Angels Of Death Main Characters Mga Nobela at Kwento

“What?” “Shoot me, Angel.” **

But they did not do such a hassle thing when two mere zombies died as collateral from an angels’ squabble. Really, such a system is rotten to the core. But I am not afraid to be judged. I reviewed the guidebook a hundred times over and the death of Angelo is something that could not be helped after crossing the Forsaken Lands intentionally. What a dumb thing to do, to rely so much upon their holy fire. “Murderer.” “Killer.” “Psychopath.”

I winked at my angel. "You're going to kill him for ruining your shirt!" She protested from the ground, her lips lifting into a pout. "When did she relish in the death of others?" I asked Ares, concerned; Abigail had healed a man she hardly knew yesterday and bargained away a part of her soul to those angels to save that stranger's life! Yet now, bathed in the blood that fell from his lips like a waterfall, she seemed to hunger for it. "Stop thinking! Kill it!" Ares roared, wrath coursing through my veins, "Take care of him so we can get back to the task in hand; mating her and filling her womb with pups."

The smoke from the sacrifice did not dissipate. Instead, it solidified into figures of surgical white and shadows of absolute black that lurked from the sanctuary’s rafters. Astaroth recognized them instantly: the Angels of Death, their void-scythes ready to claim Dorian’s body, and the “Executioners of Light”, faceless beings sent to tear Uriel from Carter’s form for permitting a romantic aberration on mortal soil. Astaroth let out a dry laugh, but Griselda, staggering, spat the words at him with urgency:

"The birth angels were assigned to accompany humans the minute they were born until they reached the age of ten years. In short, they are the guardian angels. On the other hand, the death angels were assigned to accompany humans when they are about to die and bring them to the afterlife.” Fine. I knew stories about angels when I was a kid, but never did I believe in them. And now this man in front of me, telling me, he was a freaking angel? A fucking death angel? Something caught my attention. It was a man crossing my street. He looked like the man beside me. He was wearing the same clothes and the same aura as Kairos. He had a very dark aura in him. Just like this man beside me. "That was T

And it worked, although my insides twisted. Anyway, this sacrifice was not in vain. I managed to crash the program and make the camera image near the 'Mad Dog' cell disappear for a while. I had time to talk to him, learn the names of the 'Scarlet Angels', and even see what they looked like, or at least what they looked like from his perspective. Laurens Vermeulen may be a murderer, but he has an artistic talent. His drawing of the 'Scarlet Angels' is almost like a photo - it looks so realistic and has so many details! I'm still surprised how he could remember so much while that these creatures tortured him. But what's more important, I finally got to know their appearance. Of course, I wasn'

Six months had gone by extremely quickly, and time had left the big devil broken, and empty without his little wife. He missed her. He had even refused to say a word. He was as quiet as a dead man. Quiet, merciless and very dangerous. Back as Zeus, the dead Angels ruthless leader, the gang had grown well in numbers. They were stronger, faster and extremely blood thirsty. Mercilessly, they chased after the killer hunters who were hunting and killing them like animals, caught them and ripped off their heads one by one.

"Right, well, forgive me if I don't trust him to handle an angel-killing situation with grace." Michael closed his eyes, looked up, and sighed. "Four confirmed deaths on angels. Normally I would assume it was the work of someone other than humans. Humans aren't particularly strong so I don't consider them a threat, most of the time. Unfortunately, though, this particular human group's leader was caught in the act." "The unknown did that? That doesn't make any sense." 'It knows which contracts to take and avoid, but then does something that would make enemies of the angels?' Death was pacing now trying to figure out what was happening.

A few more tried attacking him here or there, but they could do nothing against his power. Their city was still pristine, but it was nearly empty. The angels had never been a prolific race, but the war had all but wiped them out. Their numbers were a mere fraction of what they'd been half a decade ago—with most of the survivors being only children themselves. They watched him with fearful and teary eyes from the shadows of barren buildings. He felt no pity for them—theirs was a race that courted death continually until death eventually took them up on their offer.