Dumbledore's Black Hand の小説・ストーリー

“Where do you plan on finding Antonella?” the headmaster asked as we head out of the headmaster’s office. “The Seven Table Milieus Executive is going to resurrect the Grand Arch Wizard, so they will gather at the place where black mahò is strongly concentrated.” I hypothesized. “The Crooked Forest, where the black dimension is continuously getting bigger,” the frantic William said. Since earlier he was restless and wanted to follow the milieus immediately, but he knows it would be impossible by himself. He does not care of gets caught but what he is worried about is not being able to save his sister.

The word 'them' was almost whispered conspiratorially as if he was afraid that someone would hear them. "Them?" Xavier echoed and it was then that Erica finally started seeing the familiar blackish-brown auras around the two Elders. She swallowed back her nervousness as she tried to remember what each aura or mixture of them meant. "A black aura, which is highly rare entails dark energy. You should know that a black aura is acquired when a person has lowered himself to such low levels of treachery and vicious deeds that there is no way back, no redemption. And brown follows black, denoting selfish motives and selfish nature of that person." Elias' words came back to her, loud and clear.

He showed her no compassion and that's when the young woman felt that her cause was truly lost. For a moment, the young woman could hardly breathe. No! Not now... she said to herself. Not now... She began to make the hundred steps under the vigilant eye of the man. She was choking... She had more and more difficulty to breathe and in a last look of pity towards the man, she felt herself losing her balance... She closed her eyes and fainted. Before closing her eyes, she had time to see the face of the stranger who had caught her in time... Black hole... ***

I stumbled back, staring at my own hands as they shimmered like stardust. “What’s happening?” I whispered, panicked. “Vireya,” Zevarion rushed to my side, gripping my hands. “Stay with me, please.” Behind him, the Blood Moon hung fully risen, casting its crimson judgment over the world. I could feel its pull, like it recognized something in me, something it had been waiting for. My body trembled as I felt myself fading, not dying, no. Leaving. “Zevarion… help me,” I sobbed, gripping his shoulders as tightly as I could.

Her palms, fingers were sweaty and trembling, much like her voice. That was when it dawned on me. It hit me like a bag of fucking bricks. I pulled my hands away, standing up so fast my chair scraped loudly against the floor. "What is this? What's going on?" "You need to seduce them if you have to," Dylan said urgently. "Keep the Black Rose on your side for as long as you can, because I can't do what Elijah is asking me to do anymore. And I can't protect you anymore." "Protect me from what?" My voice was rising, panic setting in. I watched my friend, watched as her frail body shook with sobs that didn't even leave her properly, watched as her brown eyes darkened with desperation as she reache

"But... twisted somehow. Corrupted." Alpha Maxwell's breath hitched. "That shouldn't be possible. Blackthorne blood magic can only be manipulated by Blackthornes." The implication hung heavy in the air between us. Someone of my bloodline had helped the Northern Alliance corrupt the protective spells of my ancestral home. "A traitor?" Fin asked quietly, his hand finding mine in the darkness. "Or someone forced to help them," I replied, unwilling to believe any Blackthorne would willingly ally with those who had slaughtered our pack.

They didn't forget to send me pointless invites, but forgot to mention the one document I should know about, the one they signed with the mystics—without me. The moment I step into the inner hall, the room quiets like a flame snuffed out. The Elders are seated at the far end of the long table, wine-stained lips and smug little smiles wiped clean as they spot me. “You're here.” Henry, my grand-uncle doesn't bother hiding his displeasure at my presence. “Welcome, my child,” Another of the elders says, her voice familiar. No way. My lips curl into a genuine smile when my eyes land on her—Cilia, my mentor and the head of the Holomirs. Putting aside my anger, I walk over to her, planting a kiss o

I had my home back. But as I sat there in the silence, I realized something was wrong. My wolf wasn't celebrating. She was whimpering. I reached inside, trying to find the source of her distress. A sharp, burning pain flared in my chest. It wasn't from the fight. It was deeper. It was in my soul. I coughed, and when I pulled my hand away from my mouth, it was covered in black, oily blood. Damon’s final revenge. He hadn't just used gold to buy off the Council. He had used black magic.

Kaelen choked out, pointing a trembling hand forward. ​Through the shifting black fog, I saw it. ​The Black Cathedral. ​Alaric's ancient parchment hadn't done it justice. It was not a building; it was a monstrosity. It loomed against the bleeding crimson sky, a towering, massive structure built entirely of twisted, jagged obsidian and solidified blood magic. It looked like a clawed hand thrusting out of hell to grab the earth. It radiated a wave of necrotic malice that was so heavy it made my stomach churn.

Then I saw Alpha Bastian at the far left drinking with Healer Harold, one of the pack's most trusted men. The ceremony ground was decorated with hanging lanterns that cast a warm glow over the mingling crowd. Tables laden with food and drink lined up while the center remained open for the main event. It made me more angry at how none of the council men had tried getting on my side when they knew I'd be the next head. They didn't see me but I'd show them all of them. I turned my head away to find Gretchen and I see her as I was about to approach when Dalia's voice stopped me in my tracks.