Crown Of Blood And Ruin Mga Nobela at Kwento

Its flesh had blackened completely around the chest while veins twisted unnaturally beneath dead skin. The doctor lowered his head quickly. “Her blood reacts differently than expected.” I moved toward the largest table in the center chamber where dozens of notes and ancient texts had been scattered beside blood samples taken from previous experiments. One symbol had been circled repeatedly across the pages. A crown. The Crown of Night. Interesting how myths stopped sounding like myths once enough blood entered the story. “You knew,” a voice said carefully behind me. I looked toward Malvek standing near the laboratory entrance. Old vampire. Useless politician. Too cautious to survive what wa

Had proven to the kingdom and to God that his loyalty to righteousness superseded his loyalty to blood. It had killed him. Every day since, it had killed him again and again, in small increments, until he wasn’t sure what was left inside his chest besides the specific machinery of survival. And now his brother’s son a boy Marcus had held as an infant, had taught to ride, had believed capable of greatness was committing the same sin. The same corruption. The same betrayal of everything Marcus had sacrificed to prevent. The candles flickered.

Silver flames burned along the walls without heat, casting eerie light across hundreds of kneeling figures below. Hollows. Thousands of them. Their heads bowed in absolute silence. And at the center of it all. me. No. Her. The first Queen of Ruin sat upon a throne of obsidian, draped in dark armor lined with glowing cracks. A silver crown rested upon her head like it belonged there. Like it had never belonged anywhere else. Her face slowly lifted. And I was staring at myself. Same eyes. Same face. Only colder. Older. Broken in ways I couldn’t understand.

Her voice dropped into the enchantment like a curse. “You wear power like a crown that was never yours to begin with. You forgot who gave you life. You forgot what I took from you once, and what I can take again. You think your sisters can protect you? Let them try. But remember this: every crown has a cost. And I’ve waited centuries to collect.” She sliced her palm with a jagged edge of stone and let her blood drip into the water. The pool surged—rising in a sudden column of red mist, streaked with black veins.

“The crown is mine.” I bent a little lower eyeing the way she held him, placing his head on her laps. I ignored their display for an instant, squatting down to grasp the blood coated crown. The piece was an original gold one, with ten slops around it and by the sides were transparent pearls forming a bridge at the start of each slops. “Could someone get a friggin’ fucking ambulance or do you want your new King to be marked as a murderer?!” I suddenly yelled, bringing out a white handkerchief from the breast pocket of my suit. Erasing the stains of blood from the part of the crown it touched, I positioned it on my head.

A memory of how she looked while she still lives with her father flashed in her mind, now, she looked prettier and healthier. She smiled but it faded all of a sudden, images of people mangled and lying. Pictures of the world entirely drenched in red. Bloodstained ruins , bloodied people, bloody mountain of corpse, bloodstained land. Even the skies and clouds were dyed in a frighteningly dense shade of blood. The bloodstained ruins were the halls of a castle, the bloodied corpses were made up of the pack members; some that she was familiar with and others that she has never met. The pool of blood flowed like a river.

The honor a knight earns in battle, defense for the weak, and even standing bravely where no one will and can. THE CROWN. A royal blooded title, pride, and the entirety of their lives deal, where their world revolves and is only known for. Taken as the highest in the towering pedestal of their lives, it is the throne where blood and sins were covered. With its brightness and fame as the ruler and ruling stance of their lives, it is the dark and menacing life that only cares for power and luxury, that even the purest one can be tainted with its darkness.

Like , actually ripping it loose, not really “pulling” Valerius’s eyes went wide, a look of absolute incomprehensible terror. Like he couldn’t even decide what to be afraid of, or how. With a sickening CRACK, the crown finally came loose. Dante ripped the iron conduit right off the Emperor’s skull, then hurled it down the ruined hallway. Straight away, like no hesitation. The immediate backlash was apocalyptic. Without the crown to anchor the stolen blood-magic, the dark red energy churning around Valerius destabilized violently. A deafening, high pitched screech ripped through the air, and then instantly a massive psychic shockwave.

The mere thought of his name summoned the ghost of my past, dragging me back to the night my world turned crimson. *** FLASHBACK "Run, Rachelle! Don't look back!" my mother screamed, shoving me toward the kitchen cupboard as our cabin doors splintered into pieces. Walter, wearing armor that shimmered under the moon, entered like a demon. My father tried to shift, but a silver blade pierced his chest before his bones could even finish snapping. My mother’s scream was the last thing I heard from her before Walter grabbed her by the hair. "Where is the golden-blooded brat?" Walter roared, his eyes shining with a sickly ambition.

I had intended to break her, to firmly remind her who exactly she married but the moment she stood over Gerald, cold and completely unbothered about the pooling blood, something stupid snapped inside me, she looked so damn good playing the boss. And then this bitch broke my nose, I touched the bridge of my nose, wincing slightly as a fresh throb of pain shot through my face. I pulled over at the secure yard a few blocks away from the warehouse, stepping into the cool night air, I washed the blood from my face and stripped out my ruined shirt, staring into the cracked mirror of the locker room, I looked deep into my own eyes. Rowan Moretti had officially declared war, he had shot my brother,