Hallowed Fantasy Novels & Stories

Scarlet commanded, in a very casual tone. "What? You didn't think we would actually want to eat with you guys right? See I had a long day, I don't want to reek of blood tonight so…." They scrambled out before she finished her sentence, what had bothered them the most wasn't death but the torture before it. It is rumored Alicia could use the "Sage of the spirit", an extremely brutal stone-like fruit rarely ever found which could cause unimaginable pain and intense hallucinations when used on a vampire.

“No, what does it mean?” “Lucy is one of the Cambions, the half demons, the ones prophcied to kill the Nephilim.” Ornais pointed out, staring off. Daniel had no idea what he was talking about. He knew about the prophecy but he never really paid attention to what it really said. All he knew was that if he managed to fuck up collecting Abigial’s soul Azazel, Abaddon, and Lucifer would have not only his head but Elizabeths as well. Now that the deal with the Seven was secure, Daniel no longer had to play their little game.

“To where?” she asked with a blink of surprise, then decided with a flashing smile when Timothy introduced her to Anthony. “Oh that's nice. Thank you then.” They ordered drinks. Chloe asked for pálinka, the Hungarian fruit brandy and while Anthony went to get them, Timothy took her to the living room upstairs. “Beautiful.” Chloe said as she moved into the center of the room and turned a slow circle, taking in the white walls with gilded trim, blue velvet curtains over the leaded windows and the chandeliers dripping with crystal. “What a dizzying place to be on”

Symbols that predate even the First Wizard. One stands motionless on the lotus throne, robes of shifting galaxies frozen for the first time in recorded history. They inhale once. The smoke tastes of Spring blood, geothermal steam, 1920s gun-smoke, and the particular copper tang of a fifteen-year-old girl who just burned an immortal abomination out of existence with nothing but love and borrowed ghosts. One (voice barely above silence): “The Hollow Choir is no more.” The remaining eleven candles flare brighter, as if in relief.

Behind them came banners of every allied pack—each one fluttering like a heartbeat of unity. But not all marched. Some watched. And some waited. Deep in the Hollow Fang sanctum, Seer Halvek stood before a blood-drenched altar. The ritual had begun. A pool of void light churned before him, revealing the marching army. “So brave,” he murmured. “So noble.” Behind him, figures in black chanted in tongues that no living thing should speak. Halvek raised a silver chalice filled with ember-dark liquid. “The Moon will weep,” he intoned. “The wolves will fall. And from their ashes…”

Ancient. It began as a deep hum that seemed to rise from beneath the earth itself before swelling into a deafening roar. The ground trembled. The trees bent violently. Wind exploded through Raven Spire, shrieking between the branches like the forest itself had awakened in agony. Nico instinctively pulled Daniela closer. “What the hell was that?” The answer came before Kieran could speak. Dark mist spilled from the mouth of the Hallow. It flowed between the trees in slow, curling streams, thick as smoke and blacker than moonless water.

And in its center — a flicker of something human. It reached for her. And she did not run. Ishtaya offered her blood, her fire, her name. She thought she could soothe it. Teach it to rest. To forget its hunger. But what she gave it… was permission. Roots erupted from the altar stone. The pot shattered. Fire turned black. And Kaarayael — now shaped into something new, something twisted by her own offering — whispered its first clear word: “Halloway.” Ishtaya screamed as the roots dragged her downward. And the forest above her, for the first time in memory… Began to rot.

A chill slips down my spine, more from the weight of his words than the night air. Hollow Pines. Just the name feels like a whisper left too long in the dark. A place that doesn’t belong on any map, and yet somehow calls to those who need something lost, answers, power, redemption. Or ruin. "The amulets only work on our side of the border, so we can't be spelled on our lands. But I dont know how I feel about leading you... and everyone else on a witch's territory. Perhaps it would be better if you stayed..."

“If Seraphina’s not bluffing, we need allies. You’ve got old favors—use them.” Ronan’s jaw flexed. “Already working on it.” He felt Talia shift beside him. “You said that line in the letter was a summoning rite,” he said, looking at her. “What kind of creature answers that call?” She swallowed, her throat tight. “In old texts, they called them The Hollowed. Spirits that were once human but fed too long on corrupted magic. They become something else—shapeless, driven by hunger. They don’t just kill. They devour what makes you whole.”

The shadow steps through. It’s not an Other. It’s a wolf. Black fur. Gold eyes. Bigger than Draven. Bigger than Wrath. It hits the courtyard and the stone cracks. Then another steps through. And another. Ten. Twenty. Fifty. All black. All gold. All Hollow. The twelve-year-old doesn’t move. “Hello, Mother,” she says again. To me. “I’m Sybil. Redfang’s vessel.” Redfang. The most violent Hollow ground. Gone for twenty years after the fire.