Dumbledore's Black Hand Novels & Stories

Even cities that had sworn allegiance to them rescinded their decision and opted to stand next to Ivor instead. “We must do something about this or else we would have nothing left; and humanity would fall to the Great Races,” Black Hand clenched his fists and said. The usual playfulness on his face was no longer visible. All that remained was rage. “It’s too early to lose your cool now,” the Dragon Lord flicked his finger towards his nephew and a red glow pierced through Black Hand’s head. “I am calm,” Black Hand’s fury faded along with that red glow. However, his fists were still clenched.

But these past few years, the Middle Region Magic Academy's' previous results could only be described as bad. The rank bottom in all the academies resource ranking. Although in power ranking, the Middle Region Magic Academy ranks higher. That was because of the appearance of two individuals. One is the son of the famous magician from the Seeker Association and from a prestigious family, known as Almond Amulet." Almina's eyes twitched from the name. This name was of course very familiar to her, after all, It was her big brother.

With a closer glance, it looked like a tiny ember. A tiny black flame, flickering like ink burning. The headmaster bursts into the classroom seconds later, probably sensing black magic, other alarm must have alerted him. “What happened—? Move!” he shouts, pushing through the crowd. And at the same time, ordering students to move out in one single line. He kneels beside Professor Corvin, hovering a hand over the small black flame. The moment his palm nears it, The headmaster’s face drains of all colour.

You will stay, won't you? 'Of course.' I put the cup down carefully on the table. 'Albert, I was wondering if I could ask you something. Those hands...' He frowned. 'Hands?' He looked down at his own, turning them palm up and studying them closely. 'No, the ones in the jars. The ones that belonged to the Shedim.' 'Oh. Those,' he said, dropping his hands back into his lap. 'Yes?' 'What made the fingers go black? It's just I noticed on every hand, the fingertips were completely black. Was it something that happened when the... well, when the hands were removed? '

his voice taking an even scarier tone as he got up and dark clouds poured out of his hands, floating around him. Dread pooled in Soraya's eyes as she struggled to keep her emotions in check. Black magic, she realized with terror. This was her first time seeing him like this. Alwin was an old wizard who was like a father figure to her. He had taught her everything she knew about witchcraft after he had taken her in when she was lost and wandering decades ago. He had always talked about how the witches and werewolves used to live in harmony. This fueled Soraya's hopes when she learned about the prophecy. He turned to her, letting down the hood of his cloak. Soraya let out a silent gasp as she

Armadale fumed. Jeremiah felt guilty and then he wiped his hand on his brand new white robe, “Amy, I saw the curse spells from the second and third pages have the same embellishment…” “Yes, it's a curse spell level 2, Jeremiah.” Armadale answered, “The one who killed King Victor Blackfrost and Harold Whitewood is clearly a skillful black magician.” “I see…” “Why did you suddenly ask that? I thought you already moved on from your vengeance…” Armadale sneered, “or are you having a change of heart?”

The room fell silent, the tension dissipating as the imminent catastrophe was averted. As the team caught their breath, Alex's voice broke the silence. "We did it," they said, their tone a mixture of relief and triumph. "We stopped The Black Hand. Lives have been saved." But even in the aftermath of victory, Alex knew that the fight was far from over. The malevolent organization may have been defeated this time, but there were always new threats looming on the horizon. With resolute determination, they prepared to face the next challenge, ready to protect and serve in the face of darkness.

The pack gathering ground was at this point filled to the brim, every inch of space seemed occupied by murmuring voices and widened eyes. At the center, Nicklaus stood tall. His jaw was clenched, his piercing gaze shifting from the circle of elders to Aragorn. He looked every inch the warrior Alpha he was, but beneath his posture, fury seethed... barely contained. The chief elder was the first to break the silence as he cleared his throat. “This spell,” he said, lifting the fragments of blackened ash in his wrinkled hand, “is not just any spell. It reeks of deep black magic, it is vile, it's been so long I witnessed something like this."

His muscles tensed, and in a blink, he vanished—teleporting out of the castle and straight into the heart of the Black Market. Whoever was behind this was about to learn a very painful lesson. No one touches what belongs to the King of Vampires.