Crown With Blood Novels & Stories

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.

With tears in his eyes, he laid her down into the circle while her blood flowed like river down the floor inside the circle. Her death made the women sad and looked nervous seeing the whole drama between the two lovers. The girl's blood flowed out from her dead body and ran onto the line where the skull of the warlord and his heart laid in the circle. The skull and the heart sucked in all the blood like it was a living thing the moment it got in contact with the girls blood, while the priestess continues chanting none stop. Shocking the people who watched everything including the king and princess, they let's out a gasps of panic when the heart began to beat the minutes the blood touched it

Her crown fell to the marble floor with a clear clang, there seems also to be a clanging sound of someone's sword falling to the ground outside the palace gates. The deep red gem on the crown shattered and scattered. Warm blood down the steps on the cold ground, slowly spreading, reminiscent of the shallow creek she used to play in barefoot as a child. This golden hall of Avalon became her grave, swallowing her bones, burying her life. Outside, the sun shone on the snow, melting it bit by bit…

His blood dropped inside the pot, and he took his mate's hands gently and cut the tip of her index finger. As her blood dropped to his blood in the pot, the mixture of blood turned white before it evaporated away, making all the creatures bow and holler with excitement, "long live the King and Queen." Alex collected the crown from Destiny and showed it to the people before turning to Nadazhda, then crowned it on her as the people screamed excitedly.

She realized that this was not just a crown but a symbol of everything she had fought against, everything she had feared. With a swift movement, the reflection’s fingers danced around the shards, the air around them tinged with a spectral glow. Each piece sang with energy, vibrating with stories of those who had worn the crown before. Autumn could feel their whispers, the triumphs and tragedies resonating through the air, urging her to understand, to embrace the legacy that echoed in her blood.

Yet, amidst the thunderous exultation, Malakai’s gaze sought Amani—his greatest triumph, the one who made it all worth fighting for. His gaze shifted toward the Council member who had presented him with his crown. The man stepped forward again, but this time, in his hands was another crown. It was delicate yet regal, forged from the purest gold and adorned with rare jewels. Diamonds and sapphires were set into the metal, each one gleaming in the sunlight, their colors representing both the Bloodmoon and Blackclaw packs, a union of their legacy. Malakai took the crown gently, his eyes soft as he turned toward Amani. His heart pounded in his chest, not from fear, but from the depth of what thi

Asura explained the process of making Anala's sword. "A crown? What can a crown do? It's not made of the strongest metal, is it?" Arya Santanu was confused. "The crown of hell comes from a mixture of the blood of the former kings of hell. And the metal that makes the crown is mixed with the bones of the former kings. I melted it so that the weapon formed from the crown could destroy all forms of demons from hell." Asura explained again. Arya Santanu had just understood it. He felt very tired and finally lay down on the ground.

“This is not a circlet kissed by moons or forged by gods.” She turned in a slow circle. “This is pain made visible. This is grief made iron. This is every name they buried to build their empires.” She paused. Let her voice drop. “This is mine.” Venn spoke. “Will you place it on your head?” Sirelia looked at him. “No.” She set the crown on the altar. “Let it crown itself.” The flames beneath the altar flared. And the crown rose. It hovered. Spinning slowly. Blood wept from its edges.

“I think I can teach her what it means to wear my crown.” By nightfall, Amara summoned her war council. Cassian arrived first, a bruise darkening his jaw. Then Dante — alive but ragged, fresh from a mission in Istanbul. Mateo stood near the back, silent, his loyalty uncertain since the blood oath had been broken. On the table before them lay a crown — the black crown Damien had once sent her, forged from fragments of soldiers’ skulls. It glinted faintly under the light. “This is what she’s after,” Amara said. “She believes the crown will make her sovereign. But a symbol without blood is just a decoration.”

She was a colossal sea fortress, four hundred feet long, featuring three massive iron towers that glowed with a terrifying, pulsating crimson light. High upon the central tower of the Blood Crown stood Emperor Malakor himself. His armour was terrifying, crimson scaled plate armour that looked like it was made from crystallised blood. Black shadow-feathers draped in a shroud over his broad shoulders, his face concealed behind a silver mask carved like a screaming daemon. In his right hand, he held a massive six-foot staff topped with a glowing, blood-red orb that pulsed in rhythm with the oceanic tide.