Melkor Novels & Stories

Suddenly her brother's body turned green and went up in flames. "No," she cried in a voice mixed with sadness and relief."What's happening?" "Who is she" Vador asked staring at the little damsel.She was beautiful,he thought,her eyes were green and her hair red . She was dressed in a short red gown that made her look like a real damsel. "She must be the daughter of Francis,the council's secretary," Aleister replied. "And who are you," Ava spat. "Let's just say your worst nightmare. I'm the dark lord"

“The Elarion are ancient artifacts born of the forest’s will. They move, they resist, and they choose whom they allow near. Your task: bring back a living relic. The rarer, the better. Return empty-handed, or fail to return at all—and you forfeit your rank.” A hush fell. “And should you encounter the Mireling Crown—the forest’s rarest relic, known for its ability to manipulate shadow and time—you will earn not only high merit, but the Headmistress’s personal favor.” He paused. “But beware—it is sentient, elusive, and hostile.” Great. So a homicidal crown. With a wave of his hand, the sigils blazed—and the field rippled. The tall grass gave way to a dirt trail that led into the mouth of the f

he chipped curtly. Caleb shrugged, “Or maybe you guys are a little earlier…?” His father shook his head in disappointment before revving up the engine. Without wasting any second, Eldric drove the car toward the gates and pressed on the gas once we hit the main road. Breaking the pungent silence, Caleb asked, “So, who’s gonna tell me about this mysterious warlock we’re on our way to meet?” Keeping his eyes on the road ahead, Eldric answered in a blank voice, “The name is Kelven Vael. He is one of the very few warlocks who possess magic strong enough to open portals to other realms.”

Rowan positioned himself behind me, body rigid. Elle didn’t flinch at their protectiveness. She expected it. She feared it. “What is it?” Rowan asked. Elle took a long breath. A shaky breath. “The thing Morana is waking,” she began, choosing her words with painful care, “is older than history itself. Older than the Moon Goddess.” A chill rippled down my spine. “What is it called?” I whispered. Elle looked at me with a mixture of fear and sadness. “The Umbrathal.”

His voice was a low, deep rumble in the morning air. "I am," I said, my voice just as flat. "The black one," he said, patting the neck of the beast on his left, "is a high-strung, ill-tempered, murderous bitch. Her name is Hela. She will try to kill you." I just stared at him. "The one on the right," he said, patting the other, "is a high-strung, ill-tempered, murderous bastard. His name is Fenrir. He will kill you."

It was a small comfort in this unfamiliar place. A wooden signpost caught her attention, the carved letters weathered but still legible against the dark grain. An arrow pointed left, bearing the words "Limdrion University," while another directed right toward something called "The Melanthor." She hesitated, her scholar's curiosity piqued by the unfamiliar term. The word had an ancient elven root, melan, meaning "knowledge" or "secrets." Secrets were precisely what she needed now.

Their veins were brittle, and their internal organs were being consumed by a cold, lightless rot that mirrored the very scythes they carried. The ground suddenly groaned as a massive obsidian platform descended from the indigo cliffs. Standing at the center was a figure who looked like a dark mirror of my husband. He was taller than the other Reapers: his skin a translucent graphite black that pulsed with a sickly grey fire. This was Malakor: the Reaper King. He held a scythe of pure compressed void that hummed with a frequency so low it made my teeth ache.

Eyes that held a familiar sharpness. Iselda. The healer from the Black Forest. The one who poisoned a village. I know who collects them, she whispered. I knew her when I lived. She was a child then. A Null. Like you. My heart stopped. "Elowen?" No. Older. Before Elowen. Before Margot. The first Null the Voidborn ever tethered. Her name was Morwen. I turned to Kael. "Who is Morwen?" His face had gone white.

A thick column of gray smoke striped with the same orange hue goes streaking skyward from the portal. “Oh, no,” Kai moans softly, almost under his breath. “I don’t believe it.” I’m pretty sure he didn’t mean for any of us to hear that, but we did. And I don’t like the sound of it, not one bit. “What’s wrong?” I ask. “What is it?” Kai turns to me, his expression as serious as I’ve ever seen it. “A balrog,” he replies. “A lava dragon in your tongue.” The name is familiar to me from The Lord of the Rings books. I glance back up at the column of smoke. I don’t see any creature inside it, but I know Kai would not be mistaken.

she whimpered “ What is your king's name?” “ He didn't tell us, he said it wasn’t important for us to know.” “ What do you know about him?” “ that he is evil, he wiped out his own pack and became a rogue by choice.” she stated Who the hell would kill that many people just to become a rogue willingly? This man practically signed his life away when it comes to any pack he ever encounters. “ Do you know what his pack's name was?” “ No, I'm sorry.” She shivered under the cold brisk air down here.