Fantasy Of Grimgar And Ash の小説・ストーリー

He found Theron. He sat on the edge of the tower. The morning sun washed over him. His body turned to shimmering, golden dust. "Theron!" Elias ran to him, but it was too late. "Take care of the clan, Elias," Theron's voice was a soft whisper. "I'm going to her." The golden dust danced in the breeze and vanished into the sky. With tears in his eyes, Elias collected Theron's ashes. He placed our urns together, reuniting us at last.

With the dark magic smothering his kind spirit, I watch numbly while any trace of my brother vanishes before my very eyes - proceeding to unknowingly fall deeper into his forced enchantment with each passing second that flashes by, controlling him as if my brother were no more. With a consuming scowl spreading across Ash’s usually gentle face, I look on in horror as his features contort into an expression I have yet to see him wear—unnatural and sinister while a web of pulsating black veins bulge across his forehead rhythmically. Stumbling backwards from fright at the unrecognisable sight, I try my best to distance myself from Ash with the little space granted behind me while he directs hims

I groaned as I collapsed weakly to the ground; before I could catch my breath, another kick came, then another, and another, until I lost count, and soon my vision began to blur. Everything felt surreal. Like I was stuck in a horrible nightmare, where I, the almighty warlock prince, Prince Asher, was attacked by a group of demonic beasts and beaten to a pulp until I died. No, I had to fight them; I couldn't let this demonic beast win. And just then, I used my last strength to reach for the neck of the demonic beast leaning into me as I mumbled some magic spells, before the process could even be completed, a dark mist clouded my vision, and tears stung my eyes, making it impossible to see.

He collides with the monster, snarling and snapping. All around us, chaos erupts. Loyalists clash with rebels, creatures from the dark realm wreak havoc, and at the center of it all, Elara laughs. I lock eyes with Asher across the room. For a moment, I see a flicker of something in his gaze – regret? Fear? Whatever it is, it's gone in an instant, replaced by grim determination. He nods once, then plunges into the fray. As I summon my magic, preparing to fight for everything I hold dear, a chilling realization washes over me. The visions in the mirror were more than just glimpses of what could have been. They were a reminder of everything we stand to lose.

He explained, "But I did some research out of curiosity..." "...And?" She asked. "I saw something... But it didn't explain the exact experience I had... However, from my research, such occurrences only show that there are mysteries surrounding those bodies. They turned to blood, not ashes. And the blood dried off as soon as the fire stopped, almost as if it vanished along with the fire..." He explained. "From my research, such occurrences signify a powerful, forbidden magic used in a dark ritual... A dark ritual that breads the kind of warriors called the Ashkai. What if those attackers weren't mere wolves? What if... What if they were Ashkais?"

"These casualty reports are appalling, Ashren. You have lost twelve warriors in the last week alone. Your perimeter is full of holes. You are bleeding out." Ashren flinched. The shift from emotional reunion to military critique jarred him. He straightened his spine, trying to salvage some shred of his Alpha authority. "We are fighting a ghost army," he said, his voice hardening. "They strike at night. They don't leave tracks. They use magic, Elara. We are wolves. We fight with teeth and claws. We aren't equipped to fight sorcery." "That is why I am here," I said. "To do what you cannot."

Except it wasn’t really a house. It was a stone mansion nestled deep in the forest, wrapped in vines and mystery, perched at the edge of Graymoor like a secret carved into the trees. No one dared venture too close—not even the boldest of teenagers. There were rumors, whispers of wolves howling on windless nights, lights flickering in the attic, and strange sigils burned into the bark of trees nearby. But to Ashara, it was simply home. A lonely one. A quiet one. ⸻

"There's a huge war ahead of us. Not against any pack, but against creatures that prey on werewolves." Her eyes widen. "The Ashwalkers?" she asks, and I nod. Looks like she's heard of them. Ashwalkers are dead creatures with burnt flesh and hollow eyes. There's a myth that they are dead rogues who come back to life. No one knows what kind of magic caused their creation. But when they attack in a group, they can take down an entire pack.