Beautiful Deaths Novels & Stories

Debrief happens at first light because grief does not cancel administration, which is one of civilization’s less charming design features. Everyone accounted for. Two wounded. One dead: Sam Kuiper. Maya writes the name herself. The pencil does not shake. That feels obscene. Denise reports Marcus’s injured woman next. Slice across the ribs. Deep. Should need stitches. Already closing. “Not normal,” Denise says quietly. “No,” Maya says. Marcus watches from across the room, sleeve torn, arm bandaged, face unreadable. Maya opens her private page. The Marcus page. The one she absolutely does not call the Marcus page.

They carefully pile up some fingers to send to the gambling dens until Mick growls, signaling everyone to back off. I wasn’t sure how the bastard was still alive, his heart was barely recognizable. Mick trots to him, staring down into his bleak eyes. He’s on his back now, his guts exposed. A quick swipe across his face with a claw draws blood, coating Mick’s paw. I had no idea what I thought I’d feel at this moment. But I just feel dead. Because there are so many more Stephen Millers in the world. It’ll never be enough. Mick growls so loud, it practically shakes the room. He bares his canines, wanting them to be the last thing this piece of shit sees.

There was something about looking at the boy today that gave her mixed feelings. She pulled out her phone and searched for the movie. Lead actors were Benjamin Frost and to her surprise, his son, Benjamin Frost Junior. She scrolled up and saw a news report of a plane crash. She clicked on it and read through. As she did, she realised it was similar to the story Damien once told of how he lost his parents. The article described how the great Benjamin Frost died with his wife, but his son survived. As she reached the end, the last few lines caused her utter confusion.

Damien directly crushed Zayn's leg, he preferred slow death snapping the veins on their necks, disemboweled some organs, letting them die slowly and painful. Zayn groaned in pain his back full of sweat, he didn't want fight anymore. "Resisting is futile.. death is inevitable..." Damien wrapped his fingers around Zayn's neck elegantly, earning a scoff from him. "You'll get your retribution! You'll die an horrible death..." Damien chuckled, he wasn't dumb he could differentiate good from bad. The people he killed they didn't have one ounce of good in them, only black heart and vile mouths.

Dust motes floated like restless spirits in the stale air, settling slowly on the shattered remnants of violence. Unity's body sagged, collapsing to the cold, unforgiving floor with a heavy, final thud. Her pale shirt bloomed crimson, the dark stain spreading in uneven pools, like ink spilled over a cracked canvas. Yet, even in death, there was something unsettling about her, the faintest curl of a smile lingered on her lips, a ghost of triumph, a defiance that refused to be silenced. The smile was almost cruel in its mockery, as if death itself was just another step in her relentless game.

“I have this fantasy that if per-adventure… I die, I want it to be the most perfect death. Like it happens in books. My killer is going to be a handsome man, 8 feet tall, he has a strong, chiseled jawline that looks like it’s carved from marble, but it softens the moment he smiles. His hair is thick and perpetually tousled, as if he ran his fingers through it while thinking about me. It’s a deep, rich mahogany color that catches the light and looks gold in the sun. His eyes are his most striking feature, a warm, honey-brown that feels like a physical embrace. They aren’t just beautiful, they are expensive. He’s tall, like I already stated, broad-shouldered, giving him a presence that feels p

Riccardo said and she nodded then she cleaned her eyes and pretended to pull herself so she could start talking again. "Deborah how was Mr Castillo murdered?" Riccardo asked. "I saw him get stabbed repeatedly" I noticed Alicia looked at her alliances to confirm if she was saying the truth and they nodded which made her clench her jaw in fury. "Where did you go after the scene?" Riccardo asked.

His face twisted in agony, his hands clawing at the air as if trying to grasp something—anything—to hold onto life. He looked down at the gaping hole in his chest, where his heart had been just moments before, his expression filled with disbelief and terror. His body convulsed violently, a grotesque dance of death as his life slipped away. Blood bubbled up from his mouth, gushing out with each desperate, choking breath. His skin paled, taking on an ashen hue, and I could see the light fading from his eyes.

I am halfway down the corridor when the lights go out. The sconce at the far end dies first, a sharp pop and a shower of sparks that rain down onto the flagstones like a tiny, brief snowfall. The one behind me follows half a second later. The darkness that drops is not the gradual dark of evening but the absolute black of a house whose wiring has just surrendered to the storm. I stop walking. My hand finds the wall to my right, the stone rough and cool under my palm, and I wait for my eyes to adjust.

Sorrow flooded Keyne’s chest instantly. Zayn had died of exhaustion for the sake of the Medusa Dames. The rest of the Medusa Dames came over in succession. They were flustered and scared when they saw Zayn’s condition for themselves. Standing on the spot, Cyrene was in a daze. She felt her heart twisting in pain, and she could not hold back her tears anymore. Zayn was actually dead and she felt extremely sad for some reason.