Carnage Four Horsemen Mga Nobela at Kwento

exclaimed one of the men standing next to the hooded figure standing on the hill watching the arena fill with a bright red light before plumes of dust covered the area. “I know you fool!!” he screeched hitting the man with a set of sharp claws he wore on his hand killing him on the spot, “Get him!! I don’t care how you do it, even his corpse will serve a purpose!!” he roared turning to the others who stared him in shaking in fear before calling forth horses covered in black scales and riding off towards the city, “You will know pain for this boy” he growled through clenched teeth.

Gut-wrenching, heart pumping--- after several thrusts forward, he thought his legs were going to explode. The high walls of the Upper Ring were still a few kilometers ahead, so there was still time. As Arth paced on the side of the running horses, he drew out Blackwinter and then gave a full swing of his blade to slash one of the horses’ legs. The horse whined as it stumbled in the ground, dragging the other one with it. The carriage crashed down with the horses. The large wheels broke and the glass windows shattered. White smoke, mixed with dust, had filled the air after the loud smash.

Liam reassured him. As the funeral cortege prepared to depart, the gates swung open, revealing a procession of gilded horse-drawn carriages. Each carriage was an ornate masterpiece, handcrafted by skilled artisans and embellished with intricate carvings and golden accents. The horses that pulled them were majestic thoroughbreds, their bridles adorned with shimmering gemstones that sparkled in the sunlight. Behind the carriages, a group of distinguished mourners dressed in the finest black attire walked solemnly. High-ranking politicians, influential business magnates, and esteemed members of society were among those present, paying their respects to the departed tycoon.

News of the attacks had spread fast, and the pack was on edge. The car door slammed shut as the brothers stepped out, one by one. Their presence alone was enough to silence the commotion. All eyes turned to them, and the pack members froze, their gazes filled with a mix of awe and fear. It wasn’t every day that the four Hawthorne princes returned to their territory.

The first car is pulled by four black horses: Kai, Sehun, Chen, and Tao + The second cart is pulled by three flying horses, and white sifanas are preferred. With: Sivana, Cecilia, Baekhyun and Luhan. The rest of the kings rode the great carriage drawn by five horses, with the servant of King William Smith. Sivana looked out of the carriage window and spoke in a loud voice. "Oh, dammywontree, come with us." Damontry laughed. "It's okay, I'll go with Chris." Chris approached and insulted her shoulders to look at him as 'What the hell are you doing?'.

The kind of hush that wrapped around your bones and reminded you that whatever was coming next was holy. At the bottom, the torchlight fell across carvings that had been older than anything I’d ever seen, even in the ruinous shrines of Bloodpine. Sigils of the four Houses. Cut into the stone. Perfectly preserved. And ahead of us, four stone sarcophagi. One for each House. Caelum went closer first, his brow furrowing. “That’s… that’s Cillian Hawthorne.” A caught breath from Nora. “And Selene Nerezza…”

He stiffened; the pendulum was swaying faster now, his mind turned into a jigsaw puzzle and the final piece fit into place. Four men. Influential giants. Two men dead; Ayodele and Yetunde. Both equally influential. Catholics. Four plus two equals six. Six, the symbolic number for the Sons. Six, the number of members allowed to be in the cult in a century. They are what are left of the Sons of Hades. And me, where do I fit in? Lex answered his own question. His floating brows dropped. I'm the fifth Son, Lex realized. “I trust you now understand what's going on,” Masked man interrupts his thoughts. “We begin immediately.”

Shades of red, brown and black diademed the canvas, yet not getting mixed together, as if they harboured misogyny. The form became more vivid as the lifeless colours brought life in the painting. And then, like a gentle stroke of a fine paintbrush on the canvas, an obnoxiously metallic smell of blood wafted in my nostrils. Blood! The colours swirled and turned into something more vivid. I could see the form clearly now. I scrunched up my nose as the smell of fresh blood became more intense, almost unbearable. I walked to the figure through the blur and hollow, my instinct telling me to stop.

"Prepare for your new prison, slave." The back door opened, and the witches jumped off the car, making way for four bulky men who lifted the cage with me in it and then carried it out. The rising sun blinded me, and I had to cover my eyes from the light, but as my eyes adjusted to the brightness, my heart stopped. Blood. The ground was painted in a raw-red color that sometimes blended with strokes of dark ashes and black charcoal. Dead bodies of young and old wolves gutted, cut, and ripped to pieces covered every inch of the ground. The four men who carried my cage walked, stomping on the torn flesh of their enemies—the wolves of Crimson Mountain Pack.

There are wisps with it as well. There's no use outrunning them. We'll need to stand our ground and fight. My heart is pounding and my palms are sweaty as we come to a stop. The three-headed hound is advancing towards us, its eyes glowing menacingly in the dark underworld. The wisps seem to be gathering around it, as if to add to its strength. Jack leads the charge, his sword glinting in the dim light. Alec and I follow close behind, ready to do whatever we can to help.