Frostysyrup

Thrust into an enigmatic world born from bloodshed; venture inside its complexities, dark-side, and always changing nature. At the center, a boy; brought up by an exiled mage, steps into a life of independence. A test to try and change his life for the better after witnessing what war can do to a person. The walk towards finding a stable living gets toppled as a unique magical element awakens. Using people, toying with emotions, doing anything and everything to get what he wants, this is the life of the next Death Reaper. Mostly emotionless, life continues as questions about his state of mind and being remains clouded behind many personas.

This isn’t the story of a single man, it’s the story of a whole world. Read as the world builds itself from the ground up. Conspiracies, evil, the dark side of humanity. In addition, tis the start of a new age; the birth of monsters – a story depicting the tales of the first heroes and demons to ever exist. 

The Wielder of Death Magic isn’t a typical fantasy. The heroes don’t summon forth power from heroes of old, here, the characters are the ones who make up the myths and legends for the next generation. Amidst the turmoil, Staxius, he lives on, watching and waiting as the world grows. 

P.S, I’m not that normal of a writer, my advice is to not expect anything going into this world. Forget everything, I personally, don’t care about rules and limitations and what can be considered to be the norm – the characters are given life, the world moves on its own; I’m just a spectator. No plot, nothing planned, all that you read is the product of the characters moving and acting individually. As opposed to me subjecting them with my emotions, the connection is reversed. They are the ones who dictate the story (Believe it or not, that's the way I write) A world, a story, characters, and the foolish author; we all evolve as one. On behalf of the people mentioned above, thanks for reading, I appreciate it all.
[Cover is copyrighted by Sxperimental]

The Wielder of Death Magic

Fenrir found a new passion; her ears would rise at the mere sight of novelty. In a way, her distractions was a nice way to digest her spoken words. The truth hit, and in the first time in a while, the feeling of desolation and worthlessness seeped through, '-I'm backed against a wall,' he exhaled, throwing an emotionless stare at her antics. She'd run from store to store, crossing the road without so much care about the vehicles. Time elapsed, the walkways infused in tight alleys. Outlines kept to the shadows and smoked uniform or otherwise, demography of prominent men – many squatted, others bundled into a formidable click.

"Igna, where are we going?" her extravagant sprints halted.

"To the café," he replied, "-also," he leaned for a closer inspection, "-why are the purchases only attire and not something, I don't know, concrete?"

"You said my choice of outfit is bad," her cheeks bloated, "-I was only trying to spice up my wardrobe."

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