Seraphim Oc Novels & Stories

“No, Mathias, you need to listen to me. When I met Nevaeh, I was scared. I was scared of what I felt for her and what might happen to her if she entered my world. Since we’ve gotten here, you’ve experienced a variety of things that have shaken your world. But I have to tell you, you’re being an idiot.” My head snaps forward at his comment. Not a lot of people dare speak to me in such a tone. I’m Mathias Black, head of the Council. A centuries-old Seraphim who has killed legions. Giving Mikhail my most withering scowl, I manage to grit out, “I think you need to walk away, Mikhail.”

“This isn’t a hybrid. It’s an illusion of the gods.” “Model Seraphim. A mimetic. Capable of infiltrating any social structure. Irresistible beauty, programmed empathy, body language trained to mold itself to whoever observes it. Artificial intelligence integrated with magical psyche. It doesn’t just deceive — it enchants. It can assume the role of spy, messenger, confidant. It is the perfect weapon to destabilize governments… Or seduce key targets.” Sasha didn’t respond immediately. His gaze was sharp, but there was something more. A spark of fascination. Of distrust.

Numb the pain. I wanted something now, not to numb the pain though, but to wipe what I'd seen from my head. How could I lock away what he'd shown me? There wasn't a trinket box big enough to hold that horror. Behold the Seraphim , he'd said. Born of fire . The Great Winged Serpents. Caretakers of the Throne. Destroyers of the First. Changeless. Eternal . The Highest of the Most High . They are your gods. They are your saviours, your judgement and your damnation.

She looked pristine in her silk emerald robe—the color of the Blackwood Pack—while I was on my knees, smelling of bleach and old shame. "He sounds… in pain," I whispered, wringing out the rag until my knuckles turned white. "He sounds annoying," Seraphina corrected, rolling her eyes. She stood up, tightening the sash of her robe. The movement released a puff of synthetic scent—Rain and Vanilla. My scent.

Damien plugged the drive into his holopad and frowned. “Siberia,” he muttered. “Of course.” Ava narrowed her eyes. “This place Project Nephilim it’s not a lab. It’s a womb.” Seraphina was no longer just a prototype. Her pod had drained. She now stood upright, dressed in a thin, silver gown that shimmered like liquid mercury. Her hair fell in wet curls past her shoulders, and her eyes unnaturally large and silver-flecked glowed faintly even in the dark.

As the dancing and celebration was going on, Seraphina sat in a quiet corner. She could sense that this unity was about to be put to test. She remembered how she had come to know about her powers and her involvement in the prophecy. Seraphina had sat at the edge of the stream. She was barely 25, an Omega of the DarkMoon pack. She always loved coming to the stream. There was a kind of peace it gave her. It was very cold, almost snowing but she didn't mind. She just sat there listening. The water had always spoken to her. Today it whispered warnings, names, places, and secrets. It whispered something terrifying.

Alpha Gideon and Grace’s blood stained Seraphina’s feet as her trembling eyes remained fixed on the bleeding and unmoving bodies of the two most important figures in her life: the respected teacher who had guided her and the friend she had been blessed with. Ryker watched her pain with twisted amusement. “Looks like I’ve tainted the holy energy you were gathering for your ritual with this filthy blood,” he sneered. Seraphina lifted her furious eyes to meet his, and the sight of her made Ryker’s lips curl in a dark grin. “Now, those are the eyes that make me hard for you,” he chuckled, his voice dripping with malice. “The eyes that promise to kill me, but…” He paused, his smile widening. “Why

“Jerick is predictable. He’s driven by vengeance and pride. He’s building his force near the Forgotten Peaks, where the terrain is easy to secure but difficult to reinforce. A classic siege position.” I leaned forward, my knuckles resting on the edge of the console. “The problem is the Serpent,” I corrected, using the name Kelvin had adopted for her. “Seraphina is not a wolf. She doesn't have the instinctual flaws we rely on. We need her origin story. Where did she come from, and how does she know the rituals for siphoning Holy Power?” The vision Xian’na had shared—the beautiful, dark woman, the inverted cross, the cold intention to usurp the bloodline—had chilled me to the bone. This wasn't

Restore what was lost. You are the future of Aurelian House. You are the future of the dragons. And the ember remembers. I will be with you, always. Seraphine Aurelian

Aria jerked her head toward the sound—and froze. Her mother stumbled into view. Not radiant. Not ethereal. Not the glowing goddess she had appeared to be in the throne room memory. This Seraphine was shaken, wild-eyed, limping as she clutched a bundled cloth to her chest—a bundle that glowed faintly from within, as if a heartbeat of pure magic pulsed inside it. Aria’s own pulse stuttered. A baby. Her. Seraphine was splattered with soot, hair tangled and damp with sweat, breath coming in ragged sobs as she staggered down the corridor. A faint trail of silver blood dripped from her arm, staining the stone floor behind her.