Onyx And Obsidian Novels & Stories

Chris spun around as if he were looking for something or someone. “You can come out now,” he shouted, “I’m sure you all got a great fucking laugh from trying to fool the famously gullible Christopher Red.” James blew out a heavy breath before the sound of snapping and rearranging bones echoed through the dense forest. Where a man once stood was replaced by the magnificent beast that is Onyx. His deep, almost black fur shined under the rays of sunlight, showing off their lighter brown tips.

"What do you require from the forge today?" "I need lightweight obsidian blades," I said, walking over to the metal racks and pointing directly to a sheet of dark, refined glass-metal resting near the back. "Forge two light daggers tailored specifically for a human fighter's smaller hand. Design them for maximum speed, sharp leverage, and close-quarters defense." "Obsidian is a dangerously brittle and difficult material to balance for a non-shifter, my Lord," the blacksmith noted, examining the dark sheet carefully. "However, if I temper it with silver alloy, I can make them absolute perfection for her."

The first light of dawn caressed the black obsidian peaks of the sovereign's mountain with soft amber and pale violet. A soft wind of the morning rustled the leaves of the golden-leafed oaks that now bordered the royal terraces over the high valleys of Obsidian Ridge. The underground leylines, fully anchored and balanced, pulsed softly with a steady, reassuring vibration. Vibrating deep in the granite heart of the mountain.

Ann exclaimed almost reverently. "She was fond of intricate designs and artwork, as I'm sure you can tell." Adam chuckled softly. "It's made from obsidian and moonstone and wrapped in platinum. If you open it up, inside is a depiction of Selene, the Moon Goddess, and her first children, the Lycans, and her second born, the Werewolves." Ann nodded wordlessly. There wasn't much she could say, it was truly a breathtaking piece. "I should have given you this earlier, Ann. At this point, I'm willing to try anything that has the slightest chance of being able to protect you from those vile women." He murmured as he ran his hands along her shoulders.

If anything, I almost laughed. I turned back to Cassian and said, evenly: "Obsidian really does outshine moonstone. It suits you — cheap matches cheap."

Ezra growled. Orion glanced at him. “Dorian was hit first, but before I could react, I was hit too. That’s all I remember.” “It has to be him,” Ezra hissed. “I want a list of all Obsidian’s hideouts. You know where that is, don’t you?” Pursing my lips, I stared at him for a few seconds before I answered. “What does that have to do with—?” “Obsidian’s unstable!” Ezra yelled. “He—”

I countered. I scanned the table. My eyes landed on a small, elegant pendant. It was a piece of white bone, carved into the shape of a falling leaf, but the edges were reinforced with thin strips of beaten silver. In the center sat a dark, polished stone—not amber, but a piece of obsidian that caught the grey light and turned it into a deep, bottomless black. It was balanced. It was beautiful, but it was a weapon’s material. It reminded me of her. The way she handled herself, and everyone around her.

“Visualize it as a bone that needs to be knit back together. Make it strong. Make it unbreakable. Use the Gold to bridge the gaps.” ​I watched as the twins reached out, their golden light flowing into the glowing metal rods held by the basalt-skinned smiths. The iron didn't melt under the combined heat; it transformed. It turned into a dark, translucent material—obsidian that pulsed with a rhythmic, solar heat, as if the metal itself had developed a heartbeat. ​“The Obsidian Shield,” the lead smith whispered, his voice a crackle of sparks as he raised a massive, translucent slab of the new material.

It was inert now, its power cells drained and recycled, a museum piece of a forgotten war. Next to it sat a small, handwritten journal. It wasn't a ledger or a codebook; it was a record of the people they had lost. Arthur Thorne. Alana Thorne. Cassian Voss. And Julian. Elias opened the final page, where she had written her own conclusion to the Thorne legacy. The Obsidian Proxy was never a person, she had written. It was a transition. We were the bridge between the age of secrets and the age of accountability. We had to be the most dangerous people on Earth so that, eventually, no one would have to be dangerous again.

"Celine, I need your hands. Now!" I didn't have time for a slow detox. The infection was moving through their lymphatic systems, heading straight for the "seeds" of their power. I reached into the bottom of my kit and pulled out three obsidian needles, tipped with Glacier-Silver—a substance so volatile it could freeze blood solid if used incorrectly.