Grimgar Of Fantasy And Ash Novels & Stories

But Grimgor skillfully maneuvered through the obstacles, defying the limitations of his size and effortlessly guiding us towards freedom. The sirens blared behind us, growing fainter with each passing second. I dared not look back, for fear of losing my focus or being consumed by the sight of our pursuers gaining ground. Instead, I fixed my gaze on Grimgor. I don't know why I am so happy that I am with him. I'm sure I didn't love him that much. He had always treated me wrongfully, so I didn't get the chance to look at him as a man. He is just Grimgor. Just King Grimgor, the king of Ravenswood, and a lycan

“It’s Gray who plays softball, not you. You hated that thing, right?” Ash blinked, “I’m not Gray?” “No,” I tell him, shaking my head. “You don’t know who you are?” Ash furrowed his brows, deep in thought. Suddenly he grabbed a strand of hair that was hanging just above his face, “I am Groot!” “Right,” I say. Glancing at Red, I tip my head over to Ash. “Watch him, I’ll just talk to that solid block of ice over there.” Red nods, understanding. “You should, he’s out of it since a few hours ago. We were buying food and he kept bumping into shit.”

“Magister, why do we let garbage through the gates? Let me throw her to the stone giant and save us the paperwork.” I ignored him, but my left hand squeezed into a tight fist. My nails pressed hard into an old, ugly scar that hid my forbidden blood seal. It kept my real, dangerous ash-magic buried deep inside me. In this empire, that kind of magic meant death. It was the same power the lost Ash King used when he nearly burned the whole world a hundred years ago. “Put your hand on the stone,” Vane ordered. I stepped forward. My boots hit the hard ground, and I felt cold eyes burning into the back of my neck.

My ribs shriek in protest. I drive my shard up mindlessly into its gut—once, twice, three times. Hot black blood spills over my hand, burning where it touches. The smell is wrong—sweet and chemical, like meat left to rot in sorcery. Not wolf. Not man. Something made to unmake. The creature gurgles. But doesn’t fall. It’s not built to fall. It’s built to drag me down. I snarl, wrench the shard free, and jam it sideways into its gaping maw.

“I saw your girlfriend hit her several times." “She is not my girlfriend." Asher corrected bitterly, then took a step forward to Corn, placing a hand across my shoulder with a smirk. "Grace is my girl.” No way this was happening. This has to be my imagination. Not my dream coming to reality again.

There was a loud crash, which scared everyone there. My ashes scattered everywhere. Jasper still felt angry. He laughed disdainfully and stepped on my ashes, grinding them with the sole of his shoe. The staff members' jaws had dropped in shock. They hadn't even had time to stop him. Jasper kicked my ashes and sent them flying. "Tell Amara that she came up with a very innovative trick this time round, but it's lame. I'm not going to waver at all, no matter whether she's dead or alive!

With a smile across his face he called forth a weapon he had not used in a long time, reminding the world of its presence once more. “Come! Ashen Axe of War and Grime and that which was born of Volcanic Mud.” “I, Pathfinder, summon thee. Come…” “Rigor!” *ROAR*

The result was every single person agreeing to fight. Blakely, Grenza, and Asher were a part of three different groups. Blakely was a part of the combat group. Grenza was a part of the magic group. Asher was a part of the elemental group. All three of them had access to magic, but they utilized it differently. Blakely was a badass with combat magic. Grenza was more a pure magic user, reminiscent of a witch. Asher’s magic was elemental in nature, primarily that of fire and water. They were two opposites, which made his magic very useful. He could choose which one worked best in any given situation.

I ask, the memory of my blood falling on the stone's face and what came after it. “I’m not a hundred percent sure. Saying that I have been led to believe that… certain shifters who hold genes close to the gods, powerful DNA, can access the power or magic those stones hold.” “Like a Grimalkin?” He purses his lips, pale eyes narrowing on me, “Like a Grimalkin,” he confirms. Abner tosses the small black book at me and I easily catch it. It’s plain, with no writing, and thin maybe only twenty pages.

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.