THE BUTCHERS OF BLÄCKWOOD
The Warning
If you see the Forest Mark—turn back.
If green fog rolls between the trees and the air goes quiet in a way it shouldn’t… leave.
And if three crows watch you from the branches—green-eyed, unblinking, waiting—do not speak their number aloud.
You have crossed into the gods’ territory.
The Ancient Forests
The forest does not forgive. It remembers.
There are places where the past does not fade—where sins cast shadows that hunger, and forces watch and wait for the moment of reckoning. In the depths of Bläckwood, the remaining gods who predate civilization offer neither mercy nor redemption. Only revelation. Only truth carved into bone and whispered through the hungry trees.
Bläckwood is not one place. It is every ancient forest still bound to what came before—the marked territories where primordial gods maintain their hold. Cross into these woods and you leave the jurisdiction of human law, human reason, human corruption. Here, civilization’s authority ends.
The old gods observe what humanity has broken, what it has buried, what it refuses to remember. In these depths, a different justice waits. Older. Absolute. Uncorrupted.
Those who walk into Bläckwood do not pass through untouched. They emerge changed—or consumed. There is no return. The chosen become instruments of primordial justice. The judged face truths that civilization was built to hide. All are marked. All are remembered.
In Bläckwood, becoming is not growth.
It is extraction.
The Judgment
When the accounting comes due in Bläckwood, only two words remain.
Guilty. Or Reprieved.
There is no trial. No appeal. The gods do not argue. They do not persuade. They speak through memory, and memory does not lie. What you carried into the forest is weighed. What you buried beneath years of forgetting is uncovered.
The Butcher arrives with axe in hand—not as weapon, but as holy instrument. They are not hunters. They are answers to questions you never meant to ask. They walk because the debt was written long before you noticed the ink. They remember because the ancient forests do not forget.
What falls is not murder. It is resolution. It is accounting. It is judgment—the forest claiming what was always owed.
Every sin casts a shadow. Some shadows devour.
This is not horror born of chaos. It is divine. Purposeful. Holy in its ancient violence. Every judgment—Guilty or Reprieved—feeds something older than fear: the terrible symmetry of consequence meeting truth. The gods do not deliberate. They observe. They witness what you became, and why.
What you buried in shadow will return—in flesh, in judgment, in the weight of an axe that falls like destiny.
The axe does not question.
It answers.
The Bläckwood Universe
The Bläckwood Universe spans multiple books—each a judgment rendered. Each a spiral deeper into myth. Here, characters do not seek forgiveness; they confront what they are. The forest remembers their names. The gods measure their worth. And the Butchers arrive when the reckoning comes due.
This is not a story of heroes.
This is an accounting. A reckoning for human corruption.
Welcome to Bläckwood. The mythology is ancient. The judgment is patient. The transformation is absolute.
The forest waits. The past does not fade.
Choose your entry point. The Spiral is open.