The Marvel of Underworlds
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- Parts 11
Ongoing1h 48m
Last published Thu, Mar 8, 2018
Cedric Maret is a young prodigy in the field of elemental magic, completely content with his studious life in the Ankariian palace among royalty. However, his tormenting nightmares lead him to consult an oracle, only for her words to turn his world upside down. An encounter with a goddess sends him to an underground city where his friend is tasked with performing for the city's monarch. However, ballgowns and sightseeing aren't quite what Cedric has in mind. The goddess' words send him on a wayward search with difficult puzzles to crack. A grand title. A secret even he didn't know he had. But in the midst of his investigation for power, a secret organization sees something in him more valuable than gold.
Will his search only lead him to ruin?
Will his ambitions place his friends in the hands of the enemy?
Will he discover the many secrets hidden within the underground society?
And who is the "wanted woman"?
Updates every Sunday and Wednesday!
Note from the author: This is Book 1 out of a series. It's my first formal work, so I hope you all enjoy! I will upload the first five or so chapters in the beginning, then upload chapters twice a week after that. I hope you enjoy!
Note: includes mild language and violence
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Enver Williams is leading on a normal life but that is all ripped away from her when she is taken from her home town. When Enver comes to realize that there are others like her in more ways than one, she is determined to free herself and her newfound friends from the physiological torment of her closely supervised enclosure. ••• "Do I make you nervous, Enver?" Another idiotic question. "Wouldn't the man who kidnapped you and threatened to kill you make you nervous?" I snap at him. He only smiles an odd, crooked grin. I can make that disappear. "Wouldn't a murder make you nervous?" Now it's my turn to pull the strings. He looks at me with hurt in his eyes. "How many times do I have to say it?" He pauses, I guess hoping for some sort of mercy in my eyes, "I didn't kill her." "Liar!" I shout. "Why won't you believe me?!" "Would you believe yourself?" "It wasn't me who shot her," he sits on a stool, resting his elbows on his knees. "Then how do you know she was shot?" "I saw it. I saw him kill her," his voice was riddled with such pure vulnerability and pain it begged me to believe him. "Who?" I try to sound sympathetic, but it comes out as scared. Maybe, subconsciously, I am scared.
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