Warped Sceptre Novels & Stories

It was the fabled crown, bequeathed by the Moon Goddess herself, an heirloom passed down through generations within the royal bloodline, destined exclusively for the queen. Elder William gracefully received the tray from the handmaiden, his attire adorned with a pristine white linen, complemented by a waist belt intricately woven with threads of gold and adorned with precious gemstones, symbolizing his esteemed status. Another elder handed him a weighty golden scepter, embellished with a magnificent diamond of substantial size. Known as the Staff of Scars, it was rumored to be crafted from the rib of a colossal wolf, with the monumental diamond said to embody the gaze of the legendary creatu

However, Minahil was adamant on having him wear her watch on his wrist. When she reached the venue, her jaw nearly dropped seeing the ravishing decorations. The hotel was looking as if it had been flooded by silver stars. Teenagers wearing combinations of black and silver were ambling here and there, making cheerful voices. She saw Tehreem in a corner with her groupies, looking beautiful, an evil smile graced her lips knowing what was to enroll for the queen bee. After a while of idly sitting there she took her car aside to park and then came out.

Stephen had already used me to secure his position as heir—I'd outlived my usefulness. "Good thing you switched out Bianca's guys, or I really would be missing some fingers right now." Rosetti grinned. "Just doing what you asked. But I heard you've been poking around Rosetti Industries' books lately?" My wine glass paused mid-swirl. His face broke into a dangerous smile as he stood and gripped my chin. The pressure was gentle, but the warning was crystal clear: "Remember why we're partners. It's about destroying the Ferraris, nothing else. Don't go where you don't belong."

She saved me. “Why do they want the amulet anyway?” Corvu looked at me strangely, “I keep forgetting you’re not from around here. Then you start talking.” Well, that was rude. “Orcs are more or less the only Daemonaria that have refused to live under the King’s new ruling. The rule being that there would no longer be wars between humans and Daemonaria, that we should live in peace. The King ended up creating a council with several Daemonaria on it to keep everyone happy. However, the Orcs still refused to accept the peace, they wanted the power to rule over the Skiora themselves. They don’t have a lot of capabilities aside from their brute strength, but one of the great sharmons predicted th

Chapter 159: The Shrouded Crucible The air within the primordial vault didn't merely burn; it screamed with a localized acoustic resonance that set the ancient violet alloy floorboards vibrating beneath Natalia’s boots. General Vane stood like a dark monument at the base of the central sphere, his fingers white where they clamped around the crystalline scepter. The oily purple starlight emanating from the staff’s tip cast sickening, spiderweb shadows over his pale features, twisting his fanatic grin into a ghoulish mask.

Then finally, it’s my turn. We close our eyes, and I chant, calling forth the sceptre which can turn any mortal into a deity. It requires four deities to agree and to summon the sceptre. It’s been thousands of years since any of us have had to call it forth. But desperate times call for desperate measures. I will need all the help I can get to defeat Thypon. Above my hand, glittering dark dust begins to form a black sceptre with a larger round red crystal. Once it’s finished, I slowly raise my hand and take it. The others lower their hands and step back.

They didn't speak, but the First Alpha handed me a Scepter made of Obsidian and Iron-Grain. "Feed the East, Twelfth," the First Alpha spoke, his portals of fire cooling into a steady, paternal warmth. "With pleasure," I said. I took the scepter and drove it into the starlight caravan, watching as it ignited the path to the next continent with the Un-Hungry Glory of the Sovereigns.

He sat on my bed, in full regalia, gone was the carefreeness he usually carried about him, replaced by an air of brutal efficiency one would expect from noble stock. His leather armor had been replaced with the plate mail he only wore during the Wild Hunt, a glossy Luna Moth green glass stronger than any weapon mortals could forge against him, including the Fae weakness of cold iron. If one stared at the plates long enough, they could just make out the spectral faces of those he'd slain in battle, souls forever bound in servitude to him until crossed the threshold between here and the hereafter. The Crown of The Dead, made out of the bones of his ancestors, sat heavily upon his spider-silk h

army like a winter storm through a dry wheat field. "Killian!" I screamed, my voice cracking. I didn't care about the stray arrows or the dying soldiers reaching for my ankles. My eyes were locked on the center of the chaos. There, standing over the rubble of the main gate, was a man I barely recognized. Silas Vane didn't look like a diplomat anymore. He was wearing heavy, silver-plated armor that looked like it had been molded onto his skin. In his hand, he held a new scepter...not the bone one I’d broken, but a massive, iron-bound staff that pulsed with a sick, oily green light. He looked like a king of rot.

she gestures, and the wind slams inward, pinning them in place “—are mine to break.” Bella’s jaw clenches. “You’ll have to do better than bad metaphors and secondhand magic.” The figure laughs, and the mask fractures around the mouth, revealing teeth like splinters of emerald. “You know nothing of my magic, child. But you will.” She unfurls her left arm, displaying a scepter of green glass shot through with veins of silver. At its crown, a shard pulses in perfect time with the storm above. The artifact is older than the stone circle, perhaps older than Cordiva. The runes along its length crawl and twitch, hungry for blood.