Garmadon Book Novels & Stories

This book is a work of fiction. Names and characters are the product of the author’s imagination and any kind of resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, is entirely simultaneous. I love and appreciate your comments. I gladly like to hear what any of you might say. With that all out of the way, I hope you enjoy this book. ♥WELCOME TO THE BOOK♥ ♥TAMING THE DRAGON♥ ❤ELYSIAN POINT OF VIEW❤

As if a heavy veil had been placed between us. When we arrived, the door was locked. Or rather… almost. With a shove, it creaked open, slow and unsettling. The place was empty, but something lingered in the air, the smell of ashes. We searched each room in silence until we reached the study. That’s where we found the book. Another copy. Almost identical to the one Vardam had given Aiyana. “This is…” I murmured, crouching to pick it up. The pages were worn, many hastily folded. Some passages were scribbled over in pen, thick circles around sections that spoke of Helion… and a certain gate that imprisoned Synx.

I hope you’re still with me by then. But before we end, I would like to make a request. If you have time to spare, please leave a review for LET THE GAMMA FALL FOR ME on the book’s main page. It doesn’t matter if you left a review before. I still want to hear your thoughts as this story ends. It will also help my book get exposure and attract more readers. This book is also competing in the Goodnovel SHE STRIKES BACK Writing Contest, and any comments, gems, coins, and views you give this book will help me in this contest. ♡

A stack of flat stone slates, and above them, carved in elegant script: RECORD OF THE LOST My heartbeat stutters. This is a library. A hidden, sacred one. A place the Game doesn’t want found. I step forward, and my legs tremble so violently I almost collapse. Each slate has a name carved at the top. Some I don't recognize. One I do. Dax Roran. A chill rips down my spine. I lift the slate, and the stone warms under my touch. Words carve themselves across the surface in shimmering silver.

I take a few hurried steps back. "Close," he gestures lazily to himself, like it's completely normal for him to be standing here. "Malekeith. And you are the Lycan King." He looks at me head to toe. "I wasn't imagining a pretty boy to fill the spot though. Kinda shabby looking, don't you think, dear Cami?" "I don't mind," she says chirpy. "But he's got an attitude, and that, I do mind." "You get out of my territory right now!" I growl. How is this even possible? Demons are one of the heaviest carriers of dark magic and yet, they were able to get past the wards?

Selene stood firm, her moonfire-infused hands glowing with an ethereal light. With a swift motion, she unleashed a wave of moonfire, engulfing the minions. They shrieked, their dark forms dissolving into nothingness. She smirked - she was right - they were no match for her. Selene's eyes scanned the surrounding area, searching for more threats. The silence was oppressive, heavy with Ares's dark energy. Suddenly, the air rippled, and Ares emerged from the shadows. His eyes blazed with malevolent intent. "Selene," he sneered. "I have no idea how you escaped the time loop but you’re just in time to witness the beginning of my reign."

Chapter 12 Elias The seal room was colder than I expected. I'd been in here twice before. Once, when Tommy first shown me it, and once when War had used my body to try to break it open from the inside. Both times, the room had felt like standing at the edge of something vast and only partially visible, the way you feel at the top of a cliff at night, when you can hear the sea below but can't see how far down it goes. The seal itself was embedded in the floor, old stone carved with symbols that predated every institution I'd ever been part of, and it pulsed with a low, steady light that was neither warm nor cold. Just present. Just waiting. Brianna was already in place.

It carried a burning sigil that seared the wound as it carved, multiplying the pain until it felt as if molten iron had been poured into exposed marrow. Even his own fire couldn’t neutralize it. The final resistance gave way. His leg came off in a spray of blood. The world went white. A scream ripped from him—raw, furious, animal. “You know,” Lothair continued conversationally, “this chamber reminds me of another salamander I once confined here.” He paced slowly before Gildeon. “He was my favorite. Strong. Arrogant. Difficult to break.” Gildeon’s jaw worked again, muscles ticking violently beneath his skin as he forced himself not to lunge.

This had to be a very watered-down version of whatever they did back in their military days, and their training, and connections, were still as sharp as ever. Those we were playing against ganged up on us and it was over. As we were waiting to start a new game, there was chatter over the mic. "The woman's with FT-1. She's the one with the cowboy hat." My character's description resounded. Were they going to intentionally target me? It sounded that way.

He was punishing her for her mother’s sins, seeing her as a proxy, a means to finally exact revenge on the ghost that haunted him. One evening, after another day of isolation and deprivation, a guard entered her room, his face impassive. He held a small, dark object in his hand. Amara’s eyes widened. It was her old, worn copy of "The Art of War" by Sun Tzu, a book she had kept by her bedside for years, highlighting passages on strategy and deception. She had read it countless times, finding solace and strength in its ancient wisdom.