Original Pyramid Head Novels & Stories

"She... she didn't just bypass the link. She dissolved the server." The ship plummeted through a layer of clouds so dense they felt like wool. They emerged into a hidden valley, a jagged emerald scar in the earth that was invisible to radar. In the center of the valley sat the Cradle—an ancient, white-stone structure that looked less like a building and more like a petrified forest of tuning forks. "The Original Family didn't find this place," Panni said, her memory of the Panni archives finally clicking into place. "They built their world around it. This is the source of the Aconite Prime."

She fell to her knees gasping in pain. The giant did not look at her. It did not have eyes to turn. Its skull was a block of unpolished gray granite crudely chiseled into the shape of an old king's crown. Two narrow slits had been cut across the stone where the brows should have been. Through those gaps a dull unblinking purple fire flared and faded in time with the turning of the basalt cylinder in its chest.

The problem was the hips and legs of the body didn't match-up to the torso, arms, neck (or lack thereof) and shoulders. The upper, steroid-addicted half belonged to a two meter tall giant. The lower half belonged to, maybe, a subpar man of a meter and a half This monster didn't have a receding hairline (actually, he did); he had a receding forehead. In homo-sapiens, if you roll a marble off their heads, it drops and hits the eyebrows. On this guy, it was a gentle ski-slope all the way down.

"No one outside our immediate bloodline could have breached that safe." Elena stepped closer to the console, her emerald eyes scanning the retreating figure on the screen with razor-sharp intensity. "That coat... that posture... Adrian, look at the insignia on his left lapel." Adrian zoomed in on the video feed. Embossed on the stranger's coat lapel was a small, silver pin shaped like an inverted triangle intertwined with an open eye—the ancient crest of The Primordial Order, a mythical faction that corporate historians believed had vanished before the industrial revolution.

The pavilion building had its back to Zhou Fu and Shen Shen was located. The two of them swam quickly to arrive at the former ancient pavilion. And there they arrived, in an ancient pavilion with a roof supporting a lion's head. The lion's head had a long snaking mane of hair stretching from the center to the left and right of the pavilion roof.

I want to look at them, but I fear that their faces will strip off whatever gut it is that's keeping me here, and I'd run away in shame and hide in fear. "I pray that we show respect to the goddess!" The priest yells and the people succumb to his request, quieting down as he mounts the altar behind him and returns with a staff, a two-headed staff shaped like the head of a wolf and has a crown hanging in between each of its mouths. A gold and silver crown with diamonds crested around them and the same female head, like the pendants, carved in the middle of both crowns. They look ancient and priceless, like something worn or created by an ancient Greek god or something.

He gasped for air, his amber eyes wide and bloodshot. "The bowl," Kael rasped, his voice a dry echo. "Amara... the name beneath the throne." I looked at the base of my mother’s seat. It wasn't made of wood or stone. It was built from the skulls of the sixteen healers who had come before us. And etched into the center skull—the one that looked the oldest—was a name I recognized from the temple. Adaeze. The ground tilted. Adaeze hadn't been a teacher. She had been the first victim. The one who started the list.

The second it opens, it’ll squeal and summon the beast. “Odysseus, anything you can tell us about this hydra?” Ma asks while we gear up and scan the shadows for signs of life—or death. Odysseus hums. “The '50-headed hydra' doesn’t actually have 50 heads.” “Thank fuck,” Pop mutters. “Don’t celebrate too soon,” Odysseus says. “It starts with six heads. But each time one is cut off, two grow in its place. By the time Herakles killed it, it had fifty.”

Exactly two years and five days after the death of my father, Cain Alexander Deveraux was born. He had my brown hair and Adam's brilliant blue eyes. That, however, was where the similarities ended. Cain was born a Vampire, yet he was also still a Lycanthrope; a hybrid, as Dr. Zosak had called him. He was the first of his kind. Although he was certainly one of a kind, Adam and I raised him normally. We didn't know how else to. As he grew, he began to turn into one of the most temperamental people I had ever met.

He sensed his comrades tense, bodies on high alert. The silver figurehead emerged from behind a rock formation ahead, first a glint, then a full form: an eagle’s head, wings spread wide, talons sharp, merging into a lion's sinewy body and flowing tail. The rest of the vessel followed, the hull made of sturdy silver-colored wood only sylphs had access to. It was three to four times the size of their boat.