Eldritch Horrors Novels & Stories

he shrieked. The ground buckled. All across the courtyard, the bodies of the fallen,both Blackwood and Devonshire,began to twitch. Their eyes snapped open, glowing with the same necrotic green fire. They weren't wolves or men anymore; they were Draugr, puppets of Asmodeus’s stolen magic. The battlefield dissolved into chaos. The remaining Devonshire wolves, terrified of their own resurrected brothers, broke rank, only to be dragged down and bitten by the undead. Killian and Julian fought back-to-back, their teeth and magic tearing through flesh that didn't feel pain.

"Look towards the trench and you'll see." I carefully peeked outside the hole and saw a slug-like creature, crawling near the exit of the lower abyss. Its body was black and slimy, it was large, larger than a buss, but compared to the colossal nightmare origins that roamed in the lower abyss, its size was relatively small, multiple tentacles squirmed in the air as multiple eyes slithered on them like roaches that crawl on walls, fast and creepy. "What is that En? Why are those nightmare origins that are bigger, so afraid of them."

Without much effort, Mother Lelyah used light magic to shoot a projectile right through the poor man’s eyes, killing him on the spot. “Hurry, the boars will clean this up. The life of a beast does not even compare to a single eichhorn, but at least it will return a part of what it took from the forest.” A monster. That is the only way I can describe her right now. Ruthless and powerful in a way I cannot even dream of deifying, she took the life of another person without even looking at him. The terror compels me to obey her command and, without looking back, I follow her steps back to the village.

His eyes, glowing with a predatory hunger. I felt a lump forming in my throat as he crawled backward, his eyes never leaving mine. He began to undress, each article of clothing tossed aside carelessly, revealing the body of a man unashamed of his desires. The sight of him, so vulnerable yet so powerful, was a paradox that left me with a sense of dread. As he climbed back onto me, his body warm against mine, I couldn’t help but remember the last time he touched me. How disgusted I felt. How scared I was.

He raised his staff, and the air thickened with the stench of decay. Roots, black and thorned, erupted from the ground, wrapping around their legs, yanking them down. Lydia shouted, throwing a blast of light toward the staff. It struck true, splintering the weapon. The Herald hissed but did not fall. "You think light will save you?" he snarled. "Light is a lie." He raised his hands again, and this time, the sarcophagus cracked open. A scream, not of this world, tore through the chamber, a scream that melted stone and turned blood to ice. Something was awakening. Mitchell stirred, eyes fluttering open. She saw it, the shape rising from the coffin. Wings of smoke. Eyes like burning pits.

Evelina looked just as clueless. The ground between the pillars cracked open, separating Evelina and I, revealing a swirling pit of darkness. From its depths, a creature could be seen slowly rising to the surface—a monstrous being that seemed born from nightmares. Its body was a twisting amalgamation of jagged obsidian and sinewy shadows, its glowing red eyes scanning the clearing above with malevolent intelligence. Long, clawed limbs scraped against the stony sides of the crevice it was trying to crawl out of, and black smoke billowed from its gaping maw with every breath. The pillars began to emit a soft glow, their carvings illuminated. The words and letters of the riddles began to shift

Michael staggered backward, his lips parting in a silent scream, his wide, terrified eyes meeting mine. His veins darkened beneath his skin, blackened tendrils crawling up his throat like ink, suffocating him from the inside. His body convulsed. His mouth gaped open, his jaw stretching too wide, his face frozen in a mask of agony. Then—snap. His neck twisted sharply, an unnatural, brutal angle. A hollow, wet sound as his body crumpled to the floor. A sickening silence followed. My pulse slammed against my ribs, the horror drowning me.

“A what? I haven’t got a clue.” “Imagine a patchwork of flesh from living supernatural creatures mixed into a disgusting mass. They’re created by rogue mages or even liches for fighting on the battlefield. There’s no way to explain them to someone not with our knowledge. Imploding them is better than leaving the mess behind. You try explaining it to the mundane authorities. If you know anything about the game, Dungeons and Dragons. They’re influenced a lot by the image of these creatures. The best description I can give you a mad scientist put together leftover bits and pieces from other test subjects. Placed tentacles and eyeballs. Too many claws and teeth. Often their teeth and claws deliv

what would I see, underneath? What did that loose-fitting mask hide? I wanted to look away from that horrible, sagging face and burning yellow eyes, but I couldn’t. I saw, in fleeting glimpses that curdled my guts, things writhing around the edge of the clearing. Things neither human nor animal, neither one thing nor another. Things made of twisted, polluted flesh. They were making those horrible sounds as they twisted and snapped and mounted each other, all to the tune of their own squeals. Whatever they were or had been, they snapped and thrusted into each other in hysteric mania. All this I only glimpsed, because as horrible as it was to gaze upon the man in yellow, it was preferable to t

The one thing that has haunted me more than any other part of the whole, lamentable experience. As the Archons fell on McKendrick, a thick black mist sprang up beneath him, and swirled about his legs. It had the appearance of ink dropped into a glass of water, forming itself into viscous tendrils that ended in what appeared to be a cross between an infernal blossom and a tiny gaping mouth. As McKendrick screamed (dear God, let me forget those screams), the tendrils seemed to thicken and swell, as though they were glutting themselves, feasting on his terror and pain.