Blooded Warhammer Novels & Stories

Her voice dripped with venom. I raised an eyebrow. "I didn't steal anything. And who is Ace to you, anyway?" I shot back, my curiosity piqued. She cried, shaking her head frantically, and then yelled, “How dare you say his name?!” “How dare I?” I chuckled softly, giving her my best ‘did you miss your way’ look. Because, really, did she miss her way? “You’ll pay for this, you will, you spawn of the devil!” Heather deadpanned, her little friends had gotten her something to keep the blood from flowing. She pressed the paper towel to her nose, suppressing the blood.

Cedric spat with clenched jaws as he made his way towards Oliver to strike him. The power supply was suddenly cut short and a blackout emerged. Everyone went berserker and piercing screams became the new music. I struggled to see, to protect Elena from whatever mayhem was happening but before I could spot her, the light came on and a huge chunk of the crowd was dead. Dead humans, wolves, witches, and vampires with bursted rib cages laid lifeless on the floor. The wall had a bold handwriting with blood that said 'There shall be no peace in LA till respect is fully paid to the right faction. Beware a new era is coming!!!" "So much for brokering peace, huh?" Oliver gave a peal of mirthless laug

Learning just a thing or two from the special abilities of these ancient horrors could very well bestow great advancements in power that could very well grant the possessor of the True Blood the edge to win even fights against greater opponents. That explained how angry and livid the Tenth Presbyter of the Winged race was when he was defeated during his attempt to recover the True Blood. "KILL HIM! WE NEED THE TRUE BLOOD!" he howled at the top of his voice like a maniacal beast himself. Mo Qian, the Winged Legion, and the two elderly Wingeds whom Chu Xun had defeated earlier lunged together, swarming at Chu Xun like a huge raving stampede of birds.

"Alright, you say we don't have much time to talk, but why am I here?" "I need to warn you of a war, and I need you to let your family know because they will be dragged into this war." "What war?" "The war between the god Ashton and the humans." "Why would that involve my family?" "Ashton will ask other gods to aid him in this war." "Why does he even want this war?" "You can say he has a hate for them." "Why does he hate them?" "Humans kill what they don't understand and are different than them." I guess that can be true, and that's why us werewolves keep our self a secret from the humans.

I apologized. "Sometimes, we refer to breast milk as 'White Blood' because it's from the human body, but only the females," she explained, "It's very fortunate that the breast milk works with your system. You're not physically required blood like other vampires-so it's just a psychological need because you're part of them."

Dawn growled, her golden form lunging at a wraith, claws slashing, frost exploding, the amber light glinting in her eyes, the hollow’s chill a call to battle, the frosted clay trembling, Tess’s fire a flame, the Crimsonborn a thrum, the pack’s legacy a fire, the battle a frozen storm. The shard’s hum reached a crescendo, the amber runes blazing, the ground within the ring splitting, a frosted form rising, the Crimsonborn’s champion, a Blood Weaver, its form a mass of blood and frost, eyes glowing amber, its roar shaking the hollow, the pool’s ice shattering, the obsidian stones’ runes flaring, the air crackling with dark magic, the thorn trees trembling, the pack’s tattoos glowing, their how

Father shook his head. “She declined it. She made an announcement, much more like a curse, drenched in blood, standing in the bloodied pool of dead bodies in the middle of the battlefield, looking dead into Micah’s eyes. She declared that, like Micah had made her and her bloodline suffer… the demonic werewolves will return and wage sixty-six wars against the outer world. In each war, the outer world would be trashed by evil not just from the demonics but by their own people as well,” father said.

The birthing sanctuary, its memory a beacon in the dark, stood as a testament to the enduring power of love—a power that would echo through the battlefield until the day the lovers could find each other once more, beyond the reach of war's cruel embrace. _____ Adrian's senses were heightened, attuned to the symphony of war that surrounded him. The scent of blood and the metallic tang of magic hung in the air as werewolves clashed with vampires in a dance of destruction. His fur bristled with primal fury, each heartbeat synchronized with the relentless rhythm of battle.

“They’re here.” A hush fell over the warriors. Across the ridge, black banners appeared tattered cloth bearing the sigil of the ancient bloodlines. Red-eyed figures lined the horizon row upon row of vampires, their armor blackened, their blades dripping with dark magic. Among them, towering bloodspawn snorted and snarled, muscles rippling beneath thick hides. And at the heart of the army, a figure in crimson and silver a vampire lord, tall and cold, with eyes that glowed like coals.

“Evelyn… My love is my greatest sin.” She laughed, voice breaking with tears. “And that sin has saved this world how many times?” Wind rose, carrying rust and ash. Far off, war drums — remnants of Crimson Pact approaching. Survivors turned feral, craving power and blood. Evelyn gripped Blood Shadow, her black sword. The blade reflected the crimson moon, trembling as if sensing her soul. “They won’t stop. Alaric has restarted the Blood Heart ritual. If he finishes, Azrael rises again.”