Valdemar The Arcana Novels & Stories

One of the most prominent rumors was that he sold his manhood to the devil in exchange for his extraordinary strength and to preserve his strength he sacrificed children and virgins to the devil himself. Veren did not know how true those rumors were. In fact, there was no way to confirm if they were true. He remembered the moment he felt Dymas’s dark gaze on him. While Vallezarii mocked their attempt at killing him, Dymas had stared with dark, intense eyes at Veren as if he could see what the king could not. And when the king commanded that the nobles could have their pick of them he had known instantly that he would fall at the mercy of the brave Arlankis warrior.

“Demika, hurry!” Demika doesn’t hesitate. She slams her hands down on Valentine’s chest, her magic surging through her fingertips as she pours every ounce of her power into the spell. Valentine lets out a bloodcurdling scream, his body convulsing as the creature inside him writhes in agony. Then, with a final, shuddering breath, the darkness bursts from Valentine’s chest like a black cloud of smoke, dissipating into the air with a hiss. For a moment, there’s silence. Valentine lies still, his chest rising and falling in shallow breaths. The creature is gone. But Chloe and Demika know this victory is temporary. The darkness has been banished, but not destroyed.

He was successful in clearing the sky but they all heard angry cry of Serenity and dark clouds gathered again. Valerina looked down where hybrids has rounded the woman who is dark blue like a venom, her long hair were swaying with the angry wind. She was looking like a demon. Sharp fangs are out which can tear anyone in half. Her growls were literally shaking the ground. Valerina gasped when she threw fire at Lucifer who tried to grab her. She wonder if Augustus can also threw fire from his mouth like his mother. "She won't stop until she finds Carlos"

With trembling, gloved fingers, Vespera flipped the thick parchment over. Glued to the second page were detailed architectural diagrams drawn in dark red ink, blood ink. They showed the subterranean catacombs deep beneath her childhood home, beneath the rose gardens where she used to play as a little girl. The diagrams depicted an inverted obsidian altar surrounded by nested binding circles, designed for forbidden blood-magic rituals meant to siphon the innocent life forces of Null children to artificially awaken dormant magic cores in adult nobility. At the bottom of the page was her father’s personal seal, stamped in dark garnet wax, alongside his sworn signature: Lord Anthony Vance, Maste

--- Part I – Beneath the Ember Vault Deep beneath the volcanic caves of Mount Thirell, past centuries of collapsed corridors and rusted glyph walls, a hidden chamber pulsed with forgotten heat. Red light licked the stone like a flame caught in slow time. A lone figure knelt before a relic bound in iron and bone: the Ember Vault. Its surface shimmered with wards half-melted, once meant to never be disturbed. But they were failing. The figure, cloaked in ash-crimson robes, removed her mask. Her name was Calren Voss, exiled archivist of Venara, now rogue prophet of the Red Circle.

His face was completely devoid of color, his dark eyes burning with a terrifying, absolute promise of vengeance. Victor Hale had realized his legal corporate trap was broken. He was dropping the facade of boardrooms and court injunctions, stepping into the dark where the real, dangerous climax of Arc 2 was waiting for us. "Get in the car, Nora," Damien whispered softly against my hair, his arms holding me tight against the cold rain. "It's time to finish this."

so she quickly dismissed it. Evelyn spent a long time in the palace's library, skimming through the books it contained on various spells, curses, and arcana. Spells created by demons are of course forbidden and untouchable black magic in the eyes of humans, in the past Evelyn, as a magus of the temple, of course had no access to them, she had only heard of mentally insane women who had accepted gifts from demons and then degenerated into witches using evil magic, she never imagined that what she was doing here now was not much different from the witches in the legend.

“A classic House Lysel trait.” Then, without theatrics this time, he said the name: “Damien Isadora di Valtor.” The room stilled. Elarion’s eyes narrowed. He didn’t speak. Didn’t blink. But something shifted in him—subtle as the drawing of a blade beneath a cloak. His posture stayed the same, yet there was a gravity to his silence that hadn’t been there before. Viorell noticed. Of course he did. He continued anyway. “He’s the only mage in recorded history to unlock all ten Arcane Veins. The rest? They don’t even reach the ninth. Even the most decorated archmages—still crawling somewhere around the eighth, if they’re lucky.”

the male Lycan warrior replied while Valoreth’s jaw slackened. They lost that many against a dying realm? His fist clenched, struggling to contain the new. But, that wasn't the main point. “You did wipe them all out, right?” Damaris asked. “Yes, my Lord,” the Lycan replied. “Then where are their heads? The devil-sisters?” “Arianna was already dead; the ouroboros took her body. We dug her grave and brought her skull instead. It's hung on a spike… we'll show you, my Lord,” the Lycan said.

“It’s not a demon. It’s not a god.” His eyes narrowed. “Then what?” “A remnant,” she said. “An ancient consciousness bound to the Crown to stabilize early magic in the realm. It feeds on imbalance. On fractures.” “And right now?” Damien pressed. She didn’t hesitate. “Right now the realm is cracking.” Inside the war chamber, tension snapped when Aria announced her decision. “You can’t be serious,” Lord Veyrin said, color draining from his face. “You would walk into a ritual site guarded by zealots?”