The Crimson Gardevoir Novels & Stories

I picture him outside in the snow, coat collar up, not looking back. My chest hurts. He was supposed to protect me, not trade me like a bag of coins. I feel small, alone, cold without his hand, even if that hand only ever hurt. We stop in front of one box. A small lamp on the wall gives dim yellow light. I look at the door. My breath catches in my throat. A crest is carved deep in the wood. Black wolf. Snow around its paws. Stars above its head. The Morozov crest. Even a child knows it. Even I know it.

Death draws me towards it like we have been attached with an unbreakable string. Maybe it's just a superpower in which I get the last chance to save the person in front of me or maybe it’s a curse. Particularly a Crimson curse, as I like to call it. Through the years the number of deaths I have seen is greater than my age. You would think that death doesn't affect me anymore. You are right to think that because that is what I had thought until 5 days ago.

Coated with black skin and eyes just as red and demonic. “Retreat!” Ascena calls out to all, her voice echoing over the chaos. There is no flight. There is only fight at his point. Crimson leaps in front of us, His fur form large and vibrating with rage. His fur bristles and his teeth gleam. Aimed at Senko. “Join me son, or meet your fate with your friends,” Senko says to Crimson. Crimson roars at his father. Challenging him when Senko’s shadows begin to overshadow him. Taking hold of the Grimalkin whose whole body begins to glow – fighting off the magic that is slowly going to kill him.

Raymond’s POV The first thing that struck me was the sound. The arena was alive with it—rolling waves of voices, cries, growls, chants, all mixing together until it no longer sounded like language, but like the roar of a storm. I stood just behind Jude’s platform, half-hidden in the shadows, clutching the railing so tightly my hands ached. The Crimson Arena was vast, carved out of black stone and ringed with fire that burned with unnatural colors—purple, green, and deep crimson. The flames licked upward as though they fed not on oil or wood, but on something living. The smell made me gag.

Phoebe I had never set foot in Dark Crimson before, and the moment our car passed through its front gates, my whole body tensed. The pack house rose like a dark fortress—nothing like the elegant Silver Claw manor or the clean-lined designs of Thunder Bite. This place felt ancient, heavy… dominant. The building looked as if it had been carved from one giant block of obsidian, with deep red accents running along each pillar like dried blood. The Dark Crimson banner fluttered against the gray sky—black and red, marked by a crowned Lycan sigil.

When Crimson entered the living room, she had several guards following behind her, two carrying a box each about the width of their torso and two more escorting a man with ginger hair and grey eyes in a light black robe. Crimson smiled at Walter, "I've returned with the boxes you mentioned and the mage who made them." Walter gave Crimson a warm smile as he thanked her, "Thank you, Crimson." After a few moments of staring at Crimson, Walter, noticing himself slowly getting lost in her eyes, snapped himself out of it and turned to the guards holding the boxes, "You two, place those boxes on the table in front of me and open them." The two guards placed down the boxes and removed the lids, reve

Crimson shakes his head, “Honestly they have much more talent than I did at that age. I can’t figure out how King Armand put up with me all these years. Even if I hid what I was for the longest time.” Crimson then leans forward, a serious look coming over his face. He takes a few minutes to gather his thoughts before he speaks. “The night before Tawny gave birth, she was visited by Chakor he told her the twin would be the immortal’s guardian. Of course, we didn’t know what or who that meant at the time, but now it makes sense.”

Crimson? I gasped loudly, realizing it's Raven.

Nevertheless, the sheer size and strength of the Crimson pack have made them a source of envy, resulting in a multitude of enemies. If it is amongst the other packs that hates their guts then it will not be of any surprise to me, I am eager to hear what the cloaked figure has to say. "Who is this pack you refer to, cloaked man?" I inquired. "The pack I speak of, Arnold, is the Arcade pack." The mention of the Arcade pack is not surprising; it is indeed one of the largest and most formidable packs, yet they pale in comparison to the Crimson pack.

“It doesn’t take a genius to figure out the key components. In fact, it was spelled out for us in the scrolls King Arman kept hidden.” I look at Crimson. He and Tawny had discovered the folder of documents in the palace wall one night. The discovery had played a major part in their relationship and so had Abner. Crimson sits listening, watching. His yellow eyes all seeing. It was his biological father that set today’s events in motion and it was his mate that beheaded him in one epic blow. No one knew, not even Kolby Crimson himself, the extent of his mystical magical. He was strong, fast, and could shift sizes and colors. He was attracted to magic and magic was drawn to him. Anything beyond