Morgoth Novels & Stories

"The godking is not human, not in the sense that you or I would understand. He is... something else. Something that has existed far longer than anyone realized." The crystal's light took on a reddish hue as it displayed the godking alone in a chamber of black stone. His form seemed to ripple and shift, revealing glimpses of a much more monstrous appearance beneath the human facade—multiple limbs, a twisted, elongated spine, eyes that burned with an inner fire. Rex felt Fafnir's consciousness surge forward with startling intensity. 'Demon,' the dragon's voice hissed within his mind, filled with a hatred so ancient and powerful that it momentarily overwhelmed Rex's senses. 'One of the Void-Tou

“I saw Morgana and… something else. Someone else. A man, I think, but more like a force. Something very dark. They were arguing over your baby.” Arlo stiffens. “Arguing?” I nod. “Morgana wants her for herself. To use her as a host. And the other one, he wants her sacrificed. He wants her blood.” Hilda pales, her fingers gripping the edge of the table. “That makes sense. At least I can see the full picture now.” Arlo growls low in his throat, clearly feeling the urge to attack the invisible threat. Hilda meets my gaze. “I had a vision too. A name was burned into my mind and I think he’s a demon. Astaroth.” The word sends a chill through me, even though I don’t understand it.

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.”

"One of them being Silverthorne royalty with accumulated centuries of power. That's a power source." "And Malachar is the vessel," Dante continued. "His body already modified by whatever dark magic kept him hidden all these years. And Morgana—" "Morgana is the catalyst," I finished. "Her grief, her rage, her obsession. That's the emotional fuel needed to spark the transformation." "If they complete the ritual," Dante said grimly, "Malachar becomes something beyond mortal limitations. Beyond death. Essentially a god equal to the power of the moon goddess." "With Morgana at his side."

it's a disaster “I know you are not my son, but I will punish you .” Madly out of his anger, he said to attack Mars, who quickly passed him screaming "Thank God, I am not the son of someone like you. My name is the Alpha Gods of War, so you know that I am ready to wage a war that I will lead against you." Arrogant and arrogant, he said, and when he wanted to punch Darkel again, he crossed him to break his foot from the bottom violently and quickly.

"Who are you?" The foreman beside her stammered. "What are you?" A voice from the crowd shouted, "A god! He's a god among men!" I shook my head. "No," I said quietly. "I'm no god. I'm a man, like you all." They stared, waiting for an introduction. "My name is Ala—" I stopped. No. Not Alaric Thorn. That name belonged to a ghost buried four hundred years ago. "…Alen," I finished softly.

“All of it. The warmth… the darkness… the endlessness…” For a moment, his cold mask slipped. The arrogance, the certainty, the rage all melted away, replaced by a look of profound, terrified awe. Then the mist pulled back, and he stumbled, dropping to one knee, his staff clattering against the stone. Morgrath watched, his twisted form shrinking back further. “It will consume us all,” he hissed. “It does not care for balance or power or anything else. It only wants to be whole again no light, no shadow, no separate things. Just itself.”

Her eyes are full of stars in a way that is not metaphorical — there are actual stars in them, pinpricks of cold light that have no business being inside the eyes of a creature that lives at the bottom of an ocean trench. Black veins climb her throat to her jaw. The veins are mine, in nine years, if I am not careful. "My name is Morrigwen, host. I was the first. The Salt Throne was mine. I burned it down. I burned my own children. The pearl made me hungry and I ate everyone I had ever loved and then I ate the kingdom and then I ate the continent and then there was nothing left but the trench it sent me back to. I have been here for eighteen thousand years. I have been waiting to tell someone

Right in the middle of the platform was a colossal monolith of opaque black, translucent ice, more than two hundred feet high. Bound within the center of the monolith was the entity itself: Aethelgard, the Primordial Frost Sovereign. It was a terrifying sight. The entity possessed a towering, skeletal form made of shifting grey static and jagged black frost, its ancient face possessing no features except for three glowing, horizontal slits of pale grey light where eyes should have been. Millions of thin, spider-web cracks covered the surface of its black ice prison, and from those cracks, a thick, suffocating cloud of grey void mist was pouring out, actively devouring the natural mana of the

It has three blue-grey gems – a big one at the center and small ones beside it. “I’ve asked permission for your parents and they agreed. Emily, I am willing to live the rest of my life with you and I will marry you once again after you graduate college.” He started. Words were caught up once again in her throat. Her heart beat excruciatingly hard against her chest, “What about Hell?” “Hell has its own king.” “Who?” “Alfred.” “Alfred, the mortal butler?” Her eyes widened, “That couldn’t be! He’s gone!”