Cursed Ships Novels & Stories

I answered, digging my fingers into his broad shoulders and pulling his mouth to mine with a hungry kiss that filled us both with certainty of victory. Our moment of peace lasted only a heartbeat. A deafening metallic roar shook the cavern’s foundations. It did not come from the palace or the pass—it came from the ocean horizon visible through the great coastal rift. The deep, guttural blast of an ancient war horn tore through the northern night. I looked up toward the cavern’s opening, my mark blazing brighter as I saw the shapes of ten massive black‑steel ships emerge from the sea fog, driven by violet fire that dwarfed the Council’s magic.

The words felt like a storm ripping through the sky on a perfectly sunny day. James took me home, and we didn't exchange a single word the entire night. I drowned in my grief, too consumed by the loss to notice his strange behavior. The next day, Jess arrived with her son, David, practically glowing with joy. "David's heart condition is completely cured," she said brightly. "We won't need to visit the hospital anymore." Her words struck me like a knife. I exploded, my pain spilling into a heated argument. But before I could say much, James shoved me to the ground.

"Kaelor, look at the signatures of the ships above." "What am I looking at?" "They aren't Aethelgard ships. Those are Navia hulls. Steam-engines and salvaged iron." Aradaa’s heart sank. "It’s the humans. A 'New Republic.' They aren't trying to claim the ship... they’re trying to kill the 'Beast in the Deep.' They’re afraid of us." "Those are our people!" Kaelor shouted. "Why are they dropping fire on our heads?" A new signal pulsed on the sonar—a familiar, sharp encryption.

It was unusual for Ethan to be so expressive, even to laugh so loudly. "Well you don't know William, Leona. William Redorge. A very famous action film actor and-" "Yeah I know that. He's a famous actor, and?" "Come on, Ethan! Let's go quickly!" interrupted William. Ethan cleared his throat. After that he rose from his position. "Okay, Miss Russell, looks like I have to go now, before the ferocious wolf attacks me," said Ethan. William glared at his cousin and assistant. Ethan could always call him a 'wolf' in front of Leona. What if the girl gets suspicious?

Tristan wanted to curse the world. Had he not been too taken away by that damn noble, he would’ve caught the cruise ship before it sailed off from the port. There’d been no longer cruise ships arriving on the harbor that day, as the next one would arrive in two days. So Tristan had no other choice but to ride the pettiest and stinky ship he had ever been. It was the only ship that would sail in that hour. And Tristan could not afford to wait any longer.

"We have a situation at the southern border outposts. Three hours ago, a fleet of dreadnoughts breached the southern mist-barrier of our territorial waters. They do not fly the banners of the southern rogue factions, nor do they carry the sigils of any known shifter pack on this continent." Aurelia stepped forward, her golden eyes narrowing. "Commander, describe their ships." "They're enormous, of petrified black mahogany, reinforced with crimson steel," Marcus reported, jaw clenched. "Their sails are pitch black, woven with blood-red crests depicting a serpent coiled around a eclipsed sun. They have dropped anchor in the Bay of Whispers, and their envoy is already marching up the King's Roa

The stink of dark sorcery clung to him, unmistakable even amid the chaos. Pirates wielding cursed blades surged onto their deck, faces contorted with malice and a thirst for violence. The weapons glowed with an eerie light, leaving trails of dark energy as they swung. Amelia's human crew met them with defiance, fighting with a desperation that matched the pack's. The cursed weapons took their toll, and she saw men fall, wounded and bleeding, but even then, their resolve held strong.

Its edges were curled with heat, the script shifting like molten iron beneath the surface. Maya didn’t speak. She knew what they were nearing. The Sixth Tide. And worse—the betrayal that made it real. --- The Iron Salt wasn’t an island. It was a graveyard. Hundreds of broken ships drifted in a perfect circle, chained together by coral-grown anchors. Fragments of weapons jutted from masts. Statues of half-forgotten gods stood cracked on shattered decks. Some ships were made of steel, others of bone. One, drifting slowly to starboard, appeared to be carved from teeth.

​The Respiration didn't land so much as it anchored itself into the sea, its massive, barnacled hull groaning as it settled against the basalt pedestal of the spire. It was a Frankenstein of a ship—sections of sleek Sterling "White-Steel" welded to rusted industrial scavenge and draped in a hardy, vacuum-resistant strain of Whisper-Moss that glowed with a sickly, pale violet light.

Memory became heat. Both ships folded inward without fire. Aaliyah swore so hard the command center's profanity filter gave up and filed a resignation notice. "Two ships lost," she said. "No debris. No explosion. Boss, they did not get destroyed. They got edited." Katherine was already moving, fingers flying through layered displays. "It removed interval distance. Structural separation collapsed into conceptual adjacency. It is not attacking mass. It is attacking the permission things have to be apart." The compass in Jack's hand burned so hot his palm blistered.