Tale Of The Forsaken Mage นิยาย & เรื่องราว

Due to his necromancy, his once wavering soft voice grew dark and imposing – a must to perform the ritual of necromancy. Upon the call Merlin made, the pentagram on the forest floor expanded to the entire territory of the Forsaken Land along with the pentagram hovering his head. A barrier made of purple hue closed the Forsaken Land as the ground started to tremble. He repeated his chant, “I beseech you to rise from your slumber and heed my command! Stop all the winged creatures that dare to leave the Forsaken Land and bring them to me!” With his last call, creatures who were buried centuries ago started to rise from the ground, disturbing the eerily silent land of the Malevolent creatures.

Raymond turned away, blinking fast, unable to breathe. The relic opened. And the world cracked. The last fragment of the Forsaken King—what was left of his spirit, his hunger, his power—was torn apart by the ritual. Dragged screaming into the heart of the Hollow Fang. The black tendrils that had clung to reality clawed at the edges of the spell, trying to pull free, but the circle held. The runes held. Caitlyn held. She gave everything. The Forsaken King roared one last time, not with anger.

The thought came out in a shaky breath as I kept reading. Because werewolves were physically stronger and far greater in number, the mages were on the losing end. Even with their abilities, using magic drained them, making their powers almost useless in an active war zone. Which led some of them to seek out something forbidden… I paused as I turned the page, only to find it jumped to an entirely different creature. My eyes scanned it once. Then again. And that’s when i realized the remaining pages had been ripped out. A growl rose in my chest the second it sank in, and before I could stop myself, I grabbed the book and hurled it across the room.

She was powerful. I went ahead to explained everything to her. My life as Myra and how I was killed. Then how I woke up in the Lycan Queen’s body. The old lady listened intently, nodding occasionally. When I finished my explanation, she huffed, leaning back in her seat. “The ritual of the forsaken is compelling and dangerous. It requires a lot of magical energy and a forceful emotional catalyst. Someone must have wanted you to live badly.” she said and chuckled.

Corpses lay strewn like forgotten relics—mortals, celestials, beasts of realms unnamed—all silenced by the cataclysm that had torn through reality. Above it all stood Damien Isadora di Valtor, the greatest mage of the human realm. Cloaked in black and gold, with a crimson-lined mantle fluttering in the dying wind, he stood like a monument to both glory and ruin. His boots pressed into cracked stone that still glowed faintly with divine fire. His gloves, once immaculate, were drenched in blood—not just of enemies, but of comrades, of old gods, of things that no longer had names. His breath came in shallow, wheezing rasps, each inhale a reminder that he, too, was still mortal.

Magnus The world spun around me, a disorienting blur of sensations and memories. My body lay before me, possessed by the dark force of Gaius, the ancient sorcerer who had found a way to hijack my very essence. I hovered in the void, a mere spirit, a shadow of my former self, battling the oppressive presence that had taken root within my flesh. Each moment felt like an eternity; the struggle was relentless, the stakes unimaginably high. "Magnus, you can't win," Gaius's voice echoed within the confines of my mind, a sneering taunt that cut through my resolve. "This body is mine now. You are nothing but a ghost."

The tome had been in Draven’s possession for centuries, passed down through generations of dark sorcerers who had sought to wield its power. Draven approached the altar, his fingers tracing the intricate symbols etched into the stone. The tome’s pages rustled as if in response to his touch, and a faint, malevolent whisper filled the air. Draven’s smile widened. He had already found the spell he needed—an ancient curse that could wipe out entire family lines, erasing any sign of their presence. "This curse," he murmured to himself, "will ensure that Magnus and his family will be erased from history. Their legacy will be nothing but ash."

Dark magic indeed, but I had come too far now to falter. With an apologetic whisper to any watching ancestors, I poured the substance across the safe's surface, completing the blasphemous ritual step-by-step just as Fox commanded. The engraved dragons appeared to twist and grimace in the flickering shadows. An agonizing minute crawled past. Then the sealed door swung open silently on oiled hinges. Shock rooted me in place briefly before I darted inside, scanning the shelves frantically. There, dusty and unremarkable - the Book of the Forgotten. Lore banned for the prophecies of chaos it contained. Exactly as promised.

If her foster family discovered that she had sneaked out, they would hang her upside down by the foot. "Oh no, I have to go home," she said again. "No, we're this close, and I need you to read the grimoire," Vasilisa said. "What?" Cassandra said. "Isn't that your manuscript?" "For all I know, this is a strong spell I can't break, but you have the power of seeing, don't you? You must help me. I am weak without..." "Your wand, yes, I get it." Cassandra put her hand up. "But I can't stay here anymore. I seriously need to go back."

The first Alpha—dishonored, mocked—yet still bound by blood to defend his claim. And all of it, built on a mistake. His mistake. who in the hell made these laws? Will Varyn ever let this go? No. His pride is a noose, and I am the rope. Already, his packs stir. They called me unclean, they demand blood. Between them, they will crush me, and with me, Rauth. And worse—what if the Moon Goddess herself turns her face away? If she withdraws her blessing, if the bond between us is judged blasphemy, then Rauth and I might lose everything.