Novelas y relatos de Taph Fanart Forsaken

Given that forsaken are made of the chthonic essence of masters of Oribus, this was an easy fight for Thersar, Nexelex and warriors. That’s it. I had my fair share of fun in battering Denexus. Given that I don’t want to mar my palate with Denexus’ blood, I have pulled out Kris chthonic daggers and cut both of his hands in a quick motion. He fell to his knees, snarling and groaning. In yet another brisk move, I stuck both daggers in his chest. And the essence of Denexus was sucked in my kris daggers.

I approached the pedestal, heart racing, while Damien stood a few paces behind me, his expression unreadable. I hesitated, then reached out and opened the tome. The pages were filled with intricate symbols, archaic text, and sketches of creatures that defied explanation. As I skimmed the pages, I began to piece together a narrative of balance and chaos—a tale of an order that had sought to harness the raw forces of creation and destruction. The text spoke of a “Chosen Vessel,” a being who would carry the mark of the Forsaken and become a conduit for ancient power. It described a ritual of transformation, a dangerous process that could either elevate a mortal to near-divine status or condemn

Just endless darkness and the sound of the Puppet Master’s laughter echoing through my mind. “Do you see now, Sera?” its voice hissed, cold and mocking. “This is your fate. You cannot escape it. You cannot escape me.” I gritted my teeth, forcing myself to focus, to push back against the pain and the fear. I couldn’t let it win. I couldn’t let it destroy everything I loved. I closed my eyes, drawing on every ounce of strength I had left, and felt the artifact’s power stir within me, a flicker of light in the darkness.

The silence was a bit uncomfortable at first, and I didn’t even realize I’d spoken out loud when I said they’ve always hated me and I’ll never be good enough. Easton reached over and grabbed my hand, and I could feel his worry and confusion, so I knew he could feel my emotions already. ‘How does this person I barely know already seem to care more than my own parents?’ I think to myself. Kyra pipes up, ‘Because our mate is perfect and was created for us by the moon goddess. Our parents are just stupid.’

Mara asks as she gets up from her crouching stance and moves to my dresser where I see a tray of hot steaming tea. Nodding, I accept the cup of tea when she brings it to me, still shaken by the nightmare. “So we need to get you dressed for the ceremony,” I hear her say and her words jolt me. It's finally here—the day I bond with Kael Blackthorne, Alpha of the Shadowfang Pack and my mate. It's my Mate-Bond Ceremony. I gulp my tea and finish it in second, flinging my legs over the side of the bed as I stretch.

But it bore a tattoo—a sigil Maya had seen before, once carved into a drowned body the trench spat up during the first war. It read: > “Testament of the Tide-Forsaken.” --- They found the vault behind a curtain of sea-thread. A stone altar, overgrown with memory coral, pulsed at the room’s center. And resting on it: a book. No cover. No binding. Just pages formed from the stretched skins of those who’d survived too long underwater. Maya reached out. The book opened itself. No wind. No touch. Just will. Inside, words carved in bleeding ink appeared:

Then, out of the dark, a dozen figures emerged. They weren't Council Enforcers. They weren't wearing silver armor or carrying runes. They were dressed in rags, their hair long and matted, their skin covered in old scars and dirt. Some of them were half-shifted, their ears pointed or their teeth elongated. They looked like ghosts, thin and hungry, their eyes glowing with a feral, yellow light. "Who are they?" Rowan whispered, shrinking back toward a tree. "The Forsaken," Killian said, his sword clearing the scabbard with a sharp ring. He didn't lower his guard. "The outcasts. The ones the Council kicked out for being 'imperfect.' I thought they were all dead."

The man collapsed, blood soaking the stone as he extended a bloodied scroll. Keira rushed to help him while Aria unfurled the parchment. It was Thorne’s handwriting. Jagged. Rushed. A trail of smeared blood over the final word. “Don’t trust anyone. It was never just the Forsaken. –T” Her breath caught. The air in the room turned razor-sharp. Keira rose slowly, pale as ash. “What does he mean ‘never just the Forsaken’?” Aria folded the note with shaking hands. “It means someone inside these walls betrayed him.”

"I have to. Because if the worst happens, I need you to know that loving you was the greatest honor of my life. That every moment with you was precious. That I regret nothing." Tears stream down my face. "I love you so much it hurts." "I love you more." We hold each other under the stars, stealing what might be our last peaceful moment together. Then, at midnight exactly, the ground begins to shake. A massive crack appears in the sky—darkness bleeding through reality itself. And a voice that sounds like a thousand nightmares speaks: "I AM RETURNED. BRING ME THE SUPREME ALPHA WHO DARES CLAIM MY THRONE. BRING ME MIRA STONE, AND I WILL MAKE HER DEATH QUICK. RESIST, AND EVERYONE SHE LOVES DIES S

Looks out at Drevalon stretching before her. The sun sets. Twilight spreading across the mountains. Normal evening settling. Then Araya sees it. On the distant horizon. Where Drevalon borders the neutral territories. Where vampire lands begin. Something burns in the sky. Not fire. Not torch light. Something else. Dark flame. Shadow made visible. The flame forms a shape. Wings spread wide. Talons extended. Eyes glowing crimson. A bat. Massive. Impossible. Burning with dark fire against the twilight sky. The vampire sigil. The mark of Thornhaven. Announced to every wolf who cares to look.