Warlock Apprentice Novels & Stories

I asked them once they all managed to sit down again. Oro's hands shook as he took a book from the table in front of him and opened it. He coughed and arranged his collar a little bit. A nervous tic. "Emm. My King and Queen" he started "since we realised about the prophecy many years ago. We have actually had several special wolves who dedicated their lives to the cause, investigating any shift in the balance of the realms. And that way would be able to inform us of any change in case the prophecy came near. We do not know if we have an enemy yet, we do not even know if there is an enemy.

With his skill set he could help create a new army. The aura in the room shifted. The Death Flock assassin stepped on the white carpet swirled with flowers, and his leather tightened around his chest. "You aren't human, so the rules don't apply to not touching you," he smirked. "Oh my god," Christine muttered. Whether it was to her father being a warlock or the deathly heavy power radiating from the assassin, I wasn't sure. Either way, we were all stunned, not realizing that this man, this warlock before us, was indeed a magical entity.

A rush of disbelief and awe crashed through me. “These old, withered bones are not keeping up as they used to. Taking you to the summit will let the world know that witches will not weaken, even if I am not as strong as I once was. It is time to show them my beautiful granddaughter, my heir, my apprentice.” Her eyes gleamed like iron under firelight. “You will soon become the High Witch. And now, Hana, is the time to start building allies. As I fear…” Her voice lowered, almost to a whisper. “War is upon us.”

With a snarl, his form began to shift—bones cracking, muscles stretching, fur sprouting along his arms and neck until his wolfman form towered over her. Her spell faltered as he wrapped his arms around her, trapping her in an unyielding hold. The air around them trembled with power and fear as the warlock’s portal began to swirl open behind them, its dark energy rippling like a storm. Out of nowhere, several shadowed figures emerged from the trees—Rett’s hidden men. They lunged at Alpha Abner and his guards, blades clashing, growls echoing in the night. The sound of battle erupted around them as steel met steel and sparks scattered across the dirt.

When you stood with an alpha who chose ambition over basic decency. The second wave hit me two hundred yards into the territory. These weren't just warriors. These were specialists. Magic users casting spells from protected positions. Archers with silver arrows aimed from rooftops. Rogues hired as mercenaries, all of them desperate and dangerous in the way only those with nothing to lose could be. The first spell hit me, purple witch-fire designed to burn through supernatural defenses. It splashed against my Ghost Wolf power and evaporated, my silver light consuming the dark magic like it was nothing.

The night brought darkness into Enrilth Castle, and only the light of the fireplace helped him to see the warlord’s pleased face above him, his strong arms gripping his waist. He did not understand much of it before, of the feeling he got when Alarick was away, of the warmth seen in the warlord’s eyes when he looked at him, or the pure pleasure he felt when he was touched where no man should be touched. That’s when he knew what Dalli meant. The real meaning. Dalli meant whore. At least for him, that was his place. A warm body for Alarick to sink into. And that’s how a Dalli makes a Warlord a happy man.

while Warren rushed towards the man to save the damsel in distress but the envisioned rescue was cut short as Warren fragmented into pieces like a bloke of ice made into ice cubes. "Life Return" a tiny voice sounded and Warren reorganized into piece again under the cast spell. But it visibly took a large toll on him since beads of sweat were flowing down his face and he was coughing out huge amounts of blood. Warren was injured and weakened as the spell he cast was surely not without a price. Life Return it seems was not an easy spell to cast. "A life warlock. Fascinating," the man mused friskily at what he saw. Warlocks are those experts that do not follow the standard road to immortality.

Usually, I rely on my wolf to maintain balance, but today feels different—the power coursing through me is too potent to be quelled by my wolf alone. Male warlocks are traditionally expected to have found their mate by the age of 18, allowing them to share the burgeoning power within them. However, my situation is far from typical. When I turned 18, my mate was still just a child, too young for our bond to be fulfilled. I've had to bide my time, waiting for her to mature so we could finally unite as mates. It's a precarious existence, one that should have ended long ago if not for the resilience of my wolf side.

“What I do know is that when I was a very young mage. The best that the King had before Warlord, the King asked me to design a containment spell. I did.” “What did the spell do?” “Reduced a creature’s size and appearance to allow it to be kept within a chambered jar.” “Soon after that, Warlord came to be his Commander.” “What did the King use the spell to capture.” “I’d love to know.” Hawk shook his head in wonder. “But there’s rumors he keeps the sacred jar in his maze of chambers within the walls. Somewhere Warlord can’t sense it and can’t track it because of the dampness of the inner walls.”