Crooked Crows Novels & Stories

How do you think that as possible? “well.. umm.. I don’t know” Amara says to me like a child. I lean back into the couch placing my arm on the backing of the couch. “Amara let me show you something.” I say to her. Getting up from the couch gestor her to follow me. As we head down a hallway and up 2 flights of stair we come to a set of double doors. Pushing them open Amara gasps in awe. “I have never seen a library so big before.” She says in astonishment. We both walk in and close the door behind us. I guide her to a section of the library that holds all the history of all supernatural kinds. As we walk down the aisle I explained to her that at one point we all lived happily amongst each ot

Deep bite marks were gouged into the cylinder, causing its edges to curl. I pushed the door open, and a nauseating stench hit me. The bed was piled high with rotting, blackened meat, dripping entrails, and several gutted rats. Apart from that, a yellow fluid had also soaked through the bedding. The walls were also covered in bright red lipstick scrawls—"Harlot", "Tart", "Free Breeding Center". And next to the words were a few crude drawings. My roommate had already moved out, leaving only a note on her empty bed.

A dead crow. Its head was twisted at a weird angle, throat cut clean open like someone had used a surgeon’s knife instead of claws. The cut was too perfect, too precise for any normal animal attack. Blood had dried around the wound, dark and flaky. One glassy eye stared up at nothing. Tied to its thin leg with a bit of rough string was a small piece of parchment, the kind you tear from an old notebook. On it, one single word scratched in what looked like dried blood. Soon.

Hopping the answer would be yes, I flipped to the introduction, the much-needed hope fluttering in my chest as I read. “From their temple origins to their violent renaissance in the Bloody War that birthed Henosis, Crowns of Shame have a complex past mixed with hope and cruelty alike. Despite its variety of intents and shapes, one thing remains the same throughout its history: the scar-tissue that defines it.” I flipped through the book, deterred by the word “scar-tissue”. I stopped at a page with a grotesque image of a man on his knees as someone carved a line across his forehead.

I stood, wondering what was coming and what could be going on. Jake Kurt received a deadly blow of an axe at the back of his head and his eyes were opened. I shook my head as I studied his body. Who could have done this, huh? As I made to stand, I saw something that caught my attention. Would I be damned? There was a sculpture of a crow on his corpse. “What?” I was shocked. What could have happened here? This was definitely from the Crow organization. And it brewed my curiosity. ***

"Kaaaakkk ... kaaakkk ... kaaakkkk ..." Dozens of crows arrived at a large tree that stood firmly in the middle of the road they were about to pass. Although there was a slight gap in the edge of the tree that they could penetrate, the gigantic tree shape with a very striking shape caught their attention. A tree with two long, sturdy branches on both sides, both ends of the branches sticking up. Perched crows filled the leafless branches of the tree. Under the tree, they saw a man who was prostrate and didn't move at all, as if he was prostrate on the giant tree. From where they were standing, they immediately recognized the figure of the man who was prostrate with his head pressed to the gr

He looked at the door in anticipation as he thought to himself, "These next few years are going to be interesting." Mane looked at the creatures that were flying a few feet above his head. These beasts were grey in color with a patch of black on the feathers of their necks. They were as large as an average ten year old and looked like large sized crows. And they were extremely tricky. Mane wrinkled his brow at how much work these crows had given him. These birds were called black necked crows. They were known for their speed and evasiveness, as well as their high attack prowess. Fortunately, these birds had very poor defense and so that could be exploited. Unfortunately, their great speed ma

CHAPTER 58: TRUTH SPELL. Soaring over the city, a crow flew to the coliseum. It perched at the top of the building, adjusting itself as it cawed. It blinked its eyes, revealing a purple coloration. It turned its head from one side to another, as though taking a view of the whole arena, and all that went on within. After a while, it cawed again and then flew off, heading toward a secluded part of Winterhill. It arrived at the old Grayson mansion and perched on a window, letting out a loud caw.

“Finished. Best I can do.” “Thanks. I think.” She pulled a box out of her pocket. “Junior Mint? They’re a little squished.” He helped himself to a few. Eating the mints and gazing silently into the foggy woodland, Crucian Crowe said, “This dust-up of yours—you didn’t use yourself as bait again, did you?” “Only an idiot would try that. Twice.” He shook his head, looking away. “Any reason why we’re sitting in the dark?”

Levi said in a whisper voice Azrael and Lexi both jumped down from the vent following Levi. What welcomed them was the stinky dungeon. The stench of body odor and dried blood lingers through the air and Azrael was just trying her best not to vomit. The smell made them nauseous but determination took over. They all looked through the cells of the dungeon. They were wolves from the Crimson Crest pack, lying down without strength. At first glance you might think they are dead but they are not. They are only covered with their own blood and sweat but they are still breathing… barely alive.