Ten Shadows Technique Novels & Stories

The darkness loomed around them like a cloak. Sekhmet carried an old-fashioned torch he pulled from a hole in the wall to light the way. It was a bit theatric and unnecessary, considering vampires and werewolves alike could see in the dark. But it set the mood for torture nicely; causing shadows to dance across the walls. A bleeding.

But really, a good hacker had a million ways to make money, so he made it work. As we walked I grew more in awe. How the hell did he build all this? We came to a wall, this time he used a retinal scan to move a wall and we went down some stairs. I was surprised that it was this comfortably warm for how far underground we must now be.

(THIRD POV) Dr. Collins leaned back against the cracked leather seat of the taxi, her fingers drumming restlessly on her lap. The sky outside had turned a heavy, ominous shade of blue, the last light of the day smothered by thick clouds, and the streetlights buzzed to life, casting long shadows across the road. It was so much darker than when she had first left Ivy’s place; the hours had slipped away faster than she realized, and the creeping night felt like a veil of anxiety settling over her shoulders.

The substance hissed and pulsed, forming writhing, living blood shadows around his hands. "Do you see this?" Tharros murmured, lifting the writhing shadows closer to Vyr’s face. The blood dark shadow sizzled, dripping like acid. "This is me showing you mercy." He tilted his head, eyes gleaming. "If I let this touch you, it will eat through your skin like fire through dry bone. And trust me, I won’t stop." This was one out of his deadly shadows. The throne room felt smaller, the walls closing in as the shadows crept closer.

“Let them. We’re ending this tonight.” The old church loomed in the moonlight, its silhouette stark against the night sky. Sophie and Alex crept towards it, the weight of the journal heavy in Sophie’s bag. The air was thick with tension, every shadow seeming to hide a threat. They pushed open the creaking doors, the sound echoing in the empty space. The interior was dark, illuminated only by the faint moonlight streaming through the stained glass windows. Dust motes danced in the air, and the smell of damp wood filled Sophie’s nose.

I ask, pulling my hand out of the pocket of my jacket. He shakes his head with a grimace. "Blood, Andi. I see a lot of blood," "I meant about the crime," Clearing his throat, he amends his answer. "Strangulation, bondage around the wrists, and a whole lot of gunshots," I nod. "Whoever did this was pretty pissed off," "I'd say way more than pissed off, but yeah," "Detective Smirnov," someone calls. I turn to see one of the CSI techs waving me over. "Could you take a look at this, please?"

“Show it. Control your fear, or it controls you.” Avery nodded, stepping forward. The shadows writhed around her feet, forming jagged spikes and sudden swirls. She focused, letting her instincts guide the scythe. Every swing was calculated, every movement precise. She cut through one shadow after another, creating a path toward the corrupted mass.

Marcus's smile widened. I looked around. At the concrete walls, the broken skylights, the shadows that had felt so real. And then I saw it. The tiny camera in the corner. The green light indicating it was recording. "This is not real." My voice was hollow. "This is a setup. You recorded this whole conversation. My reactions, my responses, everything." "Very good." Marcus slow-clapped. "Though you figured it out a bit late. We already have what we need. Video of you acknowledging Declan's crimes. Audio of you discussing the contract and the manipulation. Everything the FBI needs to build their case against him."

The baton connected with the back of my neck, hard and final. Pain exploded through me, fast and blinding. My body gave in instantly, strength draining out like it was never mine to begin with. My knees buckled. The wall slipped away. Voices turned distant. Blurred. And just like that... Darkness took over.

Chastine was frightened for his life. “I’ll be fine. Poison don’t really work well against me.” Vigilantly panting, he continued, “they must’ve sensed the shadowcasting presence from before.” “H-how?” “Beats me. You should know co'z you’re a witborn, ah!” Juste winced from his other wound, a small shrapnel embedded in his left shoulder blade. He removed it, shaking and with effort. Shadowcasting is a taboo art developed by the fellhounds. It’s akin to the dark arts that bloodhunts are capable of.