Halls Of The Blood King Novels & Stories

With broken eyes and lips split and bleeding, he gazed at me. He grinned when I squat in front of him. “You’re too late,” he rasped. At dusk the King will take his blood.” I felt my stomach drop. “What blood?” His smile broadened, and his teeth were too sharp to belong to a human. I felt my stomach drop. “What blood?” His smile widened, showing teeth too sharp for a human. “The first. The last. The ones who made him.” Before I could press him further, his body convulsed — and then turned to ash.

I froze. It wasn’t loud. Not threatening. Just… deliberate. The door opened without warning. He stepped inside like he belonged to the space. Cassian. The Blood King. He didn’t wear a crown. He didn’t need one. Power clung to him in the way he moved, the way the room seemed to rearrange itself around his presence. Dark clothes, sharp eyes, a stillness that felt coiled rather than calm. His gaze met mine. My shoulder burned. Not pain—heat. A living response beneath my skin.

They looked frightening, armed with long sabers. In the middle of the hall was a black throne, on top of which sat a burly man. The man was wearing a black and gold dragon robe. He had a pair of sharp eyes that could see through all the good and evil in the world. It was the king of the underworld, the King of the Dead. The black shadow who brought Chester along with him to the hall knelt on the ground respectfully and spoke to the King of the Dead, "His Majesty, I just caught a dying person on the Soul Offering Road."

His minty breath made Eleanor swallow hard. She shook her head, glared at him, and vanished without a single glance. Tilting his head, he contented himself by staring at Zheira, wishing nothing but her safety. Before his mind could change, he sprinted. The hall was set when he arrived. Witnesses stood still with their gray cloaks and hood, concealing their faces. Meanwhile, the common vampires murmured in their sits, growling while he walked with his head held high. A priest was standing in front of the hall, wearing a blood-red cloak. It dimmed darker at the touch of the sun’s rays. In the priest’s left rested a large golden chair occupied by the king himself; his wrists were bound with red

His voice dropped, heavy as iron. He knew of the killings whispered through his realm. Not long ago a poor omega widow had stumbled weeping into the palace courtyard, her gown torn and soaked with her son’s blood. The boy had been found pale and cold, drained dry. King Harry himself had gone to see the body; the puncture marks on the throat had told the tale—a vampire’s hunger. The memory still clung to him like a shadow. “You may leave,” he told the guard quietly. The man bowed and withdrew.

“His blood… really lives in you…” “Yes,” Evelyn said softly, stepping closer. “And I will use it… to end this cycle once and for all.” She raised her sword. In his final moment, Renard let out a mad laugh. “He’s not dead, Evelyn. The Blood King’s blood can never be buried. One day he will return… and you will be the one to open the way for him.” Then his body exploded into a cloud of blood dust. The chamber shook. Evelyn collapsed, clutching her chest as searing pain exploded within. Her heart pounded wildly; crimson veins burned beneath her skin.

In a fluid motion that mirrored the king's vengeful desire, he added, "My king, at your gesture..." "Indeed, reveal what lies beneath," the king's command cut through the heavy atmosphere, slicing through the tension like a sharpened blade. With a graceful flourish, the red silk cloth was lifted, unraveling the horrors it had concealed. A collective gasp seemed to hold the chamber captive as a malevolent sight unfolded, a tableau that exuded an air of pure darkness. Lord Alden anguished cry reverberated off the walls as he sank to his knees, his trembling hands outstretched towards the unimaginable sight before him. There, upon the golden tray, rested his beloved family, their lifeless head

"Anyway, if the past King is still around then they would be the one to present the new Demon King to all of the families." I looked back down to the book to continue reading. The new soon-to-be crowned king would then step forward and slice his palm with a dagger belonging to the first King. He would then mix his blood into a bowl along with that of his brethren. He would then drink the blood which would create the bond which would link him to his people until the next king were to emerge or death. "What does it mean by 'bond'?" She pointed to the word.

It smells like a mixture of gasoline and poison. Maybe I'm just imagining it. There is no way I was the only one who could smell it when I was a human with weaker senses. “Your time has come to an end, demon. It is time you go back to hell where you belong.” King Dorian declared when he shifted back to his half-form, pressing his sword against his throat. Crawford was on his knees, defeated and looking pathetic while choking on his own blood. Despite this, he still had a smile on his face.

The once bright cloister was now shrouded in a thick, blood-red haze. A dense cloud of black smoke coalesced three steps in front of her. The acrid stench of blood hit her like a fist. The pure, crushing pressure made it impossible to breathe. Her knees buckled, and she collapsed onto the cold stone floor. A tall, imposing figure slowly emerged from the smoke. He had short, dark red hair and eyes like pools of blood. A scar slashing across his brow gave him a terrifying, feral aura. Rhoderick, the Wolf King of the Dark Blood.