Eldritch Terrors Mythology Novels & Stories

Wolves shifted involuntarily, howling in pain, unable to contain their terror. Darius shouted, but I couldn’t make out his words. The rogue grabbed my arm, dragging me back. “Amara! Don’t let it in!” But it already had. I was inside the creature’s mind—or it was inside mine. I couldn’t tell the difference. I saw flashes—images carved into smoke and bone. A skyless realm. Pits of writhing souls. Viktor, on his knees before the thing, offering blood—my blood. And Lilith, born screaming from the darkness as the offering was accepted.

“Not clearly, not until recently. Last week, we saw it. Three of us. It was like nothing I’ve seen before. Taller than a wolf. Almost... twisted. Faster. Vicious. And its eyes...” He turns towards me then, and I see the memory flash behind his eyes. “Crimson,” he says. “Like fire in the dark.” I go still. Every part of me freezes around the words. His gaze sharpens. He must see the recognition in my face. “You’ve seen it too.” I don’t answer. Not yet. My thoughts are already racing, colliding with what I’ve seen, what I know, what I fear. Drake doesn’t press me. Instead, he leans back slightly, exhaling. “Our elders, after we described it, they think it might be a lycan.”

He set his palms flat on the table, his rings catching the firelight like tiny shards of storm. “These creatures,” he said slowly, voice weighted with age and power, “are not ordinary beasts. They are remnants—shadows born of the first wars between gods. When balance falters, they wake. They have no souls, no true flesh. They feed on chaos, on fear, on the unraveling of what was meant to stay whole.” Serenya shifted uncomfortably. “So, they’re like… nightmare monsters?” “Nightmares given teeth,” Malrik corrected, eyes glinting. “They cannot be slain as one would slay a wolf or a dragon. Steel will slow them. Fire will scorch them. But what truly kills them—what undoes them—is harmony.”

Inside was dark and murky, a lot like the snake-like thing. They were working magic, Dannie could feel it grate against her skin as if she was right there next to them. They chanted in a language that felt familiar but unfamiliar at the same time. A pulse of something burst out from the rift and following it came the distorted shapes Dannie had seen in her nightmares - deabru. There weren’t only a few of them, but a horde. They blotted out the sun and blue sky with their darkness as they fled from the gate in search of a human host.

Demitri glared at her. "If you're not stressing, then you can easily take a break and read a book." Becca said with a huge smirk. Demitri's eyes narrowed, then he got up and walked to the non-fiction part of the library. He picked up a history book about the cold war and sat back down. He opened the book and stuck his tongue out at Becca.

"You should some rest now." I did not sleep, even though I went inside and lay on the bed roll he provided for me. I was afraid that if I close my eyes, MOLART will kill himself. ~~~~ I was awoken by a shrill cry and then MOLART rushed into my cave and tapped me. I sat up, staring at him confusion. "What's going on?" I asked. "That's the cry of the Doraco. It is an evil creature that kills once it passes on its prey. It is like smoke, and this could be tricky. I have not encountered it for years."

I revealed, noticing Rafe's nod of understanding. We delved into werewolf lore, where each reincarnation serves as a link to the root of our predicament. Rafe, piecing together the fragments of our story, sought further enlightenment. "Then what is the source of all this suffering?" he asked, his eyes reflecting a newfound understanding. "The original werewolf used the sacred Grimoire as a bed for their lovemaking in the woods," I revealed, watching Rafe's shock at the revelation. The idea that a sacred object could be so desecrated was beyond his wildest imagination.

That made Neo snort as he agreed with me. “That legend was started by my ancestors to keep the truth hidden. However, I would assume that Draxthi knows the truth if he’s holed up there. There are various types of dragons. The rarest and most powerful dragons are called Mystic Dragons. They were originally created by the union of a powerful elemental dragon and a powerful witch. The group of them, or thunder, was unique because the females of the lineage took after the witches while the males were dragons with access to magic. Mystics were highly sought after and hunted to near extinction. That area was where their sanctuary. It was hidden from outsiders. However, there was a traitor who desi

Then the ground began to bleed. Ink-dark pools spread outward with shrill, whisper-thin hisses and from those puddles of darkness rose massive shadow-limbs — slick, roiling tentacles like the arms of some colossal abyssal kraken. They coiled protectively around Dareth, rising and falling like breathing serpents. Every warrior on Zedekiel’s side stiffened. They all knew what those evil tendrils could do. After all, they had witnessed first hand their brutality.

He deciphered the riddle, unlocking a hidden passage behind the monolith. The passage led them to a deep cavern, its walls adorned with ancient murals depicting the history of the entity. They saw its origins, its rise to power, its manipulation of those it deemed worthy. Lyra felt a profound sense of dread as she absorbed the information, recognizing the terrible truth of what they had unleashed. The entity’s power was vast and terrifying, its influence far-reaching and sinister.