Dark Dealings In The Blackpits Novels & Stories

With my eyes still closed, I suddenly heard some faint footsteps replacing the heavy silence of the room. With every second, the footsteps grew louder and louder. Someone was here. My heart started pounding in a flash, who could be here? I gulped the saliva that collected in my mouth and slowly opened my eyes. As I opened my eyes, I saw a man covered in a black mask, wearing a black jacket, a pair of black pants and black boots. The light from the light bulb fell on him, illuminating him and he had a gun pointed to my face with his finger close to the trigger.

The underworld was a shadowland—wisps of stale cigar smoke curling through the air, muffled voices mingling with clinking glasses of whiskey, and the acrid odor of blood seeping into the covered walls and Harrison Blackwood was at the center of the blackness of the expansive table, his fists thudding out a slow beat upon the wood. The men around him—soldiers, underbosses, lieutenants—sat awaiting him to speak, waiting.

The voice from the darkness was a hook in my soul, reeling us forward into the chill. We stepped through the false wall, our single flashlight beam cutting a pathetic swath through the profound black. It fell upon bones. Not neatly stacked, but piled, heaped, a jumbled sea of femurs, skulls, and rib cages that filled a cavernous space from the slimy floor to the shadowed vault of the ceiling decades above. The Ossuary. The collective remains of centuries of Blackwood pack, their final energy a silent, heavy blanket that smothered the air and muted the magic in my blood to a faint, dying whisper.

“Ruby’s gone. I heard she’s making moves to transfer schools, move to a new city, and barely answers my calls. Says she needs space from… everything.” He stared into his drink. “My business is sinking,” he continued, voice cracking for the first time. “Debts piling up. Partners pulling out. And all I’ve got left are regrets. Drinking too much. Hitting too hard when I shouldn’t. Pushing away the only person who ever looked at me like I wasn’t a monster.” Black said nothing. Just signaled for another round. Two broken men, drowning in the ruins of the lives they’d built. ♠️ MARLENE ♠️

His knees buckle and drop to the ground. The media and police call me silenzio, while the others just call Silenzio. I'm a serial killer and I work for the country's most notorious and dangerous dark Italian organization known as The obsidian Syndicate. I work in the organization merely to quench my blood thirst after the unfortunate incident that occurred in my life which has scarred me and turned me brutal, I was given several therapy sessions but none ever worked to bring me back to the man I used to be before the incident.

"You're worse than the fae, Silas. At least they're honest about enslaving people." "I prefer 'mutually beneficial relationships.'" I start on the next body. "Now help me harvest these organs. Dragon client wants delivery by dawn." We work until sunrise. Twenty-three bodies processed, parts cataloged, deliveries scheduled. Another productive night in the Rookeries. Business is good. And if the Brennan pack keeps fragmenting, business will get better. BILL BOLTER The fighting pit in my warehouse is fifty feet across, dirt floor, chain-link fence. Thirty wolves watching from the edges. Betting, drinking, waiting for blood.

’ Elize thought *********** Dark noticed that in the other house, two women and one man were staring at him. He even frowned when he saw the man's familiar face. "Dark." Dark looked at Trans. He's got Black cards "It's morning," Dark complains. "You know that each second many people die in this world." Says Trans. Dark switched off the treadmill, then wiped off the sweat and approached Trans. He took six black cards and went through them one after the other. "I already told this one, the stubbornness," Dark said

Frustration bubbled inside me as I clicked link after link, searching for anything that felt real. Then I found it. An article buried deep in an obscure forum, titled “The Forgotten Threat: Nightwalkers Among Us.” “Guys,” I said, my voice trembling slightly. “I think I found something.” They crowded around me as I scrolled through the page. It described creatures that thrived in darkness, their eyes pitch black, their presence marked by death and destruction. The details were sparse, but the fear in the writer’s words was palpable. “This has to be fake,” Zane said, though he didn’t sound entirely convinced.

I realized, slowly, that if I hadn’t learned to tap into my energy, and hadn't mastered the rhythm of my Core, I never would’ve made it this far north. I pulled my vest tighter and set my jaw. “You cold?” Lucan asked, his voice low, gentle. “No, I’m fine,” I replied, forcing a stiff smile. I was the one who wanted to come, after all. The Black Market was beneath the coldest cave in the stretch of Blackcroft. It was a place whispered to be built atop the graves of the vengeful dead. They said the spirits buried there were the Called who had never become Initiates because their Cores got contaminated and failed the Trial of Mirror.

A black maria zoomed along the highway in the late night. It’s noise loud enough to disturb the peace and serenity of the evening. The front and passenger seats were occupied by two policemen who were chatting away, while the back was occupied by criminals who had just received judgment and sat in handcuffs. The air was filled with gloom as none of the criminals made any sound. Each to his own thoughts. “I swear to God, Arsenal has to be the most useless team I have ever seen in my life.” The cop who was driving cursed as his face squeezed in anger.