Impel Down Warden Novels & Stories

Every step he and Vex took sent vibrations through the concrete, cracks spiderwebbing through the streets, altering the battleground beneath their feet. Riven’s chest tightened. He could feel the city responding—not to him entirely, but to the chaos. If he made one wrong move, thousands of lives would be lost. And Vex knew it. THE WARDEN INTERVENES Then it happened. A shadow darker than night poured into the streets from the alleys, curling around them like smoke. The Warden emerged fully—its form towering, yet fluid, shifting with the city’s pulse. Caretaker. Stop this now.

Lucian added his weight to the other side, their combined effort keeping it pinned. Mara’s final word hit the air like a hammer blow. The gate’s light surged, swallowing the creature whole. Its body twisted once, then snapped inward, vanishing into the frame. The sudden silence was almost worse. Lucian let out a shaky breath. “Two down.” Mara shook her head. “That was the warden. They’ll send the real one next.” The gate pulsed once — slow, deliberate — as if confirming her words.

“The sentence is shorter if you walk. If you run, it still finishes. It will only use more of the people behind you to do it. The woman on the rise. The archer. The camp you left. Refusal taught the cut your shape. Distance will not hide that shape now.” Sable’s answer was a spit in the dirt. “We are not walking into your scar.” “You already did,” he said. “You pulled the seed. You tagged the line. You said no on the edge. The lock-pick is already turning. Walking in only makes the last word faster.” Pell’s arrow tip dipped a fraction, then came back up. “If I put this in him, does he fall?” “Try,” the Warden said, still mild. “You will learn what a mouth is worth. I would rather you did not

By choice. Bramble followed. Claire followed. Gerald ran. Cricket rode. Mason turned one last time. The Warden stood between the creature and the road. Alone. Its body cracked. Roots burned. Pale eyes found Mason. Mason lifted the bell. The Warden lowered its head. Not submission. Acknowledgment. Mason understood. “Your choice?” The Warden closed its eyes once. Yes. Mason nodded. “Thank you.” He stepped backward onto the road.

Sun rays pour down on the ground at the heart of the court. This court is at the core of the building. The remaining floors all form around it. There are a few dressed like him, about seven main Warden shifters, while the many watching the action at the centre aren’t wearing uniforms, but their name tags spell ‘Warden’. The fight is brutal. The first guy sends a ball of ice to his opponent’s heart. It hits and the second guy drops on one knee, holding his chest. “Arggh,” he growls in raw pain, eyes glowing amber.

For a brief second, the sound of my heels on the pavement is the only sign of life. I nearly jump when the Warden's deep, raspy voice echoes through the dead streets as he makes his planned announcement over the street loudspeakers. "Uncollared humans, under rank nine, aged from seven to twenty-nine years, are to follow the guards to the blood bank for their weekly donations. Collared humans, ranked eleven to fifty-five, are to gather in front of the Invictus building. The owners shall present further instructions. Remember, a satisfied owner is a generous owner. Follow the new order, dote the supremacy of caretakers." As the announcement ends, hundreds of forlorn, almost lifeless-looking mo

To the Esteemed Council of the Collegiate Alliance of Vyhelm, I write this letter with a heavy sense of responsibility, and not a small measure of regret, regarding the fate of Assistant Professor Patrina Warden, recently on sabbatical for fieldwork among the elves. Despite all reasonable precautions, Miss Warden encountered grave difficulties shortly after leaving the Sylvanae Archive. During her intended passage to the Greenways, she tricked by unscrupulous dwarven merchants and was forcibly kidnapped. She was then transported to the City of Limdrion, known as the port of dark elven power, where she was prepared for transfer to a dark elven noble house.

Radiant wings surrounded Warren's body as the imp took aim and fired. The round struck the aura. A hungry flame enveloped him while it licked the walls. Black trails appeared in the wake of the roaring blaze. The extra energy saw the mental timer drop from twelve down to five minutes. By the time the flames died down, the gigas and the imp were gone. Engines roared to life above him, echoing through the halls.

The hospital room reeked of disinfectant. The patient, Ted Wolfe, was curled up on the bed, his face pale as he vomited nonstop. His family crowded around him, rubbing their hands anxiously and staring at me, waiting for me to decide what to do. Seeing the scene, my heart sank hard, my nails digging into my palm. In my last life, this was where I took my first fall and became the department's laughingstock. Sure enough, the next second, the thoughts of the beautiful intern nurse, Sonya Row, echoed in my ears.

"At current pace? Twenty minutes. Maybe thirty if they're being cautious." "They'll be cautious," Hunter said. "They know what wards can do." "Which means they also know how to get through them," Zane said. The room went quiet. Elder Thaddeus looked at Zane. "Explain." "Wards repel Zunter from entering sanctuary grounds—that's their primary function. But eight organized operatives with enough force and the right tools can overwhelm a ward line if they hit it simultaneously from multiple points." Zane's voice was even, analytical. "It's not easy and it's not fast, but it's possible. How old are these wards?"