Eldritch Hunter Novels & Stories

With her staff, she blasted the creature with a blast called ‘eldritch blast. Eldritch blast can be used by white clan witches to fight off their enemies without killing them. Eldritch blast is a beam of crackling energy streaks that is targeted at an enemy within a rage. When a creature gets hit with an eldritch blast the creature takes up minor damage that will knock them off their feet for some few seconds or minutes depending on the type of creature. As the creature got knocked off its feet, Bonnie quickly run to Lucas to help him up. “Are you alright?” she asked expressing concern.

Worry and fear were etched all over her face, and before I asked her what was wrong, I caught a shadow from the corner of my eyes. My eyes narrowed at a tall, mysterious-looking man standing by the door behind my dad, who at first I thought was Hunter. But when I looked closer, I realized it was not him, but the spitting image of Hunter Ysrael. No, the original image and father of Hunter Ysrael, Alpha Marcus of the Cruelcrest Hounds pack. He was wearing all black, from the bulky leather coat, black slacks, to black ankle boots. Anyone would mistake him as a nightcrawler if he keeps popping up in the shadows. But more importantly, what is he doing here?

“You’ve done it. You have finally done it!” I shifted on to find the eyesore there. Locking onto the man I had dragged here, who was now propped against a rusted column. He was observed at the embrace, the sight, at the blood, at the look in Kristine’s eyes. He laughed. Motherfucker was laughing like it was the funniest thing he had ever seen. "Oh, what a beautiful sight," Edric wheezed, wiping blood from his chin. "The top 4th assassin of the underworld, The Hunter, has finally decided to drop the mask of innocence?”

“If you’re searching for the truth about the Blood Moon, there’s only one person left in Drukbane who understands it. His name is Aldric. He’s a wizard, but most believe he died years ago.” “Where can I find him?” Liora asked quickly. Mira looked around before answering. “Follow me. But we can’t be seen.” They moved quietly through narrow corridors behind the main shelves. After several turns, Mira opened a small wooden door that led down a spiral staircase. The air grew colder. At the bottom was a wide underground chamber filled with books, crystals, and faintly glowing runes on the floor. An old man sat at a desk surrounded by candlelight. His long gray hair was tied back, and he wore simp

Too much exposure. My territory—alpine, ceremonial, lawful—also watched. The Ashcroft mansion was supposed to be hidden and they still found it. So what’s left? Rhevan’s gaze cuts to Caelric. “You said they used a courier.” Caelric nods once. “Grey gloves. No scent.” No scent means someone who knows shifters. Someone who knows how we track. Someone who planned around us. This wasn’t a random grab. This was a hunt. And Seralyth—

At the center, the Archivist floats, her body a conduit for the void, her voice a siren song erasing warriors mid-swing. The Hunter loads his gun. "You sure?" I cock the storm-gun. "I'm done running." We charge. --- **The Final Verse** The Archivist sees us coming. "*Fools!* You can't kill a god!" "We're not here for the god," the Hunter snarls. "We're here for the *priest*." He fires. The bullet tears through her mosaic face, glass shards scattering. She screams, the void in her unraveling. I aim at the rift above her-a pulsating wound in the sky. The static in me surges, merging with the storm-gun's charge.

“Another Lurker?” “No.” Astraen lowered into a defensive stance. His glow intensified, casting sharp silhouettes through the fog. “Something worse.” A cold wind swept across the marsh, freezing Lyra’s skin. The mist ahead split open as a tall figure emerged—draped in a tattered cloak of swirling shadows, its face obscured except for two glowing red eyes. Cael swore under his breath. “A Shadehunter.” Lyra gripped Cael’s arm. “What does that mean?!”

They instinctively looked down. Then everyone froze. The pink, suggestive interface of "Goddess Hunter" disappeared. It was replaced by a cold black interface that looked like a tombstone. At the center of the screen, the photo of me that had been treated as prey vanished too. In its place was Gary's face, twisted with shock. Under his photo, blood red words slowly appeared. [New game activated, Scumbag Hunter.] [Target: Gary Zachary York.] A cold, emotionless synthetic voice came from everyone's phone at the same time.

"You have exactly three seconds to explain why you just put your filthy hands on her, or Prince Adriel will tear you into dog meat." Ian raises a single, tense finger and points toward the front entrance. Through the dust and shattered glass, Adriel steps into the shop. He is fully shifted into his Lycan form - a massive, towering wall of midnight fur, claws dripping with dark adrenaline, and eyes glowing a lethal, predatory gold. But he isn't alone. Walking right beside him is another hunter clad in full black tactical gear, the distinct, silver "H" insignia stamped across the chest plate. The second hunter looks at the man holding the gun and shakes her head in pure disgust, lifting her ha

Jesus Christ. She'd been cut somehow in the struggle; a gash on her upper arm was bright red, slick with fresh blood. And the scent and sight of it had sent her hunter attacker into a slavering fit of bloodlust. What kind of sorcerer are they? Someone who likes blood? His inner questions halted when he looked at Grace's eyes. It's pleading. Instead of going for the book, which the trio had no doubt been dispatched to do, the Hunter on Grace seemed rooted in just one thing—slaking its unquenchable thirst.