Deadman Wonderland Warden Novels & Stories

“ ……. at the convenience store on Walmart street , the cctv inside the store is said to be faulty but the one just outside the store caught the back view of the proposed killer who was the only one to have entered and come out of the store at the time of death. The suspected killer is said, according to what is in the footage, to be dressed in a red hoodie and………………” The rest of the news coming from the tv wafted past my ears and faded into the background when I heard the elevator ding, followed by heavy footsteps. Someone was on my floor. And for the first time in days at that. I stood up curiously, and looked through the see-through hole on my door, hoping to see my hot neighbor. It was

The redwood-sized tendrils froze solid in mid-air, their abyssal energy instantly devoured by my own superior, concentrated Void. I looked up at the canopy of massive blue eyes, the starlight halo above my head transforming into a crown of razor-sharp galaxies. "You called this a cage, Architect," I said coldly, stepping up beside my husband, the solar fire and the cosmic void merging into a terrifying, unified aura. "But you misunderstood your own architecture. I am not the prisoner." I raised my hand, pointing directly at the center of the cosmic constellation. "I am the Warden. And your execution has been scheduled."

​The Warden of Covenants, who had been watching from the shadows, stepped into the dim light. As the veil of his projection wavered, Dave saw the truth. The Warden was not a guardian of the Architects; he was a monument to their failures. He was a prisoner, bound by chains of obsidian and soul-binding magic, his chest cavity glowing with a dim, dying light.

The outer doors — heavy iron plated with oak — were cracked inward, smoking from whatever had slammed into them. “Wardens don’t use explosives,” Carter muttered. “Then who does?” Killian asked. Carter’s smile was grim. “People who aren’t afraid to break the rules.” The doors gave way with a splintering groan, and figures poured in — half Warden, half mercenary. The Wardens were cold and precise, their mirrored masks unreadable. The mercs were loud, brutal, hacking their way forward with cleavers and hooked blades. Killian’s magic surged to his hands without thought, shadows boiling up from the floor and coiling into serrated tendrils. He lashed out, slicing through the nearest merc’s weapon

The air shimmered with heat, and floating above the fire, suspended by threads of light— A figure.Not Clara.Hale.But he was… wrong.His body hung in the air like a marionette, arms slack, eyes open but blank. His chest rose and fell—barely. His essence flickered like a candle fighting the wind.Still alive.But bound.“Don’t touch him,” a voice said, smooth and cold.I turned.A woman stood at the far edge of the chamber. Not Aether born. Not wolf. Something between. She was clad in silver robes threaded with runes I couldn’t read, her hair white as bone, her eyes lit with the same fire that pulsed in the walls.“You’re not supposed to be here,” she said.“Said the ghost in a tomb,” I replied, takin

He looked at me and said, "I've called the cops. I guess they'll be here in half an hour. I'll protect you in the meantime. "The second ward has reinforced doors and windows installed due to an incident, so the killer can't barge in that easily. There's a small bedroom with a partition inside. Go and get some sleep. I'll keep watch outside." I nodded and took up on his offer. I was exhausted after the entire ordeal. I lay in bed, feeling well assured. Just when I was about to fall asleep, I noticed a gold bookmark poking out from the drawers of the nightstand. I hesitated a moment before pulling the drawer out. The small drawer was filled with assorted love letters.

"I knew she would freak out," Death says from behind me in an I-Told-You-So sort of tone "Freak out? You just pulled me through a flipping mirror!" I scream at him, as I cross my arms tightly over my chest "I don't have short-term memory loss, I know what I did," he says snottily, crossing his arms back at me "Why I outta," I lift my fist taking a step towards him "Alright, violence will do nothing," a woman stops us, she had brown wavy hair cascading down her body to her elbows and a golden flower crown on his head with brown eyes, but boy, she was glowing and so beautiful, definitely a Goddess.

Its elongated head dipped once, like a bow. “They’re responding,” Caleb breathed. Then, from the far side of the circle, another guardian stepped forward — larger than the rest, its runes blood-red instead of blue. The tone changed to a harsh vibration. The others froze. “What’s happening?” Rowan whispered. Lyra’s jaw clenched. “That’s a Warden. Leader of the ring. If it rejects her—” Ava swallowed hard. The Warden advanced, every step ringing like iron on stone. Its spear was twice her height, carved with clawed spirals. It stopped an arm’s length away. The red runes pulsed.

The left page showed a perfect silver sketch of the Valley of Kings at sunrise, the Standing Stones peaceful in new light and it was beautiful. On the right page, in the same spidery grey script that had given the final warning, was one line: The Warden is dead. Who will guard the key? The dread returned, cold and sharp. “The prison is empty” was a warning, this was a question. A demand. Before she could think, a scream tore through the quiet, it was Finn. He pointed shakily toward the valley’s edge, where the last of the Forgotten had faded. “It’s coming back!”

Ash whispered, “Divinity?” Isabella’s stomach dropped. “I’m not a god.” The silver gaze returned to her. Not yet. The ground seemed to tilt. Rex’s hand closed around hers. Firm, grounding. “Explain what you are.” The stranger studied him coolly. “I am a Warden.” “Of what?” Kael demanded. “Of thresholds.” Ash frowned. “Thresholds between what?” The Warden’s gaze drifted briefly toward the sky where faint cracks still shimmered like healing scars.