Crown Of Creation Bloodstained Novels & Stories

Rumors hinted at a connection between their family and dragons, their blood carrying a mysterious poison. In that moment, she realized that fate had brought Adelstein into her path. This was her opportunity, her chance to manipulate their power for her own purpose. They would become her pawn in the game of vengeance, a means to reclaim what was taken from her. In this life, she vowed to bring swift and merciless retribution upon all those who had inflicted suffering upon her. “Greeting to the grand duke of Adelstein,” the dean greeted, flanked by the knights of Windsor. The contrast between Adelstein and Windsor was stark. The powerful presence of the Grand Duke of Adelstein overshadowed the

“No, regina. I made a prophecy.” She rises, spreading her arms. “This crown was never meant for the living. You both built an empire from corpses. Now it demands its due.” Her followers bow as she pulls a dagger from the altar — a blade forged from obsidian, its hilt engraved with our insignia. The Moretti crest. My crest. “How did you—?” I start, but Amara interrupts with a shot. The bullet tears through Leandra’s veil — but she doesn’t fall. The sound that follows isn’t pain. It’s laughter.

A faint glow pulsed like its own heart beat a shape, curved mark that was glowing beneath the sleeve of my leathers, a mark only seen that I have only seen in books. The Lunar Bond. She looked up. Across the table, Aeryn Valecrow met her gaze again. In that moment she felt terrified and unafraid at the same moment. Nemphis did not like it but craved it all at once. She pushed forward even more.

One under each crest. "Blood. It wants our blood." She unwrapped her hand. The cut from their oath was still bleeding a little. Damien did the same. They pressed their palms to the prints. Nothing. Then the door shuddered. Something inside started grinding and clicking. The door swung open. Inside was just a small room. Empty except for one thing. A pedestal. And on top, a single object. A crown. Black metal. Old as hell. Covered in weird symbols. "The Silent Crown," Celeste whispered.

The great doors close with a sound like breaking bones, leaving me alone with the ache of this cursed crown and the weight of a kingdom built on graves. The crown itself pulses against my temples, its once-brilliant gold now tarnished to the color of old blood. It used to shine like captured sunlight, a beacon of hope and righteous rule. Now it hums with an endless network of hairline cracks, each fracture a spider's thread of corruption spreading deeper into the metal and into me. Each break is a reminder that nothing in this world remains unbroken: not thrones built on noble intentions, not bloodlines stretching back to heroes of legend, not oaths sworn under starlight with hearts full of

One with my name. My blood. My crown.

They reached the underground crypt — a chamber sealed by runes and old metal. Nora stepped forward, pressing the pendant against the seal. The air shifted. The runes flickered, then melted away like wax under flame. “What the hell…” Janie breathed. The door opened slowly, revealing a chamber filled with broken artifacts and symbols etched into the walls — all bearing the mark of the Crownless Bloodline. Nora’s breath caught. “It’s true.” Roman stepped up beside her. “So the stories were real.” “The rogue heir,” Janie whispered. “The Luna who was never crowned.”

Blood issued from the slit of his skin, and it hovered in the air. “Do you, your majesty, give the throne to your heir, your son?” The priest approached the king. “Yes,” he said, almost instantly after the priest’s statement. The king’s wrist also suffered the same fate, and his blood stretched in the air with Vladimir’s. The priest stood in the center of the hovering blood, whispering incantations. After a while, the blood glided toward each other until it combined, forming a liquidize ball that was gleaming horrifyingly with the brightness of the sun. It pressed and knot itself, forming and deforming at each second that passed, until with a pop, the blood transformed into a tangible object

The Hollow Crown pulsed wildly, as if desperate to maintain control. And then, with a scream that tore through the chamber, Rael reached up and grasped the cursed crown. The moment his fingers touched it, darkness erupted. The entire Keep trembled, the walls groaning as fractures spider-webbed across them. The floor beneath them cracked, sending debris tumbling into the abyss below. The Hollow Crown resisted, its tendrils digging deeper into Rael’s flesh, trying to bind him forever. But Rael would not be caged.