Romans & histoires Taph Fanart Forsaken

Darkness then swept forward, seizing me like a tidal wave. Unseen POV Isabel shifted in the cellar, her lips parting as if to speak, but the drug kept her still. Beyond the racks, an unseen presence lingered, silent and patient, watching and waiting. From the top of the stairs, the figure watched with a faint smirk tugging at the corners of her lips. Below, Blake Rasta teetered unsteadily, the pack’s infamous drunk, eyes wide and unfocused. A soft whisper floated down, urging him forward.

If Kai kills them all, there won’t be anyone left to question, we’re not even sure if they’re of the same kind – or human. It has been hundreds of years since another human has set foot on the Faroe Islands, their ancestors first landed in the Middle Realm before tribes and packs were formed, they had built a barrier used from the few materials and objects from their lost realm that still held ancestral powers, giving them the ability to create a barrier to shield the islands from human-eye. If it’s not humans…it can only be our kind. The forest falls eerily silent, all noise of fighting and struggle has gone as if it were never there – other than the foreboding sense in the air.

I feel Freya take over all control as I fall into the back of her mind. What the hell is happening? What does she mean we are the descendents of the moon goddess? I feel Freya pushing me all the way out of earshot in her mind, falling into nothingness. I feel sleep taking over as Freya lulls me to sleep. Not fighting it at all, I fall into a quiet sleep. Talon Pov

Light surged upward. Runes flared fully for the first time in centuries. Plot Thirteen awakened. “You will work here,” Inferno said to me. “With Seraphine. With Eldric. You will recreate the bloodcraft.” Fear tried to rise. And failed. “I will,” I said. Not because I was unafraid. Because I was chosen. Far off, a bird chirped sharp and alert. And somewhere beyond the Haven’s borders, something old felt the awakening and turned its gaze toward Lake Tahoe. The war had not begun. But the foundation had.

Her scent had been masked with wolfsbane and bark oil to hide the smell of the allied packs. Now, at the edge of a cliff overlooking the valley, she saw it. The Sanctum was unlike anything she expected. Built within the broken bones of an abandoned fortress, the place had been transformed by the Hollow Fang cultists. Blood-red banners draped across crumbling towers. Carvings of twisted wolves snarled from the stone. The largest spire bore the symbol of Tharok—three jagged claw marks through a blackened moon. Torches burned with a green flame, casting a sickly glow over the snow-covered earth. In the central courtyard, dozens of young wolves knelt in formation, listening to a hooded figure st

returned from shadow-walks smelling of nothing absent, scrubbed from existence and only partially restored. I tore through the final shelf in the archive with desperate fingers, scrolls cascading to stone. My torch flickered, throwing wild shadows. Then I found it: ancient scrolls bound in flesh-string. The parchment crackled like dry leaves as I unfurled them, forgotten language spilling across the surface like dried blood. "Realm of the Forsaken," I whispered. A cursed dimension where guardian spirits who broke their oaths were cast, starved of light, sealed with sorrow. I hesitated briefly. What mother would not risk damnation to save her children?

“You think he wrote something else about the Forsaken?” “He knew more than he let on,” Nicola replied. “I just need to find it.” Finally, she came upon a passage that caught her attention. The page was heavily annotated, the handwriting sharper and more hurried than usual. “The creation of Forsaken is not random - it’s deliberate. A corrupted energy source fuels their transformation, but it requires a willing participant to guide the process. Look for the signs of manipulation, the whispers of betrayal among your own.” Nicola’s heart skipped a beat. “A willing participant…”

The warmth of the evening air turned cold as Serena stared at the symbol seared into the paper—a jagged moon bleeding black ink, surrounded by thorned runes. Her fingers clenched around it involuntarily. The Forsaken. Once thought annihilated, they were little more than whispers in the dark, monsters parents warned their children about. But Serena knew this wasn’t folklore. It was real. The mark pulsed with the kind of malevolent energy that couldn’t be faked.

He spat out angrily and stood up, moving just a few inches away from me. "Say hi to the Devil, bitch." I saw him raise the dagger in the air and close my eyes tight before I was thrown into pitch darkness of nothingness. **** The loud howling of wind is what pulls me to consciousness. I let out a small groan as I gently rose from the floor, brushing off the sand from my left cheek. I took a step back and fell to the ground, placing my hand on my chest as the loud, scary rumbling of thunder filled my ears.

Watching him bruised and swollen gave me a grim sense of satisfaction. After Tara passed away, I decided to cremate her and bury her ashes to rest. Tears slipped down my face. 'I'm sorry, Tara. I brought you into this world but couldn't give you a healthy body. You suffered so much pain. I hope you'll be happy and healthy in your next life.' With a heavy heart, I turned to leave, but I saw a familiar figure. Nicky stood there in a wrinkled black suit, her eyes bloodshot and face haggard. It was clear she hadn't been well, though that did not concern me. It was, in fact, somewhat satisfying.