Under The Skin Black Void Novels & Stories

I frowned in confusion but did what En just said. My eyes went wide as I saw a somewhat humanoid figure. It was massive and taller than any mountains I have seen. Its body was rotting and some of its flesh had fallen off. Its head was like a tree but withered and black goo was seeping out like sap from a tree. A large mouth was located near its abdomen, it whispered and howled incoherently, eyes dotted all over its body, some had rotted off while others were crying the same black goo that was seeping out of its head. The black goo pooled near its feet as it slowly turned into the miasma.

She rolled her eyes, "Now if you two are done acting like little boys, perhaps we should give our adult selves to stretch our legs. Where do we find the void sand?" Ironically it was Zinjo who answered the question, "We have a place filled with black sand known as the dead place, could that be what the book speaks of." Bathory read through the list again, "Listen to this: Void sand is distinguishable by its black appearance, it is exceptionally rare, and a holy person must forge the bottle." He pushed his spectacles back up his face, "We should assume no ordinary holy person will do. I think it will be someone who has suffered greatly and still worships at the temple and practices the tenets

The projections across the chamber walls glitched wildly before stabilizing again. When they did— the entire underground city fell silent in horror. Silas stood in the ruined streets above. But not fully. Dark wings stretched behind him across the burning sky. Black energy moved beneath his skin like living shadows. His eyes… God. His eyes looked inhuman now. Silver. Black. Gold. All shifting at once. The celestial spear above the city trembled violently. Like even the weapon itself recognized danger. The void’s voice echoed softly through the speakers using Silas’s mouth.

"This will become your final resting place, after the demons invade and enslave all if humanity. But you won't live long enough to see that happen." The obelisk pulsates faster and faster before it switches to a constant blue glow. The glow evolves becoming more solid than just light, before ultimately replacing the obelisk with a solid blue void. A large hand the size of two people emerges from the void, its skin looks like it has been severely burned. A second hand comes out, and together they push the void open wider. A large skeletal head with no skin or muscle slowly pokes its head through, with an eye still in its one socket and its tongue sticking out.

Every muscle in him tensed at once, his back arching off the ground as a strangled sound tore from his throat. “Hold him!” someone shouted from nearby. “I’ve got him,” I snapped, tightening my grip as he began to convulse. But even as I said it, I knew this was not something I could control. His skin shifted beneath my hands, the surface tightening unnaturally as something moved beneath it. Then it broke through. Black veins burst across his skin, spreading rapidly in jagged patterns that pulsed with a dark, unnatural energy.

They emerge from a hole in the ground, a dark and menacing opening that seems to be the very gate to the underworld. The Drider, an equally terrifying entity, accompanies them. Its appearance is a grotesque blend of spider and humanoid, with a body covered in dark hair and long, sharp legs that creak with every movement. Its eyes, a bloody red, reflect pure malice and an insatiable thirst for power. Together, Drider and the Skinning of the mind are the embodiment of horror, a sight that could chill the bravest of souls to the bone.

Ethan turned slowly, his black fur bristling. Ten yards away, standing in the shadow of an ancient pine, something was watching him. It was humanoid, but wrong. It stood seven feet tall, its limbs too long, too thin, disjointed like a marionette. Its skin was the color of charcoal, shifting and smoking as if it were made of solid shadow. It had no face. Just a smooth, black surface where features should be. But Ethan could feel it looking at him. A Void-Walker. The legends spoke of them. The Trinax. The Hounds of the Abyss. Creatures that didn't belong in this reality, summoned only by the darkest magic to hunt souls.

And everything stopped. A body lay in the center of the clearing. Arms spread wide. Legs positioned at angles that no living person would choose. The body laid out like a dark offering to the sky. But it was the state of the corpse that made my stomach turn. The skin had turned black. There were no bruises.and the body definitely didn’t look burned. But completely, utterly black like all life had been drained out of it and replaced with shadow. The flesh looked almost webbed, with dark veins pulsing just beneath the surface in patterns that hurt to look at directly.

It was the sound of the Void itself trying to speak through a human throat. "I'm here, Dante," I said, my voice shaking as I reached out to touch his arm. His skin was freezing, a temperature that shouldn't have been possible for a living being. I looked at his chest. A new mark was burning its way into his skin, right over his heart. It wasn't the Wolf of the Thorne line. It was a Void-Wolf—a jagged, light-eating sigil that seemed to writhe and pulse with a life of its own. It was a black hole in the shape of a predator.

The moisture in the air crystallized, frost blooming on the floor tiles in jagged, white patterns around her boots. Neoma’s cells screamed. Not with sound, but with the wrongness of the power. The Void woke up—not her, but IT. Something under her skin—hungry, cold, alive—clawed through her veins. The black veins on her arms flared, turning a thick, charcoal black that seemed to move beneath her skin like thousands of insects. She wasn't using the power; the power was using her as a straw to drink through. Her face went grey, her skin turning necrotic and translucent.