Possessed Hunter Novels & Stories

Trent said. Nick wanted to laugh, “The hunters no longer exist.” “Yes, they do. With the permission of the Council, I would like to take down this hunter.” Trent said hotly. Nick rolled his eyes. The Alpha of a pack was usually the most capable lycanthrope and since Nick had assumed that post, Trent had challanged him at every turn, trying to sway the council in his favour. Nick wasn't bothered, the only way he could lose his post was if he stepped down or if he lost a battle challenge to Trent, none of which was happening anytime soon.

"Jesse, what's been bothering you? I can see it in your eyes. Please, tell us." Jesse sighed, his gaze fixed on the dancing flames. "There are things you all need to know," he began, his voice heavy with emotion. "Secrets that have haunted me for centuries." We leaned in, our curiosity piqued. Jesse took a deep breath, steeling himself for the revelations that were about to come. "I am not just a vampire," he confessed. "I am a descendant of an ancient bloodline, one that holds immense power and a dark legacy." Gasps filled the air as we absorbed his words.

he reached out to greet Ann's father, Eljo Willow, and thought, ‘he looks familiar. Eljo took Wynn’s hand with a firm grip. “Willow, vampire hunter.” Eljo, being born with a special ability to seek out the dead, immediately felt that Wynn was half dead. Wynn tried to get his hand out of Eljo’s grip, but once a hunter’s sense kicks in, they were overcome with power greater than that of a vampire. In the hunting state, no spell or compulsion will work on them. “Dad?” Ann tucked at the father’s arm.

He seats himself on the chair in front of the table and the conversation starts. “We were actually hunting that yokai for some years now… You probably wouldn’t know the term ‘hunting’ here. Or do you?” “No. I do not.” “Okay. I’ll explain it in simple terms. There are three categories under which people or humans in general fall under… The cast, the off-cast and the hunters. Well, only if you’re out of your mind will you take the hunting route. My point being that the cast can interact with spirits, dead people, apparitions if they have not passed into the afterlife and they decide to stick around as a rumour. The off-cast are those idiots who can’t see these apparitions and they decide to us

“HE’S A FUCKING PREDATOR! DO YOU UNDERSTAND WHAT THAT MEANS? HE EATS MEAT! HE HUNTS HIS PREY AND KILLS IT! DO YOU KNOW WHAT YOU ARE? YOU’RE MEAT AND PREY ALL WRAPPED UP WITH A PRETTY BOW! FOR CHRIST’S SAKE, NATASHA! DO YOU HAVE A DEATH WISH?” I jerked away from him. “THE ONLY CREATURES IN THESE WOODS WHO HUNT ME ARE YOU GUYS!,” I screamed hysterically. I turned around and took off towards home. I didn’t stop running until I reached my porch. I put my key in the lock and tried to turn it. It didn’t move. I frowned and pulled the key out. I double checked that I had the right key, before trying again. Still nothing. I knocked on the door and waited for my mother to answer the door. She hadn’t

At the center, the Archivist floats, her body a conduit for the void, her voice a siren song erasing warriors mid-swing. The Hunter loads his gun. "You sure?" I cock the storm-gun. "I'm done running." We charge. --- **The Final Verse** The Archivist sees us coming. "*Fools!* You can't kill a god!" "We're not here for the god," the Hunter snarls. "We're here for the *priest*." He fires. The bullet tears through her mosaic face, glass shards scattering. She screams, the void in her unraveling. I aim at the rift above her-a pulsating wound in the sky. The static in me surges, merging with the storm-gun's charge.

And in that moment, the first Hunter was born. In the aftermath of the tearing, Allen Erickson didn't return to the football field. The golden boy of Asheville had been hollowed out, replaced by a vessel of cold, focused insanity. He spent his days in the charred husks of libraries and the hidden basements of occult bookstores, the ancient mage inside him guiding his hands toward manuscripts that would have driven a normal man to madness. He was studying, not for a degree, but for a genocide.

He's covered in an all black attire, his mouth and nose covered, leaving only his cold eyes that hold no emotion. Yup, definitely an assassin or... a hunter. The possibility of it being the latter clouds my judgement, making me suddenly feel weak in my knees, my eyes blurry. I'm having PTSD. No, no Ivy. Put yourself together, you have to make it out of here alive. There's a long blade in his hands. It's silver. It's definitely poisoned. It's a hunters blade. Experience has made me recognize it at one glance. My suspicion is right. He is a hunter.

He lifted his gaze and looked straight at all of us. “We are facing a god.” No one spoke. The silence felt suffocating. Finally, he continued, his tone firm and cold. “There is only one way to defeat him.” I already knew I wouldn’t like what he was about to say. “We must kill the host body he is possessing.” My heart dropped. Slowly, my eyes shifted toward Hunter. He looked like all the air had been knocked out of him. His face had turned pale, and fear filled his eyes. He shook his head slowly, like he was refusing to accept what he had just heard.

“We all know the only way hunters would have made it through that veil is if access was granted to them. And…” “One of us,” I sigh, feeling a migraine coming on. Luca and Nyra are right. Someone who has the power to scale through that veil unscathed must have helped them. And it cannot have been a regular pack member. It’s someone much stronger. “And how are we even sure they are hunters?” Nyra says, her hand reaching for a shirt on the floor before she decides against it, the look of disgust in her eyes. “I mean, it could be anything, right?”