Kobold Novels & Stories

I watch as a hydra steps out and my eyes widen as I come skidding to a stop. “Oh, shit!” Kodiak says. Oh, shit indeed. How the fuck did she get one of those? They are meant to be in the underworld. I look closer and see it has collars on it’s three necks. It is only young. Even being young, it is huge. Towering over the trees. There is only one thing to do. I look around. I need to find him. I spot him chomping down on someone. Shaking his head violently as the person is split in half.

His shadow was missing, leaving an eerie emptiness at his feet. Dizziness clouded my vision, and as my consciousness wavered, a figure materialized out of the darkness. Hayden, the enigmatic ruler of the mythological Underworld, stood before me. My eyes widened in shock and fear as I believed he had come to reclaim me, to take me back to the realm of shadows and despair.

Their skins turning pale, their bodies having sparse flesh atop its skeletal framework and veins turning black making them look more or like zombies. The remaining four had to find a cure for this ailment, "Black Death"; they called it, Kimora was created by them, it came with a price, killing everyone with dark matter and three of the elders died in the process, Kimora was so powerful it did the job but a little too well having a mind of its own the last Elder saw this as a threat had the Kimora gotten rid of and he vanished not to be seen again.

“Whatever you call it here. A place to kip.” “Over there,” she pointed toward the city center where the dark windows of granite-clad towers frowned at the wide boulevards lined with bare black trees. Many of the towers were abandoned, infested by the Enemy who wove its cocoons in the stuffy dark. There they were hatching new generations of shape-shifting oborotni, of brutal kulaki or Fists, named so because their faces were giant clenched fists, of wily kosmopolity or Kosmops, whose beguiling squeaks grew louder as their stature diminished in their successive generations—the latest brood were the size of rats—and worst of all, krovososy, the crawling vampires whose human bodies had degenerat

I took the laptop up to my room and closed the door behind me. I accessed my email and opened the John Gold file again. He was five foot ten inches, with light brown hair. He was short for a man and his personality showed his affliction. He had short man syndrome. He wasn’t in terrible shape but he could be in better shape. He was filthy rich, exclamation on the filthy part and the surprising factor, I was friends with his son, Robert Gold.

And as I move toward him, he takes his eyes and heads to the ground in a low bow. I began to walk into another hallway with him behind me; the one that held my subjects. I hear the fast thud of Augustine's heartbeat, I also hear their heartbeats as well, and I can tell how many they are in the room ahead. My senses kick in. I twitch my nose and my golden eyes flare up in the dark hallway; I detest the smell of Aarde, it is the smell of the Karbouter, also known as the Goblin. I smell it first before the whiff of the Werewolves and vampires runs up my nostrils.

"I won't let them harm us." Aunt Cleo's voice sliced through the air like a warning bell, her words laced with urgency and gravity. "Aqua, you need to grasp the true threat of the coven. They're not just ordinary casters. Each possesses unique abilities, ranging from unnaturally swift regeneration and inhuman strength to the sinister power to manipulate creatures and even people, turning them into spies. Some even boast of an unnerving form of immortality, extending their lives far beyond the natural order. And worst of all, they have the terrifying capability to absorb the powers of other casters."

My long, black fingernails clicked rhythmically against the armrest of my chair. ​"Are you absolutely sure of this?" I asked, my voice low and dangerous. ​"Y-yes, Master," he rasped. ​Krug is a goblin, a hideous creature who escaped the pits of Hell just like I did. He was everything unholy, a monster that didn't belong in the world of men. He had served me for a thousand years, his only loyalty fueled by fear and his own disgusting desires.

The crimson eyes in the canyon didn't just blink; they seemed to ignite, casting a blood-red hue over the ash-grey snow of the Ever-Dark. A low growl reverberated through the ground, vibrating up my legs and shaking the marrow in my bones. From the depths of the abyss emerged a behemoth. It wasn't a wolf, nor a dragon. It was a Cerberus of the Void—a three-headed hound made entirely of compressed ash and obsidian bone, standing as tall as a watchtower.

Many of the fae are as grotesque as they are colorful. Bright vivid green skin that oozed something that was best not to look too closely at. Or step in. That is reinforced when a kobold walks through the trail and gets stuck firmly in the sludge as the ooze moves up its leg. Lumps so numerous over a stooped back that you could only see the head because of the eyeshine reflected from the torches and candles scattered throughout the room. I can almost hear the grating of the stones against each other as the creatures turn to us. That nails on the chalkboard sound, though the shiver down my spine is from more than just the sound. That hungry look in the thin