Magolor Without Hood Novels & Stories

“I mean it Bludgeon, if anything goes wrong I’ll take it out on you.” Margo waited crouched down behind the bar long enough for her to start up the stairs. The three women moved quietly behind her getting into position. Margo was the first person to move. She reached out and grabbed a handful of her hair, covering her mouth with her hand preventing her from screaming. Magdalena’s arms flailed around but Penny and Maribell were right there preventing her from moving.

The confrontation with Godric last night still rattled her nerves. Footsteps clicked sharply against the floorboards. Larissa did not need to look up to know who was approaching. The heavy scent of pine and sweet berries announced the arrival. Morgana strolled into the dining room. She wore a tailored black riding habit, her silver hair pulled back into a tight, practical braid. Flashing a bright, predatory smile, the Northern Lycan took a seat directly across from Larissa. "Good morning," Morgana chirped, pouring herself a cup of steaming black tea.

Nora asked, tossing the question into the air like poisoned bait, desperate to reframe the narrative. The entire table fell completely silent. My gaze flickered down the line toward Morrigan, who was wearing a magnificent black tulle dress featuring a sharp, structured bustier bodice paired with sleek black opera gloves. Surprisingly, she wore bright blood-red lipstick that popped against her skin, and her hair was styled to perfection with cute, short bangs and soft, cascading curls. She looked utterly breathtaking. As expected, Morrigan caught me staring straight at her, and true to her saucy, unbothered character, she slowly raised her wine glass toward me and gave me a sharp, wicked wink

I wasn't the only one. Selene stopped in her tracks and turned my way, her face pinched in concern. The boys stood and immediately surrounded her, keeping her within their tight circle. Something was coming our way. Cassius, Magnus, and Ares jogged over to my side. The members of our packs closed in around us, ready for whatever was on the other side of the tall reeds that surrounded the area. We waited, holding utterly still and silent. The barest of movements had just caught our attention when directly in front of me the reeds split open and a man walked through. He was dressed in a hooded black robe with a gold belt around his waist.

His steps are sure, his body rigid, as he moves into a clearing, and the fogs rolls out, revealing six witches in dark cloaks, their hoods shadowing their faces. All but one. “It’s not often we have the honor of hosting a king in our coven,” Morgathra says as she bows low, her black cloak picking up dirt and leaves as she rises. She has raven black hair so straight and thin it’s easily picked up by the lightest of breezes that snakes through the forest all around her. Her eyes are dark and glassy–a very dark shade of green, I realize. She’s odd looking. She seems so young–her voice is so lifted and lightly seductive when she speaks, when she greets my father with another dramatic bow, that I

Not from this pack. Behind them, a ripple in the air formed. And then she appeared. Morgana. The witch. She stepped forward, barefoot on the concrete, her long midnight cloak fluttering behind her. Her hair was silver and black like spider silk, her face pale, her eyes glowing with an unnatural gold hue that pulsed like coals. “P-please,” I managed, my voice shaking. “I don’t want this anymore. I don’t know what you did to me, but I—I can feel myself again. I can hear myself. Please—stop—”

While Bo has a shining white head free of even a single strand of hair and a short thin (mostly gray) facial hair and smells like golden spice. Gray is standing on the left side of a semicircle made up of him, Cordelia and Bo, with cordelia being in the middle, a few yards just ahead of us. Gray’s holding a long thick metal link chain in his hands, conversing with the two. Iselyn and I stop a few feet away, just close enough to alert them to our presence and hear the conversation.

The noise seemed to stop for a moment and then with one loud, Morag broke through the barrier Shadow Abyss, destroying the last travel of guardian energy. He stands directly in front of Helixia, an evil smile spreads across his face. "It's good to finally meet you, the chosen one," Morag. Helixia's shock turns to a desperate question. "How can you look exactly like my father?"

POV: Morga (The Raven Queen) "Then let us make the choice for you, child of the moon." The voice was cold, ancient, and carried the scent of hemlock and dried rose petals. From the shadows of the western roots, a group of figures emerged, draped in heavy, feathered cloaks of raven-black. At their head was Morga, her face a mask of iron-hard resolve, her eyes glowing with the sickly green light of the Forbidden Arts. Behind her, the surviving witches of the High Circle moved in a synchronized, haunting rhythm, their hands already weaving a web of silver-and-black energy.

Morgan coughed. "What to do! You can't command me anymore and this helmet doesn't work on me!" She thundered and took off the helmet. She threw it down and crushed it with her leg. She lifted her mother up, over her head, still holding and choking her neck tight. Some zombies went around Celia stretching their arms up to grab unto Mrs. Morgan and feast her since the helmet wasn't on her anymore. Whilst, Mrs. Morgan kept groaning and trying to struggle to leave and breathe well. She was gasping and panting hard.