Cruel King Block Tales Fanart นิยาย & เรื่องราว

He’s the spider and you’re the fly. A hand tangled itself in my hair, yanking me from my mind and throwing me into reality, where a cry of pain was the first sound I heard. My cry. “Never.” He hissed. The King hissed in my ear, “Never do that again or I’ll cut your hand.” ***

King Asnus called hesitantly, "there's something you need to know." "What, pray tell?" "The raiders, they had sharp claws and teeth. Their eyes also glowed a weird green. Thru seemed strange but they were humans, I'm not sure if…" he trailed off. Sebastian's eyes narrowed. Definitely not vampires. Green eyes… vampires were red. "I'll take care of it. Do as I have commanded." King Asnus bowed, "yes, my lord." Sebastian turned and went down the roof. "Are you leaving?" Aurora asked when she saw him walking out of the partially destroyed palace.

*** Bryan came home at half past three in the afternoon with grass stains on both knees and a drawing he’d made at school that he insisted I look at. I looked. “It was,” he explained with great seriousness, “a picture of our apartment, with two figures in front of it, one tall, one small and above the small one, a crown.” “Who’s the crown for?” I asked. “Me,” he said. “Because I live there and it’s my kingdom.” “It’s a one-bedroom apartment, baby.” “Kingdoms come in different sizes,” he said, completely unbothered, and went to drop his bag in his room.

"And Aris—or Daphne—don't wait for the next summit to show your hand. The world is much more fun when you have the right partner to explore with." I watched him walk away, the night air finally feeling clear. The thieves were in cells, the crown was back on the rightful head, and for the first time in three years, the road ahead wasn't a steep decline with broken brakes. It was wide open.

Nurul Islam stroked Abrar's hair and began: "Once there was a king. His son was very honest. His grandson was even more honest. One day, the uncle came and said, 'I want the throne of the kingdom. If you want to save your grandson's life, you must fight...'" The room grew dim; everyone's eyelids grew heavy. But Arian knew—he would have to stay awake through the night. Because old enemies do not sleep, and they were now running after Abrar.

"My name is Beta Jax Clyde. I am the King's right hand." "It's nice to meet you, sir," she said as she finally dragged her eyes up, in awe of his beauty as well. While she had been distracted by the King as soon as she walked in, the Beta blocking her view of him forced her to take in how attractive he is. She didn't even realize that she was still holding his hand, though no longer shaking it, until the King let out a soft growl. Beta Jax cleared his throat, turning to gesture to the man, who was now sitting rigid in his chair. "This is the Lycan King, Alpha Kenzo."

♱ ⋅ 1750 B.C. ⋅ ♱ There were many stories within the world of the novel that I read. Among the various stories, there was one that told about the first love of the demon king. The king of all monsters and the one who brought about the destruction of peace and balance. The one who caused the chaos. Particularly, this was always my favorite story. The one that told in the sweetest way how Callisto - the king of the entire underworld and lower plane - fell madly in love with the purest being ever created.

The king's reputation precedes him, for he is known to be a merciless ruler who spares not even those of high birth. The fallen vampire received a brutal blow to the face as the king mercilessly stomped on him. With each powerful thump, the creature's body began to resemble a freshly baked loaf of bread, while its once-rounded head now appeared strikingly flattened. As the deed was done, the king remained steadfast, his gaze unflinching. The task was easily achieved.

Artists—young and old—stood on ladders putting final touches with delicate brushes. The first was of Alaric. He was painted taller than life, his face angled slightly upward, two moons glowing behind him, one red, one white. His crown looked pretty heavy. His eyes were a little too sharp, a little too sad. The second mural was of the King, on a rearing black steed, pointing toward a battlefield with fire behind him. The third was the Queen, holding a silver hawk perched on her arm, her eyes painted with almost unnerving precision.