Orc Lord Novels & Stories

A mysterious figure emerged from the shadows, claiming to possess information that could shatter everything we had worked so hard to protect. This person, known only as The Oracle, possessed an uncanny ability to see into the future. Their predictions had proved accurate time and time again, making them a sought-after figure in the underworld. Rumors spread like wildfire about their powers, with some believing them to be a harbinger of doom and others seeing them as a beacon of hope.

Professor Damaris also said that every Summoner has a spirit animal who can protect and guide them. The Healing Caste is the sixth caste in the Olympus wherein people like Dr. Foster have the ability to heal and revive someone from death. If not so, others from this caste can create different kinds of potions—good potions to be exact. Professor Damaris didn’t elaborate on it because she said that I’m able to know it soon.

I had to move fast. I turned through the pages of the spell book with shaky hands until I finally settled on what I was searching for. “Thrakos, Demon of the Underworld, Lord of Hell,” I whispered, my fingers tracing the forbidden verse. “He who commands the forbidden flames of the devil's domain,” my voice grew louder, desperation etched in my eyes, "I call thee, Thrakos. I summon thee to the mortal realm. Kneel before–” The sound of thunder cracking cut me short before I could complete my words. The ground began to rumble and the circle I had engraved on the ground expanded outwards as dark smoke clouded the entire place.

Thaddeus asked, annoyed. "During my trip, I came across a very powerful amortal. Tales are told about him that he has the power of Hades himself, to call the spirit of the dead from the afterlife. I heard he even summoned the dragon king and commanded it to obey him." "Kur, the dragon king?" Augustus asked intrigued. "The dragon king himself, the most powerful to ever live. I also heard that this amortal had an invisible army to his name. They came upon their enemies like the air and eliminated them as the passing of the wind," she paused and watched their reaction.

“The Oracle.” The room fell silent. Lillian frowned. “Who is the Oracle?” Aedric’s jaw tightened. “She’s an ancient seer who lives deep in the Bloodwood. She knows the old magics, the histories lost to time. If anyone can tell us what you are—it’s her.” “But she’s dangerous,” Gregor warned. “And she doesn’t give answers freely.” Lillian set her shoulders. “Then we’ll make her talk.” Aedric smirked slightly. “Spoken like a queen.”

“Okay. I understand. But please Marley. Be careful. They know you’re out there.” “Who?” “The other Coven Leaders. You thought Korin was bad. If someone like Othello got you— Absinthe would not be able to do a damned thing about it.” Who the hell was Othello? I didn’t know a thing about the name, or who he was, or his importance. “Who’s Othello?” “Othello is the Lord of the Vampires.” “Absinthe is a Lord too.” I’d met Korin… he was a Lord, and other than being a creep, he wasn’t that ba—

I would’ve thrown myself into the fire without thinking twice. “So who is this… thing?” I asked, trying to steady myself. “Do we have a name?” Dorian’s jaw tightened. “Only a few call him by name, and even fewer live long after doing so. But the ones that do… they call him Orin. He doesn’t fight in the open. He plays from the shadows. Influences packs, poisons minds, creates chaos where there should be order. Lucian is just his latest puppet.” “Then Lucian isn’t even the real threat,” I said slowly.

The words hung there, thick and heavy. “By who?” My voice barely carried. “A warlock,” Marcus said grimly. “Not a rogue warlock. A very old one, from one of the forgotten bloodlines who once served the Council from the shadows.” His jaw clenched. “A man obsessed with power - and with creating what had never existed before.” I could barely breathe. “Why her?”

Her eyes, ancient and fathomless, were pools of swirling starlight, holding centuries of witnessed truths. Her voice, when it came, was not spoken but seemed to resonate directly in our minds, a chorus of echoes that chilled and soothed simultaneously. "Ronan, Alpha of Silvermoon. Olivia, the Lost Heir, Moonstone Alpha. You carry the weight of prophecy and the mark of ancient evil." My wolf bristled, a primal instinct to protect Olivia from such overwhelming power. I tightened my grip on her hand, an unspoken promise of defiance. "The shadow that consumes your kin," the Oracle continued, her gaze piercing, "is born of a corrupted bloodline, a twisted branch of the ancient Silverwood itself.

Amelia sat mesmerized as Elara spoke, her words weaving a tapestry of ancient prophecies and forgotten lore. The Oracle, a lineage of powerful women who held the key to the fate of the Lycan Kingdom, a lineage that stretched back centuries, was now her legacy. Elara explained that the Oracle's power was not just about seeing the future, but about shaping it. It was a force that could heal, protect, and even manipulate the very fabric of reality. But with such power came great responsibility, and a constant threat from those who would seek to control it for their own selfish ends.