Manacled Book Novels & Stories

I tasted it on my tongue — bitter and metallic. At the center of the room stood a stone altar, draped in heavy black cloth that spilled onto the floor like a pool of ink. A single book rested on top. Its cover was dark, almost oily-looking, bound with broad strips of leather and clasped at the corners with dull silver that caught the candlelight and threw it back in cold glints. Behind it stood the prince. He didn’t look at us right away. His head was bowed, one hand tracing along the book’s spine with something almost tender. Lady Senna and the armored man flanked him like twin pillars of judgment, their expressions carved from ice.

Then, a rasping voice, laced with a hint of madness, emerged from the darkness beneath the hood. "I… I was a scholar," it croaked, "driven by a thirst for knowledge forbidden. Now, I am… trapped, consumed by the whispers." A wave of empathy washed over Maya, the tracker known for her keen senses and compassionate nature. "We can help you," she offered cautiously, "but you have to let go of the book." The figure clutched the book tighter, its knuckles turning white. "The power… it promises freedom," it rasped, the whispers intertwining with its words. "Freedom from pain, from fear… from everything."

He was eagerly looking towards her, urging with his eyes that she get up and follow the group back into the library. Katalea stood, it was time to see what all the fuss was about. They stood in a circle around Luca, who donned medical gloves that stopped at the elbow. He reached into the glass case that housed the book and before he could attempt to open the book, the front page fell open, revealing an ornate depiction of an old robbed man with a staff. He had a long gray beard, braided down his chest, and weather-beaten skin hidden mostly beneath his tattered and layered robe. His blue eyes leapt off the page imploring the reader to inquire further. Or perhaps run away. Katalea wasn’t

Blood dripped through the man's hands, which held the book's spine, slick with his own blood. “Tell me it was worth it,” whispered this man. “There was never a version of this where it wasn’t,” Lucifer whispered. Allistair tried to shout, but his vocal chords betrayed him. The battlefield erupted around him and screaming voices and pounding wings, and reality itself began to rend. The book thrummed. Not with a vibration of power or a flash of illumination. Just a presence, an absence that filled the space. The man caught in Lucifer’s grip shook as blood dripped from his fingers, seeping into the pages before disappearing as if devoured.

“This world is definitely underdeveloped” Mane sighed as he looked over the information he had been given. Dan arrived at his room only minutes ago to complete the final transfer. Yes, you heard right – final transfer. Mane assumed that the books were well compiled sources of information, but he was wrong. Sure they were called books just like in other worlds, but these so called books were just large sheets of paper bundled together and held by a very long string! The sheets weren’t light and crispy like what Mane was used to, rather they were hard and heavy and it was difficult to carry more than a few dozen at once. Dan delivered seven different bundles of these ‘books’. He had taken almo

Manik smiles. The white Iru enveloping him vanishes. “Harasho is the most reasonable dogma. You can say that it projects the current life.” Manik reaches into his jacket pockets and draws their contents. There are two books on his hands. A pink book with a couple smiling at each other on a heart frame on the cover is on his right hand and a red book with a short hair woman crying on the cover is on his left hand. “Which Doujin do you like, Your Highness?” Manik asked.

She exclaimed while running behind the old man to keep up with him. "M-Miss!" The two maids exchanged glances as they trembled with the thought that something bad might happen to their Lady. Meanwhile, just a floor above them, the old man opened a safe from the uppermost shelf. Anyone would notice how he carefully placed all the books about mana inside that big safe, but he didn't use any keys to open it, somehow it seemed like he had been taking books in and out of the safe. "Here are the books you want." He said, putting down all the books on the table beside the window.

And her eyes gave me a long, disapproving look. “You can’t go out there,” She cautioned me, her voice laced with fear and concern, “Stay in here till he comes back.” She wrapped another towel around my body, her hands reaching for my wet hair to dry. I bit down my lips, my ears aching to hear what was going on outside. “Who’s La Mano Nera?” “Shh.” She hushed, turning me over to face her, “You can’t say his name out loud.” I frowned, “But you just said it—‘’

Knowledge is power, as they say, and that's what I am aiming for — an upper hand through all these macabre shits. When all of the books finished stamping and it was then encoded through a big ancient looking book, I planned to immediately leave in my stand. Yet, as I was about to took off the last book in her hand, the librarian tightened her grip on the worn leather binding. I frowned, puzzled by her reluctance to release the tome.

Magic tightening like a net. He began to speak, chanting in an old tongue. But before the incantation could finish, the book burned. Flame shot up from the name — not wild, but deliberate. Purposeful. It didn’t destroy the page. It sealed it. The gold letters glowed red-hot before cooling into black glass. The Archivist stepped back, eyes wide. “The book has accepted her.” The woman Councilor snarled. “Then we’ll erase the page.” I stepped forward.