Sigils Supernatural Novels & Stories

He sucks in a retort and sniggers at me, "You really don't know it, huh? Let me enlighten you, brother." He adopts a wry cunning front that agitates me as he taunts, "The sigil is what we Vampires imprint on the flesh of our chosen life partner. It happens only once and makes the owner of the mark bound to the marked." "Tell me you've felt the manipulations of the magnetic pull, and you've been going back to her without reason." Is this dude being real right now? I'm taken aback by the rubbish he spouts and I give a laugh to debunk it. "You try hard, don't you?"

Their arms dangled uselessly below them, fingers twitching with the last remnants of nerve impulses. Blood dripped from them. Slowly. Steadily. Endlessly. It pooled beneath them in shallow basins, and from those basins, channels carved into the stone floor carried it outward—toward sigils. Massive sigils, drawn in crimson, pulsing with an unholy light. Blood magic. Someone was crying. A man, somewhere in the shadows, begging for death in a voice so broken it didn't sound human anymore. "Please," he wept. "Please, I can't—I can't anymore—just let me die—"

Suyi thought that the beast she would be fighting was the same as the ones she had fought for the past few minutes. But it seemed that she was doomed to fail the very first mission she took. Although souls can no longer die except being dissolved to nothingness, against a beast, they could be captured and trapped as a source for their power. It is either you kill the beast, or the beast will suck your soul away. Right now she is fighting a beast called Cerberus, it is a giant 3 headed dog, they are strong creatures but they are not rare individuals, unlike unicorns or phoenixes and faes.

"Oh yes, I forgot. You're a seer." "I'm not a...oh well...never mind..." Cassandra tried not to roll her eyes. She had had enough of this world and was desperate to find somewhere familiar even if it was a place where she had to put up with her seed-eating aunt and uncle. A long walk later, the sorceress stopped them. "Wait," she said and turned to the wall where two large marble statues stood about ten feet tall. They were of a bird with the head and torso of a maiden called the Sirins. Cassandra knew them from her literature class in Eastern Slavic folklore.

I interrupted, tightening my grip on his arm, “she is not a threat. Not yet. She is a wounded soul, caught between worlds. And it is our duty to guide her before the darkness consumes her completely.” He searched my eyes, and I saw a flicker of doubt before it was replaced by resolve. “Then let us find the sanctuary and learn the truth, no matter how painful it may be.” As dusk settled over our territory, I found myself alone in my study, poring over ancient texts and maps. The sanctuary lay deep in the northern wilds, hidden by treacherous terrain and guarded by those who refused to let the old ways die. I traced my fingers over faded inscriptions and diagrams of the Sigil, trying to deciph

This evening, the spirits were insistent, repeating a name that resonated like the toll of a distant bell, one she could not recall ever hearing before. With an air of quiet determination, Autumn leaned forward, her voice barely above a whisper, “Show me.” In response, the Book of the Veilwalker sprang open with a sudden rush of air that extinguished each flickering candle, plunging the room into darkness. As the darkness settled, a sigil materialized on the page—unfamiliar and intricate, spiraling sharply and glowing faintly with starlight. Below it, an ancient script began to etch itself onto the paper:

I asked, urgency tightening my voice. She nodded once, jaw set. “Yes. The sigil acts like a latch. I can use it as a pivot to pin the spell in place long enough to follow the thread back to its anchor. But it’s his mark; it won’t be long before he realizes we’ve touched it. So we will have to act fast. We will only have a few hours.” I drew in a breath, feeling that slow, cold surge of rage. “Let’s touch it.” Sybil closed her eyes and, as if to steady herself, inked a thin protective circle around the burned sigil with the tip of her forefinger. She whispered the words to lock the pivot, the map humming as if a dozen bees were nearby.

“Feels… unnatural.” Bryan’s gaze narrowed. “It’s holding its breath. Something’s here.” I nodded, drawing on the Warrior’s guidance to calm the quickening rhythm of my heartbeat. My claws flexed beneath my gloves, a subconscious preparation. The sigil wasn’t just a marker. It was a call, a lure, a message carved in the very essence of the forest. Whoever—or whatever—had left it was waiting, and the blood pull was the thread that tied me to them.

she said. “I know,” Tristan replied grimly. “It’s the sigil of Her Silence.” Yvette blinked. “What the hell is that?” “It’s a title,” Tristan explained. “A designation used by the Network. They name certain entities. Not ghosts. Not demons. Think of them like... echoes that became real. Forces that get stronger the more people try to forget them.” Yvette paled. “So what does she want?” Tristan flipped the page. Beneath the symbol was a crude drawing—almost like a cave painting—of a woman with no mouth, holding a child by the shoulders. The child’s eyes were glowing. The woman’s hands were claws.

Celine was down, bloodied and broken, but her hands clutched the altar stone like a drowning soul grasping the edge of the underworld. And then her mouth moved. A whisper. No louder than a breath. But the altar listened. The sigils flared black, not the white flame of the old gods, not the gold of queens reborn, but ink-dark, corrupt, hungry. Tendrils of shadow slithered up her arms, into her mouth, her eyes. Her back arched with a silent scream. And the altar gave her power. I growled, taking a step forward, but I was too late. Celine rose again.