Witcher 3 Devourer Blood Novels & Stories

it replied, and the ancient bitterness in its voice made the hairs on my arms rise. My father immediately stepped forward, and the ground trembled beneath his feet as he raised one hand toward the creature. “Enough,” he said, his voice carrying across the sanctuary with a force that made even the flames along the walls flicker. Silver energy burst from his palm and struck the Devourer across the chest, sending it crashing through a broken pillar. Dust filled the air as stones fell around us, but the creature rose again almost immediately. It wiped dark blood from the corner of its mouth and looked at my father with a smile that made my stomach twist. “You cannot hide it from her anymore,” it

The Earl shrieked in wonder, "You call her a maiden! She is no maiden. She's a thief! A mercenary, unbelievable thief!" He continued barking while he walked backwards away from them, "She handed her drink to the Earl of Vetcom, said things too daring for any normal Scottish woman and stole food. You would not call such person a mai…" He found himself staggering suddenly, noticing he was just at the edge of a ditch, one he didn't notice because he was too busy shouting. While he found himself falling into it, a hand quickly gripped around his hard and tight. Gently, that same hand pulled him up, straight back to his balance. And it was the devil herself.

Blood smeared the floor—someone had already tried to come through. Ayra stepped over the body, picked up a fallen handgun. Fully loaded. Sleek. Hers now. The house was war. Lucian’s silhouette blurred past a doorway up ahead—tall, fast, brutal. He rammed someone into the wall hard enough to shatter plaster. A second attacker tried to flank him. Lucian spun, yanked the man’s arm into an unnatural angle, and slammed a knife into his side with surgical precision. Ayra didn’t wait for clearance.

Wolves collided with the shadows of those wings, thrown across the room as blood and instant death erupted. Vivica froze, eyes wide, her chest rising as she watched the devil himself descend upon them. The dark blue aura surrounding him pressed against her burning skin, sending a thrill along her heated skin, and desire, through her. All the rumors about him turned out to be true. He was the Devil. The real Devil. Finn stepped forward deliberately, each movement slow, lethal, deliberate. He stopped just in front of her, the room now deathly silent except for the beat of her pulsing heat.

"Those animals were kind to us because of your command. That helped us gather experimental data and maintain the Potters' position in research and business." I sucked in a cold breath and spoke through the pain, "Aunt Wendy is gone now, and the wolf pack has been harmed. I'm not staying here anymore." "It's all my fault, May. The Potters can't be destroyed by Noah's hands! I'll expel Noah and forbid anyone from helping him. Please stay, alright?" I spat out blood and touched the bone flute on my neck calmly. "Ava made a bone flute with my wolf mom's blood and bones. Go beg her instead. After all, Noah said she's a hundred times better than me."

Hope spends the next two hours in the library with Connor, surrounded by ancient texts that smell like decay and forgotten knowledge. "Listen to this," Connor says, reading from a leather-bound grimoire. "The Devourer of Worlds—entity classification: Elder Hunger. Requires thirty blood sacrifices arranged in a pentagram formation. Upon summoning, consumes all life within a hundred-mile radius before returning to its realm." "Cheerful. What else?"

A straw for it to drink through. Nergal shouted something from the balcony—a command to fire, to crush, to kill. The sound was muffled, like I was underwater. I leaped. I didn't aim for the hydraulic claw holding Viggo. I didn't aim for the Barzil-steel legs. I aimed for the chest. The Devourer raised its free arm to block me. It was a slab of reinforced metal thick enough to stop a bunker buster. I didn't hit it. I didn't break it.

I felt the itch on my body but I didn’t experience shifting during the blood moon. I finally found Alarick, who was still drinking his beer. “Alarick.” I tapped his shoulders as he is now immersed in the moon’s energy. “What is it?” I saw his eyes turn from bloody red to silver. He is absorbing the power of the moon. “Y-you need to see this.” I led the way and started running back to the cell. When both of us entered the dungeon, I immediately opened the door and was confused by what I saw. “Is that?”

Immobile. “Sounds like you couldn’t find an easy female, so you had to buy one,” she giggled. Gods, her laughter was sweet music to my ears. “That’s kind of pathetic. Don’t you think?” She reached up on her tip-e-toes and bit my bottom lip. She tugged. One of her fangs sliced through my lips. The pain was brief and heavenly. “Woman,” I growled at her. “Ansley the Devourer of Souls.” Her lips curled into a devious smile, and utter wickedness washed over her delicate features.

They met in the ruined birthing chamber deep beneath the palace: a circular room of black stone, walls etched with fertility runes now cracked and bleeding. Morven hobbled in, sniffed the air, wrinkled her muzzle. “You smell of star-death, girl.” “I smell of necessity,” Elara replied. “Can you do it?” Morven set a leather satchel on the stone table. Opened it. Inside: vials of black blood, dried placentas, a silver speculum shaped like a wolf’s jaw. “Separate a god-beast from its vessel?” The old wolf cackled. “Possible. Once. Long ago. Cost the queen her life and the child its soul.”