Baca Komik To Not Die Novels & Stories

He rubbed at his temple, wincing as the dull throb at the base of his skull returned—stronger this time. He hated that pain. It was the only thing lately that reminded him he was still alive. Nathan stood, moving toward the window. The city glittered below—bright, noisy, full of life he couldn’t feel. Neon lights painted his reflection across the glass: tousled hair, tired eyes, perfection sculpted by fame but filled by exhaustion. He tapped his cigarette against the railing, watching the ashes scatter like snow. “Another night,” he murmured, “another stranger.” His phone buzzed on the table. A message from his manager:

Make him die. But guess what?

Not even in death. The End.

"Why am I not dead?" Note: Do you want to see the visuals of this story? Follow our Ins-tagramm account: @sagastories.id. By the way, this story is available as a comic/w*****n. Just look for the same title "The Alpha's Replacement Bride" on W e b t o on app.

The morgue was cold, carrying a foul, sterile smell. Expressionless staff pushed me into a metal drawer. With a soft "click," the door closed. The system's voice echoed in my mind. [Death confirmed. Final storyline completed.] [Countdown to soul departure: 71 hours 59 minutes.] [Please await the opening of the passage.] I drifted in the cold, hollow air and let out a breath. Finally, things were coming to an end.

“What the hell is this place?” Before he could answer, we were interrupted by a loud static from an overhead speaker. “Welcome to THE Survival Game!” a distorted voice announced. “Congratulations, you are all dead! But because hell is currently in recycle mode due to the greenhouse effect, you’re being sent to dead worlds as entertainment!” I blinked. “I’m sorry, what?” The voice kept going: “Please provide the fanciest death you can. Or fanciest kills if you have what it takes to be a predator. The audience loves those.”

It was William, the Alpha from the Ice Plains Pack, standing behind me. His voice was filled with sorrow, "When you sent him to the Ice Plains, I knew he died painfully. But I didn’t expect... A ten-year-old cub, betrayed by his pack, mauled by lone wolves, abandoned by his father... and forced to watch himself bleed to death." Andrew's final memories were of waiting for death. Even if I had reached him in time, I wouldn’t have been able to save him because the only crystal healing chamber had been taken over by Lucas.

A thing may have a name, but more often than not, peeling back the political correctness to reveal the nasty honesty beneath was healthier. So this was death row. If the men and women within it avoided their intervention, well, then they would become zombies. Or bone eaters. Or smilers. And they, the five, were Crowners. That sounded a lot healthier than ‘End of Life Policy Counselors’, which was what it said on their tax returns.

No matter the circumstances and odds against me, I am always ready to fight until death. And let me remind you that I have slain many soldiers, knights, monsters, and beasts. Don't forget how I single-handedly killed ten vicious players. I might not know the power of the Smith or anything about the so-called nectar that General Zod and the familiar voice are requesting from me. However, I am sure of one thing. I am sure that I won't die because "Tomorrow Never Dies."