Spare Me Great Lord Mal Novels & Stories

"I am Zephion. General of Shadows." Finally, the largest creature lowered its massive head, its voice a deep rumble that rattled Killian's armor. "I am Malakar. First General of the Eclipse. Leader of Nyxar's immortal armies." Killian tightened his grip on his glowing sword, his Alpha aura exploding outward in a brilliant aura of defiance. "Then I'll start with you." Malakar laughed, a horrific, booming sound. "Excellent answer, little wolf." Before anyone could make a single move, Seraphina reached the edge of the battlefield. She raised her glowing staff and planted it violently into the frozen earth. "Moon Goddess... hear your daughter!"

"Your Warlord’s reign ends here. Lord Malakor, if you please. Bring me the Alpha." ​The towering Vampire Lord, Malakor, stepped forward. He drew a jagged, serrated greatsword, his crimson eyes locking onto me. ​I tried to push Elara behind me, trying to stand, but she gripped my wet shirt. Her violet eyes were wide, panicked, and entirely unfocused. She wasn't looking at the vampires. She was looking inward.

Among them, threading through the haze like poison through veins, came a tone he recognized with bone-deep revulsion. Velis. That creature. That architect of kingdoms' deaths whose face had been seared into Caelum's memory during the siege of his homeland. The vampire lord whose armies had reduced proud cities to ash, whose casual cruelty had left entire bloodlines extinct. Yet now something was different. Warmth enveloped him—not the fevered heat of infection, but the solid presence of arms wrapped around his broken form. Strong arms that held him with infinite care, as though he were made of the finest crystal rather than merely flesh and bone.

It was named as such because of its apparently enormous body and dangerously sharp mouth. Sir Malieff was one of the more high-positioning regulars of the Red Grace Inn. Supposed to be a respectable from some distant republic, he approached Morante City and carried on with an existence of disengagement in a house close to the motel, refering to his contempt of battle as the fundamental for his leaving his country. He is a man who likes to gather peculiar and unconventional things.

He seemed to weigh his options like a man guessing the depth of a frozen lake before stepping out onto it. Valen didn’t move. He didn’t blink. And that stillness was more terrifying than rage. Malchor lifted his chin slowly. “All I know,” he said, “is that we have no High Lady.” The words hung heavy in the air. Valen’s expression didn’t change. “Then say what she is.” The demand was sharp now, each syllable biting. Silence. And then: “Your mate. Your whore. The one you bed—it’s all the same,” Malchor said with a shrug, like that was the end of it.

I'd been so stupid. "The baby isn't yours," I whispered now, tears streaming down my face as I looked at Damon. "I'm so sorry. I thought... I thought it was. But it's not. It's his. It's Malachar's." Damon's face went white. "Who the hell is Malachar?" Elder Morgana gasped. "No. It can't be. He's been imprisoned for over a thousand years." "Who is he?" Darius demanded.

"And finally, the blood moon has brought you back to the open field." Duncan stepped forward, completely blocking Malphas's view of Amora. He bared his fangs, his voice dropping into a dangerous, royal frequency. "You are trespassing on allied territory, Malphas. Step back into the dark before I tear your throat out." Malphas let out a deep, booming laugh that sounded like rolling thunder. He didn't even drop into a defensive stance. He looked down at Duncan with supreme amusement. "Duncan Alonso," Malphas sneered, his yellow eyes flashing. "The broken king of the South. You stand there with fractured ribs and an empty wolf core, pretending you can protect anything. You couldn't even protect

Myan remained where she stood, coming to the conclusion that none of this concerned her in the first place. Anukgo was bald and his long, white beard seemed to cover his nakedness as it stood where a garment should have been. He looked around him at the damage that had occurred and shook his head when his eyes landed on Minrad. "You have transformed the worlds into a game of life and death, forgetting your responsibilities as lord." He began. Myan felt comfort in his voice that left a trail of echo. This man sounded like a tired angel and she wanted him to keep talking.

CRACK! The ornate pillar shattered, sending fragments flying everywhere. The entire manor shook. Everyone cowered, terrified by the display of raw power. This was the true strength of a thousand-year-old pureblood Lord. Corvus lay in the rubble, blood trickling from his mouth. He struggled to look up at me. His eyes were filled with disbelief and fear. I walked toward him slowly, each step radiating absolute authority. "Now," I said, looking down on him. "Let's settle some old debts."