I brushed dust from the plinth, and pain lanced sharp when a burr of iron bit into my skin. Blood welled, bright and hot against the hush. My stomach dropped as panic seized me—I knew what blood meant to ancient things, knew I had already given too much away in the wrong places. I tried to jerk back, but too late—one drop fell, striking the sigil with a hiss that split the stillness.

It was closed, with no title, but a symbol was tooled into its cover—the same symbol from the bone resonator: the wolf unraveling into a spiral. He approached it with a reverence that felt out of place in the violated chamber. He did not touch it. “It’s a Weaver’s Grimoire. Warded to the bloodline. He could not open it. He could not even move it.” He looked at me, his gaze intense. “It will only respond to you.”

She opens the book and a roach crawls out. I shriek, jerking my knees to my chest. Esme raises a brow. “You’re a wolf, and you’re scared of a roach?” “What’s a wolf without a wolf?” My smile is bittersweet. “Don’t do that,” she scolds. “You wolf will return. Now, when the rumours came, I consulted the books and some friends.” I try not to let my own thoughts scare me. “What did you find?” “You know, I’ve lived through almost seven decades, and I know a bloodline that had white hair. Moonblood.”

My heart pounded as we entered a chamber carved into the earth itself. Symbols etched in forbidden runes sprawled across the walls, glowing faintly in the dark. Tables lined with vials and instruments stood abandoned, though the stains on them told stories of horrors recently committed. Empty glass bottles, their insides crusted with dried blood, glimmered under torchlight. My stomach twisted. “This is where they do the blood rituals.” Lyra nodded, her hands trembling as she gestured to the vials. Before I could speak again, footsteps echoed behind us.

It was the vast, complex resonance of a grand mechanical timepiece—an ancient Reliquary Clock built into the foundation of the mountain. I forced my upper body off the floor, my raw, bleeding hands burning as they pressed against the freezing marble. As my eyes adjusted to the deep twilight, the fragile, flickering ember of hybrid fire in my blood flared slightly, casting a faint, pale violet luminescence through my fingertips.

The air froze instantly. The smile on Cole’s lips stiffened as he stared at me in disbelief. “W-What?” I didn’t repeat myself. I simply closed my eyes. As if he couldn’t accept what he’d just heard, Cole stepped forward and roughly grabbed my wrist. My sleeve was pulled back, revealing the large patches of shocking purple bruises beneath—dark against my pale skin. They were marks left behind by needles repeatedly piercing my veins during blood draws. Cole’s fingers began to tremble. He stared at the bruises, his voice breaking as he demanded, “Why? Sadie! Why would you do something like that? Are you crazy? Why?”

Chloe says bitterly, unsure but desperate, her voice breaking. They fall into a tense silence, the ticking of the clock in the corner the only sound between them. Chloe’s mind races as she zones out momentarily, focusing on the grimoires strewn across the floor, pages opened to the spell in question. The ancient symbols and markings are a jumbled mess to anyone unfamiliar with the language, but to her, they are as clear as day. She kneels down, fingers brushing the ink—wrist veins opens pouring out her blood on the pages where the spell lies in the opened grimoire as she begins to read aloud. the words sharp and biting, as if they were never meant for human tongues.

At the foot of the tower, Lucien lifted his gaze, his golden eyes reflecting the hue of blood. “She’s opened it…” Adrian gripped his silver sword, rain soaking his back. “If the Holy Gate truly exists… then the Primordial Blood—” Lucien interrupted, his voice rough, echoing like it rose from the abyss. “...is awakening.” --- Inside the Divine Tower – Sanctum Level. Everything drowned in red light. Evelyn stood at the center of a bloodstorm, her body suspended in midair, hair floating as if caught in an unseen wind. The blood seal on her neck burned bright, spreading like roots burrowing deep into her flesh.