The Death Of The Necromancer Mga Nobela at Kwento

said King Alaric. He rested his forehead on the back of Rania's cold hand, hoping he could still feel the warmth from this woman. Meanwhile, Pitter froze in disbelief at what his best friend and king had just said, even though Alaric had said there was a big conspiracy in his kingdom. He didn't know if it would be that big, the black magicians of the past. The great tragedy, maybe it will happen a second time this time. "Even so, Rania's body must be buried immediately. It's been over a week. She might rot away—" Pitter's words were cut off when a terrifying aura made the air in the room heavy.

Isolde whispered, her words dripping with a chilling finality. Elder Noble’s strength waned, and his legs gave way beneath him. He crumpled to the floor, gasping for breath, his life slipping away with every passing second. The last thing he saw before darkness claimed him was Isolde’s cold, unfeeling eyes, a silent reminder that within the coven’s shadowed depths, secrets had a way of being silenced, no matter the cost.

“Red, please. Don’t go. Don’t do this.” I looked up, seeking help. That was when my eye caught Xavier’s Lycan. That was when I realized Xavier, and his pack had joined us. We were now defeating the rogues, fury pumping into my men. With Abee dead, his pack fled in different directions. The young man who stabbed Ezinne was nowhere to be found. “Thank you, Malik. I wish you happiness and hope you will be able to break the curse,” Ezinne whispered for the last time and shut her eyes.