Dead Rising Small Chainsaw Books Novels & Stories

Not just words spilling out this time. Scenes. Creatures. Hazards. One thick volume labeled CASTLE HAZARDS struck a stone, flipped open, and vomited a swarm of translucent, wailing shapes—castle ghosts, their eyes hollow, fingers like icicles. They shrieked and arrowed toward us in a ragged storm. Another book, NEON DRONE PATTERNS, burst against a fallen shelf. Drones extruded from the pages like wasps from a nest, metal bodies shining, eyes already lighting up with target locks.

Glass cracked above us in thin silver lines. Damien’s eyes widened. Selene stumbled back. “What did you do?” she hissed. I had no answer. I could not breathe. Could not speak. Could only feel the blade sinking slowly into my heart. Cold first. Then fire. Then nothing. The world fell away. But death was not silent. I had expected silence. Peace, maybe. Darkness. Instead, I heard chains. Heavy chains dragging across stone. A slow breath in the dark. A heartbeat that was not mine.

Her eyes fell on a book with a black cover, the gold letters reading: “The Art of Breaking Chains.” She pulled it free, curiosity winning, and curled into his leather chair. The chair was far too big for her, swallowing her small frame, but she felt oddly safe in it. Before she realized, her eyelids grew heavy. The book slipped onto her lap as she drifted into sleep. Hunter returned late, his mood thunderous after the ring, after Geret. His mind was sharp, his body burning with violence he hadn’t been able to unleash fully. But the instant he stepped into the quiet house, he sought her.

When I tried to lift my arms, something bit into my wrists. Hot, tight and heavy. Silver chains. I sucked in a breath, my eyes blinking open to weak light. Dull flames flickered from oil lamps dangling from the beams above, casting jagged shadows across cracked stone walls. Whispers echoed and chains rattled. Someone sobbed quietly in the distance. I wasn’t alone. Then came a voice, low and gruff. “This one’s dead, dispose of it. How many did they bring in this time?” Dead?! My heart stuttered.

It thrashes its massive head, whipping side-to-side claws, raking long smoking crevices into the stone. I brace my foot against its heaving chest and yank. The chain bites deep, and the hound howls, gurgling a wet sound, but I won’t let go. I pull harder, my hands burning, my wrists tearing open against old wounds. The chain sinks deeper through hide, through muscle, into the leaking rot inside. I bare my teeth and twist sideways hard enough that something snaps inside it with a wet, bubbling crunch. It collapses on me; a dead weight leaking black blood over the stones. Finally, when my arms shake too hard to hold anymore, I shove the carcass off me. The chain clatters loose from my fingers,

Nanatiling malamig ang tingin niya sa akin. Nanginginig ko itong inabot. Kaba lang ang tanging nararamdaman ko habang kinukuha ang laman nito.At nang makita ang laman ay nanlamig ako ng makita na mga litrato na magkasama kami ni Thorn dito sa bahay, sa supermarket at sa fast food chain ang nakapaloob rito. Isa-isa ko silang tinignan, hindi makapaniwala sa nakikita. All this time.

The lamps outside Patrina's window guttered in the wind, their blue flames shivering behind glass. It was late, but sleep evaded her. She sat hunched at a small writing desk, the surface piled high with books borrowed from the Melanthor and a battered notebook filled with her own scribbles. The stripes of text on the page blurred and refocused as her mind wandered, refusing to settle on the treatise in her lap.

It was a familiar place. Rusted metallic chains on a filthy desk, scraped walls with unidentified words, and a stone-cold atmosphere. It's uncanny how this room gets even scarier. "Please, don't", I whispered, my voice hoarse and small, "not again plea-" My voice was cut off when I felt a pair of dark, lanky hands against my throat. Tears streamed down my eyes as I started struggling to unlatch the iron hold.

Shrewsbury The Third Twin: A Dark Psychological Thriller by Darren Speegle Aletheia: A Supernatural Thriller by J.S. Breukelaar Where the Dead Go to Die by Mark Allan Gunnells and Aaron Dries Sarah Killian: Serial Killer (For Hire!) by Mark Sheldon The Final Cut by Jasper Bark Blackwater Val by William Gorman Pretty Little Dead Girls: A Novel of Murder and Whimsy by Mercedes M. Yardley Nameless: The Darkness Comes by Mercedes M. Yardley

I don't want to but it seems like no board to me. It was like I’m being haunted by these endless nightmares, and I can’t count how many times it visits me. But there's always someone who's bugging me. Those paired of eyes that it resembles, Alforo. I just don’t know where. And it made me so stiff when another day he's around. I was very nervous. It was as if I was burning as I glanced at him. I glanced at Klaud and suddenly the image of a wild shadow following me on my dreams vanished, somehow I felt safe even the pain were stirring on me.