Melvika Arcane Novels & Stories

"I know, but I'm not worried about myself.” Aria began the incantations — whispers that I could barely hear. The room flickered with pale light as glowing marks traced themselves onto Melina’s skin. Aria continued what a chant, her voice echoed like a song from a different universe. Melina's body started twitching, as her fingers curled and her back arched in a forceful way. The lights above blinked. The air in the room got thick, filled with ancient powers. Then, a loud gasp. Melina sprang up, her eyes wide and flashing red.

Yet, what I beheld within caused my jaw to drop in astonishment as if it had detached from my face and plummeted to the floor below. [You have acquired the Arcane Tower blueprint] “Huh?” [Arcane Towers, also known as Arcane Turrets, are Constructs forged from Mana ore, crafted to safeguard cities within ancient civilizations. Immobile and formidable, these towers serve as sentinels, relentlessly targeting any creature that dares to approach.] [Armed with potent abilities, Arcane Towers unleash antimagic rays that pierce through any form of physical or magical defence, rendering conventional barriers futile in the face of their onslaught.]

He cupped the same elemental layers and twisted them around Melvin's neck, leaving only a thin inch for him to gasp for breath. "Free him. I told you I'd give," Miracle hissed behind her gritted teeth. "Indeed. But you did nothing to show me," he muttered. Melvin thrashed violently, his face deepening to a ghastly shade of purple. He hooked his foot around the gnarled roots of the oak tree and drove his palm into the earth. His fingers pulsed with a fiery red glow, struggling against the virescent energy constricting him. But before he could get any further, Arlyaen flicked his gaze sideways, and an icy blast shot forth, slamming the fallen angel toward the moldy well.

It didn’t take long before he reached the clearing. And there, on a stone slab, lay Vargr—eyes shut, still as death. His arm was torn open, a massive wound where flesh had been ripped away. The injury was too severe for any normal healing. The sight of it made Cedric’s breath catch—Vargr, a werewolf, was not healing. "I can’t believe this," he murmured, stepping closer, only to be slammed backward by an invisible force. The clearing was sealed—Arcana Involutus—a binding spell designed to block entry.

He dropped everything and yelled for the others to help him stabilize it with their spells. Inside the manifestation, Aria smiled as the spirits pressed closer. The nearer they came, the stronger their vengefulness felt. There was pain, begging, and fury. Every single one had their mouth hanging open, as if they were trying to speak. But if one really listened, all they'd hear were sounds that could shred their sanity. This was the Wailing March. It only showed up in manifestations fueled by Malathrans. The stronger someone's arcane power was, the easier they'd get caught by this trap.

"You should have seen their faces! Darius looked like I'd slapped him. Aldric looked confused. It was beautiful." "Miraeve, I'm still waiting for the part about the hunchback." "That's what I'm telling you! So Marl has this friend. This ugly, twisted hunchback girl named Thra. And when I tried to take Marl, she stepped in front of me and told me no." Draevon stopped drumming his fingers. "She told you no?" "She told me NO!" Miraeve's eyes lit up with the memory. "Can you believe it? This nobody, this ugly hunchback that everyone was laughing at, she looked me straight in the face and said I wasn't taking her friend anywhere."

"Because it demands unity of purpose. Not of heart. If you are bound by love, the relic will refuse you." Derek's face set in a stern expression. Diva's breast constricted in despair. But she nodded. "Teach me how." --- Next morning, beneath a sky dotted with gold and rose, Derek and Diva stood alone together on the lake shore. Mira cast a spell of apartness—a circle of moonlight around each of them. "When you arrive at Arknor," she said, "one of you will have to enter the inner vault alone. The artifact is within. Bring nothing with you but what you need. Then return."

Anna—or should I call her Melucia—had fainted the second her eyes met mine. She hadn’t just collapsed; she’d clutched her chest, her face twisted in pain, as if something inside her cracked open. Then she’d dropped, her body crumpling to the floor like a lifeless rag doll. Her gasp still echoed in my head over and over again like a broken record. The witches had warned me of such a thing happening. This was the price she’d pay for using forbidden magic, for tearing the veil between life and death to seek revenge for her murdered coven.

And now, his presence was being felt again, his power resurfacing, his vengeance awakening. Finally, she contacted Marcus, a scholar of the arcane, a man who had dedicated his life to translating ancient languages and untangling the mysteries of forgotten civilizations. Marcus was Riana’s anchor to the past, her guide through the labyrinth of history and myth. He was a walking encyclopedia of arcane knowledge, his mind a vast repository of forgotten lore and esoteric wisdom. He could decipher ancient texts, interpret cryptic symbols, and unravel the secrets of long-lost cultures. Without Marcus, Riana would be adrift in a sea of ignorance, unable to navigate the treacherous currents of histo

Only Melinda and Diana stepped into the stone circle at the cavern’s heart. A simple altar had been set: a slab of basalt, runes burned into it, the sigils wet and smoking faintly from earlier practice. Around the slab, Melinda had arranged ten vials in a precise pattern, a ring of glass that caught the moon and turned it scarlet. Each vial was a world in itself: thick, ancient colors moved inside, breathing with light that did not belong to the night. Melinda ran a finger along the line and named them, steady, like an incantation at the edge of noise: