Oblivion Blackwood Novels & Stories

The ancient Blackwood Hall stood deep in the old-growth forest, a massive stone structure carved into the cliffs overlooking the Sound. Torches flickered along the walls, casting long shadows over the gathered Alphas. The air was thick with power — dominant scents clashing like thunder, the metallic tang of barely-contained violence heavy on every breath.

Lord Vance swallowed hard, his Adam's apple bobbing frantically. His posture stuttered for a second before he scrambled to unroll his thick, leather-bound ledger documents across the wood. "A… Alpha Blackwood," Vance stammered, his terrified eyes darting to the sprawling tactical maps on my wall before he finally found his footing. "My pack... the Obsidian Ridge... we control the deepest underground salt and sulfur mines in the eastern basin. We can provide the Vanguard with a continuous, tax-free supply of pure sulfur to fuel your blacksmithing forges and your tactical explosive weapon production. Furthermore, we boast a highly specialized unit of subterranean trackers—wolves who are comple

All eyes were on me. “Execution?” I laughed, looking at my wine glass. “What a waste. I don't want his corpse. I want every drop of his blood to replicate his process. Imagine an army of ten thousand men with the strength of Subject Zero. The human world, the Council... everyone on their knees.” “But he won't let himself be caught, Alpha” intervened an informant sitting at the end of the table. “Killian Blackwood lives in a fortress. He passes himself off as a professor and a tycoon. He is protected.”

"Nothing ever truly dies. Remember that, young Luna. Seeds planted in darkness take years to bloom. I may be gone, but my work continues." "Then we'll root it out. Every last piece of it." She smiled. "We'll see." Then she closed her eyes. And Helena Blackwood, last of the Blackwood line, died. The battle was over. The corrupted wolves scattered, the compulsion finally broken permanently. My pack had survived. But as I stood over Helena's body, her final words echoed in my mind. Seeds planted in darkness take years to bloom. What had she meant? What final trap had she set?

It can't be. *** The previous day, below the city's ground... The black haired girl skipped through the falling ceiling and dead bodies. She stopped just outside of storage. Her hair swung, revealing a golden eagle with red eyes on her leather jacket. "Where are the rest?" asked someone behind her. She turned around, revealing her green eyes and tanned skin. Her short frame doesn't make her afraid despite the blonde muscular guy standing in front of her. "They're coming," she answered. "Good. Do you have any information on Victor Clyde?"

he growled, his voice resonating with a sense of menace. As they pressed on, Ana could feel the Blackwood pulsing around them, its energy seemingly heightened by the intensity of the battle they had just witnessed. She glanced over at her son, who walked beside her, his expression a mix of fear and determination. "We have to keep going," she said, her voice firm. "The Blackwood needs us." Her son nodded, his grip tightening on the hilt of his sword. Suddenly, a shimmering portal opened before them, and Ana felt a surge of recognition as Fenrir stepped through, the ancient guardian of the Blackwood's features twisted and corrupted by Damian's dark influence.

“Go back home. Now. There’s something else in the forest today besides me, and it’s not friendly.” Helena looked at the devastated clearing, at the broken bones, and at the man who seemed to be the center of all that hidden power. She realized that the strange coincidences and inexplicable events were not isolated incidents, but pieces of a supernatural puzzle being assembled around her. Dante Blackwood was the key to everything, the living trace of something ancient and fierce that claimed Blackwater as its own.