Manacled Book Novels & Stories

It was the kind of pulse that goes directly past your skin and settles somewhere deeper. “I have not reached any conclusions yet,” Marcus said, standing near the altar with his hands clasped behind his back. “But I am certain of this: whatever this book is, it must be kept away from public knowledge. If it falls into the wrong hands, the wrong understanding, the consequences would be catastrophic.” “What does it do?” I asked. Marcus looked at me with the expression of a man who has been worrying about this question for longer than tonight. “This,” he said carefully, “is a Book of Untold Story. And it is not from this dimension.”

He’d said the guards got jumpy around the old records, but the guards weren't in here right now so technically, I was free to do what I wanted. I ran my hand along the spines of the books. Most were thick ledgers with years stamped on them in fading gold ink. My fingers stopped on a book that was smaller than the others, wedged between two massive volumes. It had no title, just a piece of grey parchment stuck to the spine with a single word written in cramped script: Bonds. I pulled it out and sat on the floor between the stacks. The stone was cold, but I was hidden in the shadows. I opened the cover.

The title, embossed in deep crimson, read *The Bondage Codex: A Victorian Manual of Restraint and Ecstasy*. “Tonight’s text is more demanding,” he said, voice low and smooth as he opened the book. The pages shimmered faintly as if alive. “It requires full physical compliance. The ink will bind you, and it grows tighter when you make sound. You will read the instructions aloud while I follow them precisely. Do not stop reading, no matter how desperate you become.” My thighs pressed together instinctively. “Yes, Mr. Thorne.” He guided me to an antique rolling library ladder fixed against one of the taller shelves. “Climb three steps and turn to face me. Arms raised and gripping the sides.”

They’d rather see a clean execution than this. The two guards—betas, both, hulking and joyless—step forward as the echo dies. One pulls a set of manacles from his belt: polished silver, heavy as guilt, the inside lined with something that looks like burnt felt. I don’t need a manual to know what happens next.

The room inside the projection remained unchanged. The desk. The chair. The window. The book. Waiting. Everything seemed to be waiting. Even the collapsing horizon had slowed. Reality itself appeared suspended. As though the entire system was holding its breath. The man in black looked toward the book. Then quietly said: “It can't be opened by anyone else.” Arthur folded his arms. “How do you know?” The man smiled sadly. “Because we tried.” Silence. Gabriel blinked. “We?” The man didn't answer. Not directly.

“We won’t be heard here since the walls are soundproof.” “Is what you’re going to tell me that bad?” I ask, feeling my anxiety spike. Instead of responding, Manny lifts a finger to his lips and nods toward the interior of the room once more. Not bothering to argue, I oblige. What was the point of being hesitant when I was the one who insisted he help me? Once we are inside, he shuts the door and takes a seat at the desk, where he begins to rummage in a drawer. “Here,” he announces, passing me a worn-out book. “The answers you seek are in here.”

"Someone stole my firstborn... and convinced me to spend sixteen years raising the wrong child. I have spent years bleeding for the borders of this territory, believing in the honor of our vanguard, while the truth was being chewed away by moths and traitors." He reached the central shelf and grabbed a massive, iron-bound leather ledger. The book was nearly three feet wide, its spine cracked and peeling from decades of handling. Marcus dragged it from the alcove and slammed it down onto the reading table in the center of the room. The impact sent a shockwave of dust into the air, catching the silver light of Elena's palms and twisting like ghosts in the dark.

He is like a book with a lock that has no key. The man looked much older than Ivan and Dante, his hair in a long ponytail which applied this look as a mafia man even more. He had a slight stubble on his jaw, a frown etched on his face like it permanently belonged there, I guess Mafia men don't know about the word smiling then and no Ivan's little stunts don't count. He was dressed in a black suit just like the rest of them, one thing I can never understand. These men don't get the concept of freedom in your own house, it's scary.

She kept looking at the disappearing figure of her daughter as if she had already her precious baby girl. “Very good. You are on time.” Dankein hauled up from his seat and grabbed the nag Scarlet was carrying. He peeked inside and found a ridiculously huge book covering almost the whole of her backpack. He was about to touch the book when Evanora's words reverberated in his ears, “Don’t touch the book with your hands. If needed, use a cloth. There must be a barrier between the book and you. The only people allowed to touch it are Scarlet, Emerald, and the Old Dead Emperor kn this material world.”

Altair replied. "I don't need your secret parchment because I know very well what I'm doing, nothing more," he continued. Duke Elrica spread out his arms, the entire space was filled with his Mana that blazed from every inch of the wall releasing many books and they flew through the air. Line up neatly on Adir's bed. The size of each book looks different and there are even some covers that are yellow gold mixed with shiny purplish and normal shaped papers. Seating also surrounds it.