King Crimson Requiem Novels & Stories

The blood moon rose swollen and obscene, painting the palace walls the color of a fresh bruise. Every corridor crawled with anticipation. Servants scurried with silver trays of raw hearts and crystal decanters filled with vampire blood laced with nightshade—just enough to heighten the senses without killing the drinkers. Musicians tuned instruments strung with werewolf gut. Torches burned blue, fed by alchemical fats that whispered when the flames licked them. Tonight was the Feast of the Crimson Coronation: an ancient rite held only when the moon bled. It celebrated the original pact between Lycan and vampire—before betrayal, before war. Tonight it would celebrate a marriage.

I answered unwaveringly. "Okay" Crimson walked towards Tryamon, she stretched out her hands for a handshake "my name is Crimson, Aethelfrith's betrothed" Tyramon's phone fell from her hands, her eyes widened but she managed to compose herself quickly. "Aethelfrith betrothed?" Tyramon asked, looking unsure of what she heard. "Yes, you heard right" Crimson smiled, "my hands are still on the air" "Oh my, forgive my bad manners" Tyramon forced a smile, reaching out to shake Crimson's hand.

Trix refused to roll her eyes at the obvious displeasure his voice held. Rexus was Sapphire born and despised Crimsons. More importantly he was a cold blooded killer, who took pride in his kill. The Crimson Princess and a few Crimson Knights would surely boost his fame and the stench of fear that would go well with his name. He gently took the princess’s soft hand in his rugged palms and kissed it. Her personal guards tensed, their leather coated hands on the hilt of their swords. Trix watch the exchange with curiosity, in a strange way wishing that they would start a fight. Her wish came through when Rexus slipped a ring from the princess’s hand and the sound of metal scraping against metal

It was the eve of their ancestors’ death anniversary, a solemn occasion that held deep significance for their family. As they approached the altar, Sevena took her place at the center, her presence commanding reverence. She was the matriarch of their family, a powerful werewolf with centuries of wisdom and strength coursing through her veins. Her eyes, a piercing shade of amber, held a quiet intensity as she prepared to lead the ritual. “Tonight, we gather to honor the spirits of our ancestors,” Sevena began, her voice carrying a solemn tone that echoed through the clearing. “They have guided us and watched over us, and tonight, we pay tribute to their memory.”

CRIMSON “Do you know the story of the bloody werewolf rogue that was killed by his alpha? Do you know about that rogue that was hated by all of his pack and all the other packs that no one wanted him at all? Are you familiar with the story, child?” an old woman asked me while giving me a serene smile on her lips.

Ahlum said, regaining her posture, going back to join Sir Zuka and others while all of them turned to Katastrofi again, prepared for his next attack. “You shall regret your actions now.” Snarling, he tapped his scythe again and called upon another dimension to the real world, much harder and darker than the one they had faced till now. “Requiem Of Blood.” Upon casting this spell, the night grew darker with crimson shades, horrifying everyone when the scarlet clouds began to emerge as from them Angels of death emerged. In their black robes, faces hidden and holding the scythe to steal the souls of whoever skin they would graze.

Maybe that was why Marc even had this ceremony done today. "Now the ceremony shall be finalized," the old man said as I watched him bring out what seemed like a red ointment. A finger dipped inside as he marked my forehead with the ointment. A slight drop dripped on my nose. A sniff left a stun. It wasn’t just a colored ointment; from the smell, this was blood. That was something I was sure of. "Stop!" A yell echoed through the room. As I turned to see who it was, Dominic was standing there, beside him was Nate.

Still, it was enough to show other creatures that we werewolves weren't someone to be messed with. We also invited the Bloody Fangs. The Bloody Fangs was a group of strongest warriors without any ties to the 3 packs. Their most well-known warrior was their leader, The Crimson Warrior, who was also the most blood-lust warrior in the whole Lupo continent. His nickname came from the crimson helmet he kept wearing as he fought. I had heard that the Crimson Warrior himself would attend my ceremony. That made me wonder if he would wear his helmet or not. After all, no one had ever seen his face.

“The crimson mark she is talking about. Months ago, before the Alpha ceremony, I saw Sienna wearing a talisman that had a red moon on it. I thought it was just jewellery.” “Crimson?” Maddox asks. “Yes,” Craig confirms. “But now... I remember. That colour, that mark—” “It’s a charm used in essence theft rituals,” Richard finishes, his voice dropping to a whisper. My eyes widen in horror. Maddox grips the back of a wooden chair, her knuckles white. “So she didn’t just manipulate Keegan...” Her voice is laced with a fury that matches my own. “She’s been bleeding your wolf dry.”

He activated the crimson circle. The giant Blood Mirror above me glowed. A dark red beam pierced my veins. Agony shot through me like a million silver needles. It was pulling out my memories. The Crimson Trial drains a vampire's blood to project their past. It shreds the soul. It feels like burning under the noon sun. It is the cruelest punishment for traitors. I felt the mirror sucking my life away. But I didn't fight it. Instead, I felt a weird, perfect peace.