Sigils Supernatural Novels & Stories

Akira’s POV The red sigil throbbed like a heartbeat, each flicker burning into my sight. Even though there was some space between us, I could still feel its heat creeping across my skin, whispering sweet promises of destruction. I had come across symbols like this once, hidden away in my mother’s journals. Old magic. Forbidden stuff. The type that didn’t just harm the body—it twisted the soul. “Don’t touch it,” I cautioned, my tone sharper than I meant it to be.

A heavy tome sat open on a pedestal in the center of the room. Lucan walked to it, flipped the page gently, and stepped aside. “This,” he said, tapping the parchment, “is a soul-bind sigil.” Seraphina stepped closer. Her breath caught. It was the same symbol on her wrist. A spiral wrapped in jagged lines, marked in thick black ink. “The person who carries this,” Lucan continued, “has been marked across lifetimes. It’s not a temporary spell. It doesn’t fade. It attaches to the soul.”

He turned and jogged down the stairs. “What have we here?” Sigrid murmured opening a pot taken from Leighton’s tabletop. “I would be careful of those, if I were you,” Aislen cautioned. “Leighton’s… well, a warlock.” “Corpse dust,” Sigrid set it down pulling a face. “How macabre. We have not been properly introduced,” she added over her shoulder as she continued to rifle through the contents of Leighton’s workspace. “I am Sigrid Gulgane, Thaelen Gulgane’s first vampire child, and his first blood slave.”

“Then I’ll find a way to bring you back after.” For a heartbeat, the world stilled. Their breathing synced—the quiet promise of two souls refusing to yield. Then the ground trembled. The sigil on Soren’s chest flared, casting a blood-red glow that painted the walls. The sound of whispering rose again—soft at first, then multiplying, a thousand ancient voices murmuring in unison beneath the floorboards. The wood split. Dust rained down from the ceiling. From deep below, something massive stirred, exhaling a sound that didn’t belong to anything mortal.

Meguitte swallowed hard and continued down the hallway, stepping into the cool room, the light from the candles dancing to reveal that it was of a generous size with metal shelves fixed to the walls. Meguitte lit a bundle of dried herbs tied in string from the candle and dropped it onto the floor before taking a permanent marker and using it to inscribe sigils onto the walls and along the floor, murmuring in rhythm under her breath words that even Sigrid’s vampire hearing could not make out. Sparrow’s eyes never left Meguitte, tracking every movement, every motion, his expression that of a starved man. There was a flash, the sigils burning brightly, and Meguitte stepped on the burning bundle

he said. “I don’t know,” I said truthfully. “When I awoke and they were there…just there.” He took up a page and scowled. “These aren’t just drawings. “These aren’t just drawings. These are sigils.” I frowned. “Like magic?” Elias met my eyes, something like unease darkening his features. “Like warnings. I’ve seen marks like these on rogue corpses before. These don’t just mean war, Rain. They mean resurrection.”

I know now. “If you won’t end it, then I will,” Dagar says as I am deep in thought. Relentlessly, he rushes me, dagger in hand. It is as if slow motion has taken over. I slip past him, the dagger biting into my hand, blood spilling hot across my skin. I don’t flinch. My crimson‑stained fingers press against his forehead, crashing him down with all of my strength against the ground. Eyes closed, I summon the words etched into memory, the spell rising from my lips, and then I begin to carve a sigil on his forehead with my thumbnail. Within seconds, he is screaming, arms open, embracing the sky in overwhelming torment. A mystical gray mist leaves his body as if it were his soul leaving him. He

It's not the first time. “You can't leave. Master claims we're not responsible for the deaths here, so why was I attacked one of ours? He sealed my powers so why can other supernaturals detect my power? And most importantly, mystics don't eat each other, so what about me attracts them? What are you all hiding from me?” Before he can respond, a low hum cuts through the air. Then crack. Killian materializes midstep, sword drawn, his expression bored, but razor-sharp. “So this is who you were waiting for.”

"The Cigna? You mean the lost signature of the Silas guild? The mark of the Swan?" Julian felt a cold sweat prickle his neck. He had underestimated her. She wasn't just a reader of books; she was a scholar of the very craft he lived for. "I... I have read of it," Julian said, trying to recover. "A mark that indicates a piece is not just made, but engineered. A sign of perfect balance."

He heard a knock on the bathroom door that he had left open, he already knew who it was. -You found her- The wood of the door frame roared under his weight as he leaned back. -How did you know she was my partner?- He roared with his fangs protruding from his upper lip and his eyes glowing gold. -Don't think that I just sit at my desk to read papers and send them to you- Serguei was barely affected by his tone -Are you okay? The way you got in, it seems that your butt had been bitten- and now the one that was missing