Dark Crimson Novels & Stories

Looking at the sun blooming slowly while scattering its rays all over, it feels as if the darkness has surrendered itself to it and the horror of the previous night has been relieved bare for all to witness. Blake slowly moves his eyes across the hall. The blood is seen being splattered all over the wooden floor. The white walls, the original white couch, everything has been dyed in red and dried a long time ago. In some areas, the original color of the carpet can’t be seen at all. It is all in bloody red. Pieces of wolves being torn to shreds, bodies of what seem to be human as well as non-human and pieces of what used to be the door, all has been scattered all over the house.

Any dark deed required a binding contract, one signed with the vital fluid that sustained life. He looked around for a dry spot to set the candle and paper down. Pools of water glowed in pearlescent gold, formed from the damp dripping from above. Stained by moss it didn't even look like water, rather like urine, tainted by infection. After a few moments he found a reasonably dry spot and knelt down carefully, unravelling the map and turning it over to look at the small writing on the back. He withdrew his knife, tracing a circle about him before puncturing the palm of his hand and allowing the blood to form a pool before casting it over the candle and onto the stone. It sank into the surface

"Agite Tenebrae Abyssi" Light and flashed the gate is open. Upon the distinct crimson color that engulfs the place, a black electric wave flows within the lines, curves, and words of the circle. As the black-colored electric waves pave, screams of pain, agony, and death can be heard. With the sacrifice that’s been taken, and the corpses are being absorbed from within and somewhat out of nowhere, he smiles as he laughs while screaming. “Wonderful, just wonderful!”

Far away, a single violin string quivered, then held, a drawn breath waiting to be spent. Dracula let my wrist go. The room exhaled. “Very well,” he said, voice soft enough to make the hair at my nape lift. “You want a choice? I will give her one.” He stepped back once, hands at his sides, the dark around him drawing closer like a cloak. His eyes were no longer crimson; they were something colder, a winter metal polished too bright. “Evelyn,” he said without looking away from Elias, “ask yourself which of us is lying to you.”

The Alpha Crimson. Even from this distance, his presence felt heavy on my chest. His physique was bigger than any Lycan I had ever seen, and he stood at the front. His eyes burned a deep, unnatural crimson, and his fur was black and rippling with force. I could sense his authority and domination even from this distance. He was staring at me, too. Mira let out a loud sigh. "How do we combat that?" I had nothing to say. Because I wasn't sure whether we could for the first time in my life.

“The Crimson wolves have always been in the FireHeart pack, because their flames and uniqueness comes from the same flames that emanate from the crimson throne.” “Can I ask a question, Doctor?” Minister Blackthorn asked suddenly. “You may.” “You spoke about survival of the fittest, how sure are you that the crimson rogue we showed you is not actually a crimson wolf but a generated one?” “The eyes,” Doctor Monroe said, his smile stretching. “The eyes never lie. A crimson wolf is made crimson because of its distinctive red color. This distinctive color is shown both on the fur, the eyes and hair. They have a characteristic pale white skin like snow. That is the characteristic of a crimson. If

The crimson hue of his fur glistened under the sunlight, radiating an eerie glow that heightened the ominous atmosphere. Devin's eyes, once filled with an unsettling madness, now burned with an intensity that pierced through the chaos. They gleamed a deep, blood-red, reminiscent of smoldering embers in the dead of night. It was a visual testament to the untamed power coursing through his veins.

The Dawn Pack had tracked the eastern echo beyond the Frosted Echo, their pursuit leading them to the Crimson Hollow, a sunken expanse at the farthest reaches of the Emberfall Woods, where the forest floor dipped into a bowl-shaped clearing, the ground a hardened crust of blood-red clay, cracked and veined with rivulets of frost that shimmered faintly under the late afternoon sun, its pale light casting a cold, golden sheen across the hollow, the shadows long and jagged, stretching across the clay like claw marks. The air was frigid, biting at the skin, carrying the scent of frost, ash, and a sharp, coppery tang of blood, a whisper of the marrow god’s kin stirring once more, the Crimsonborn—

We didn't let the darkness win. END OF VOLUME ONE