Slayer Black Magic Novels & Stories

The distinction between a warlock and a poison witch doctor was that a warlock practiced a specific type of sorcery called black magic that originated in Southeast Asia. Black magic was a hybrid of witchcraft and curses designed to retaliate against specific people. Smack! "Damn it!" Chancellor Snyder slapped the table, frustrated. His entire body erupted in golden light, and behind his head appeared a crown-like halo that resembled the sun. That happened in a flash, but it reminded Chad of who the chancellor really was—Micah Snyder. Chad had learned that name from Grayson. Micah was once one of the ten most powerful warriors who fought in the battles beyond the sky.

Still, while it didn't show outwardly, he was known for his treachery and was not to be trusted. After all, he bore the curse of lycanthropy from Zeus himself; a punishment meted out when Lycaon killed and served his own son as a meal for the gods. “Lilith, Lycaon,” Paoli greeted the Coven heads and bowed formally once they were situated before the dais. “Paoli, it's been a long time since you came before Us,” Lilith purred, using the plural form to represent the entire entity of the Coven.

Matthew was interested. “I’m sure you can sense it too. That guy has two auras circulating in his body. One of them is something I am familiar with. It’s what’s called black heart. It’s not an actual heart that pumps blood, rather it’s a spiritual heart. Such a thing can be conjured with complex black magic. But what he has is not something like that.” “Meaning?” “Black magic is already very complex compared to normal magic. To pull off a complex one requires decades of studying and a crap ton of mana. His black heart is artificial.”

Ready to kill. He has shifted, a hulking nightmare of fur and shadow. The wolves nearest him scramble backward without meaning to. "You dare..." His voice comes out half-human, half-something-else entirely, and the fury in it is so complete, so absolute, that it warps the word into something almost unrecognizable. He lunges and thrusts a clawed hand forward, a jagged lance of black magic screaming toward my spine. It’s a killing blow, a strike meant to turn my heart to ash.

The air around her crackled with raw power as she turned back towards the attackers, her fear morphing into a blinding rage. With a scream that seemed to shake the very foundations of the house, Aqua unleashed a torrent of dark magic. The energy exploded from her, a violent wave of force that knocked the witches off their feet. The room was bathed in a sinister glow as the dark magic tore through the intruders, their cries of pain mingling with the howling wind.

his voice taking an even scarier tone as he got up and dark clouds poured out of his hands, floating around him. Dread pooled in Soraya's eyes as she struggled to keep her emotions in check. Black magic, she realized with terror. This was her first time seeing him like this. Alwin was an old wizard who was like a father figure to her. He had taught her everything she knew about witchcraft after he had taken her in when she was lost and wandering decades ago. He had always talked about how the witches and werewolves used to live in harmony. This fueled Soraya's hopes when she learned about the prophecy. He turned to her, letting down the hood of his cloak. Soraya let out a silent gasp as she

Just then, his advisor appeared, his eyes glinting with malicious intent. He raised his hands, dark energy crackling at his fingertips, intending to use black magic to subdue me again. But I was ready. Fisher’s preparations had rendered the magic useless against me.The advisor’s eyes widened in shock as his spells fizzled out, harmless. With a snarl, I leaped forward, my claws slashing through the advisor’s defenses. My powerful jaws clamped down on the advisor’s neck, crushing it with a sickening snap. His lifeless body fell to the ground, his dark magic silenced forever.

​With a definitive, violent twist of her torso, Elara refused the dissolution. ​She drew upon the absolute pitch-black ink she had siphoned from the mountain's roots, the raw, rebellious grease that existed before the High Council ever imposed their rigid layout. The black energy erupted from her skin in a jagged, radial shockwave, the sheer concussive force of the dark magic shattering the gold master-slugs into a shower of harmless, glittering dust that hissed as it fell into the white rivers below.

“Merchants like that are only found in the black markets.” My brows furrowed. “What? Why?” “Because their warriors are more than just slaves. I mean which slave would not escape when offered a chance?” The man’s voice dropped, his eyes flicking around to see if anyone other than us was watching. “They are made with black magic.” “Black magic?” I asked. “Yes.” “You don’t suppose any werewolf would gladly throw his life away to fight a war that has nothing to do with him or his family. Do you?”

​The heavy oak doors of the dressing room were violently slammed open from the outside, the wood groaning under a massive impact. ​In a fraction of a second, I snapped my hand down, forcing the ancient blood magic back into the deepest recesses of my veins. The swirling black energy dissolved into nothingness, leaving no trace behind before anyone could look close enough to notice. ​Lysander strode into the room.