Novel & Cerita Eldritch Terrors Mythology

I almost jumped on my seat not at all expecting 'demons' as my mother's murderers. " Lemme explain first, calm down your ass." She exclaimed and gently took my hands in hers, patting it softly. " Their main motive was to attack me, so that they could suck out the 'potus' crystal from my chest. But unfortunately as they mistook her for me, there wasn't any potus crystal in there 'cause she was a normal human." (Incase you're confused with this 'potus' word , the author combined two words to form this one which are

First off, Dragons don’t even exist anymore, not since the ancient wars. “I’ve never seen most of those creatures. And a Dragon, Griffin and Sphinx?” I question incredulously. Dylan shrugs his shoulder. “I’m telling you, he watches over a few in Tri-ad,” Dylan once again explains. Tri-ad? From what I know, that’s a realm between Eldora and Hell, only spirits of the dead pass through it. “Have you gone crazy?” I wonder loudly. Theia giggles. I’m momentarily surprised she’s here. She seems to be as interested in the conversation as I am.

Maybell Smith Mythicals- A rare bloodline that people inherit from God, Dalion, that he personally blessed with the ancient dragon spirit. It is given to those who have been close enough to touch the white veil. Although this information is well known, mythicals are still a mystery to the rest of civilization, if encountered, don’t stare into its gaze.

—monstrous hybrids with elongated limbs, patchy fur, and eyes that held the terrifying, liquid gold of a soul that had been harvested and then discarded. They didn't howl. They shrieked—a high-frequency, electronic sound that made Lyra’s ears bleed. "They’re 'Glitched', Silas!" Lyra shouted, stepping between Kaelen and the approaching monsters. "The 'Synthetic Divinity' is clashing with the 'Real World' shift! They aren't wolves... they're 'Deleted Data' that refuses to die!"

Then the Mythworn began to vanish, dissolving into wind and ash, its final words echoing like a warning: “Beware the god who wears a crown of wolves. He waits in the shadows of your blood.” And then—it was gone. Just like that. The battlefield remained. Scarred. Silent. Darian looked stunned. Even Maelin didn’t move. Lucan broke the silence first. “So, uh… that’s new.” But Kael was staring at me. Not the blade. Me. “You called a myth,” he said softly. “And it listened.” “I didn’t mean to.”

Or it would make sure you did. Professor Alaric swept onto the dais, his crimson cloak trailing sparks. His voice thundered through the space. “Today, we study Drakonis. The realm of fire, dominion, and emperors who slaughtered kin to keep crowns.” The globes flashed—dragons streaking across the sky, black fire swallowing entire villages. Basilisks slithering from volcanic cracks, turning soldiers to ash mid-scream. And the worst— the Myrhal predators. Even their memories shook the wards along the walls.

Its fur was replaced by interlocking obsidian plates, and where a wolf’s mane should be, a crown of glowing, bioluminescent tentacles drifted in the air like kelp. "The Trench-King," Sif whispered from the doorway of the roof, her face pale. "The first of the Old World gods has woken up." The Trench-King didn't attack the building. It looked up at the roof, its massive, milky eyes fixing on Elara. It let out a roar that shattered every window on the first ten floors of the Apex Suites. The resonance sphere Elara was holding flickered. The gold in her veins dimmed as the sheer presence of the Alpha's discordant frequency threatened to tear her Lullaby apart.

Only the stillness of an open grave. Ellie’s signet ring didn't just glow; it shrieked. A jagged, pulsing crimson light radiated from the stone, casting long, distorted shadows across the grey dust. She reached out with her inner sight, trying to find the golden threads of the Alliance, but what she found made her stumble. The threads weren't just frayed; they were being knotted into intricate, suffocating patterns—the **Legion of Bone** was literally weaving the life force of the sleeping wolves into a shroud.

I whispered, my hands shaking as I sprinted toward the towering, wooden shelves filled with the oldest leather scrolls in the territory. I began tearing the heavy books down, my claws accidentally slicing through some of the fragile, yellowed parchment as the desperate panic inside my gut grew into a deafening roar. The spirit realm was always treated as a myth by the modern Alphas, a bedtime story told to young pups about a dark, parallel forest where the souls of the dead Alphas go to rest after their mortal bodies turn to dust. But as I opened a massive, silver-bound text titled The First Threshold, the true, horrifying nature of that hidden world began to bleed through the ancient ink.

This sharp reminder of how time and circumstance had transformed him disturbed me. Cragkeep, the area he mentioned, loomed over me like a forbidden fortress. It was a land of never-ending conflict, where mythical and legendary monsters struggled for dominion. Dragons flew through the skies, witches chanted incantations, werewolves prowled in the dark, vampires sought their next meal, and shapeshifters transformed into frightening and cunning animals. The list continued a plethora of beings exiled to this perilous region for the most heinous crimes against their race.