Mafioso Fanart Forsaken Novels & Stories

A cursed Relic stolen from Silvermoon’s old ruins. The Moonfang blade. A dagger forged with forbidden magic, made to weaken an Alpha’s bond with its pack, causing inner caos and mental erosion. ——— Marisa walked past the guards in her designer heels and artificial charm. Servants came in behind her with boxes, dolls,puzzles,and candies. These things she brought with hidden enchantments designed to charm and Manipulate. Damian was coming down the stairs he was seething. He approached Marisa with anger all over him. She didn’t tell him she was coming today.

"I'm sorry. I'm sorry. I'm really sorry! I'm sorry that it had all been a one-sided thing all along. I promise I won't ever bother you again!" Hal caught sight of what I was typing and snatched the phone away from me, chiding, "Winter Brooke! Don't you have a spine of your own?" Hal had no idea how Finnegan had been treating me all these years. It was cold, cruel, and downright terrifying. I was so fearful for my life and worried that Finnegan never read my message and continued torturing me that I nearly cried from the anxiety. Seeing there was nothing he could do, Hal showed Finnegan the words I typed before quickly erasing them all.

The guy took his hand down and since Cohen had already rejected him, he predicted Bastian would also reject him, so he didn’t bother to move to his front. Bastian forward and lengthened his hand. “How are you doing?” He inquired. The guy beamed, excited. He stretched out his hand, but seeing his hand compared to that of Bastian, he realized his hand was dirty, so he took it back. “I am sorry,” he bowed his head. “My hands are dirty. Don’t let me stain you.” “You aren’t staining me,” Bastian said. He grabbed the guy’s hand and dragged him closer, and opened his arms wide. “A pure mind makes a good human and judging by where you are heading, I figure you are one already.”

“You did good.” “Efficient,” Marco added, approval folded neatly into the word. Mazzo swallowed again, then found a smile he’d practiced in safer rooms. “Let’s go home,” he said, the phrase carrying equal parts retreat and prayer. “In a minute.” Sasha crouched again, not to touch the body, but to look one last time at the ink. The crowned wolf biting the olive branch. A family crest pretending to mean peace. She fixed it in her memory. A signature from a ghost. Cesare Maretti wasn’t flicking matches anymore. He was throwing them.

“You think he wrote something else about the Forsaken?” “He knew more than he let on,” Nicola replied. “I just need to find it.” Finally, she came upon a passage that caught her attention. The page was heavily annotated, the handwriting sharper and more hurried than usual. “The creation of Forsaken is not random - it’s deliberate. A corrupted energy source fuels their transformation, but it requires a willing participant to guide the process. Look for the signs of manipulation, the whispers of betrayal among your own.” Nicola’s heart skipped a beat. “A willing participant…”

“We don’t have time for this family reunion bullshit. Those golden-eyed freaks are still coming. If the Forsaken are here, Michelle is using them as cleanup crew to finish off whoever survives.” The lead Forsaken took another step closer. I wonder how it had so many scars on its body. Who or what had it been fighting?. “Choose, Kade Thorn. Side with your blood. Or die with these broken wolves you call a pack. We offer power, real power. Not the collars and drugs of false gods.”

“Or maybe it’s your chain, Alpha. You’d rather her stay fragile than see what she truly is.” I staggered back a step, torn between their voices. “You don’t know him like I do,” Darius growled. “He’s Forsaken.” The word dropped like a stone in the silence. My heart twisted. Forsaken. The rogue didn’t deny it. His scarred mouth curved into the faintest smile. “Yes. I am.” My breath trembled in my chest. “Then… why are you here?” “Because I remember what they did to us,” he said softly. His gaze flicked to Darius, then back to me. “What they’ll do to you when the fear outweighs the faith. I don’t want you to be erased like we were.”

returned from shadow-walks smelling of nothing absent, scrubbed from existence and only partially restored. I tore through the final shelf in the archive with desperate fingers, scrolls cascading to stone. My torch flickered, throwing wild shadows. Then I found it: ancient scrolls bound in flesh-string. The parchment crackled like dry leaves as I unfurled them, forgotten language spilling across the surface like dried blood. "Realm of the Forsaken," I whispered. A cursed dimension where guardian spirits who broke their oaths were cast, starved of light, sealed with sorrow. I hesitated briefly. What mother would not risk damnation to save her children?

The tongue of the maid had been collected for insidious purposes as well. The Overlord, Jackson Forger, was a man who craved power in its rawest, most vile form. He was not content with the strength and control he already wielded; he sought more, always more. The rituals he performed in the dead of night were not mere performances of dark magic but acts of pure, unadulterated evil. The blood, the organs, the sacrifices—each element was meticulously chosen for its significance in his twisted pursuit of dominance.

Sophia's ashes spilled onto the floor the next instant. I was shaking all over in rage. I threw my arm back and slapped Caleb hard across the face. "Caleb, you bastard! How could you break the urn containing your mom's ashes? Are you not afraid of divine punishment?" Caleb was in a daze after receiving that slap. He snapped out of it a few seconds later and yelled at me furiously, "Esther Lloyd, how dare you hit me? You lunatic!"