Novel & Cerita Dead Rising Small Chainsaw Books

His skin hissed. The smell of burning flesh and metal flooded the air. I gagged. He didn't scream. Not even a sound. He just gritted his teeth, his hand—shaking—clutching the chain to give me more slack. I lunged. I moved with frantic speed. My good hand drove the silver dagger straight into the drone’s sensor array. Spark. The mechanical stink of burnt circuits hit my tongue. I kicked off the chassis, my dead arm swinging like a club, and landed hard in the snow.

And death he brought. Silver and Colin fought back to back. Two boys fought an army of vampires. Colin summoned five of his chains with sharp edges. Three of them whipped about sending vampires flying into the air with deep gash and wounds, baring their way. Two chains he used to kill. They moved between the vampires, seeking their pay; the vampire’s spines, freeing the vampires' heads from their bodies.

Marc nodded curtly. Charlie moved to a thick heavy wooden door, bars making a window to the darkness beyond, unlocking it, he went through. Marc descended the worn stone steps behind the guard, his eyes adjusting to the gloom slowly. They descended deep into the ground, the air becoming dense with the smell and taste of dirt. The chill gripped at Marc’s warm skin as his feet reached the final step, the compacted soil as hard as the stone of the steps under his shoes.

The morning came too soon. The cold light of dawn slipped through the curtains of the small apartment, casting long shadows across the room. I woke slowly, the fog of sleep still clouding my mind, but the sense of dread that had taken root in my chest the night before never truly left.

Four of them total. Three are Silver Hunters, and the fourth ... is Sara Khalek. A gasp flies from my lips, and Davis shifts into his wolf form. "Sara." I rush to her side and feel her cheek. She's cold. She's been dead for many hours, maybe for days. Davis sniffs one of the bodies, his wolf lips curling back. "She put up a good fight." His bass werewolf voice echoes in the small room. I close my eyes against the tears. "Are there any others in here?"

The air was thick, humming with unseen energy, and the scent of something ancient—decay and whispers of forgotten dreams—curled around him like a fog. “What is this?” he gasped, his voice barely more than a breath. A sharp pain shot through his wrists. He looked down, heart hammering as he realized he was bound—thick metal chains coiling around him like serpents. The links burned against his skin, though no fire touched them. Shadows stirred in the distance, shifting, creeping closer. Walkers. Their glowing eyes pierced the darkness, unblinking and hollow. They moved with unnatural grace, circling him like vultures waiting for their prey to break.

I waited until it was close to midnight—I had three minutes to go. I started thinking back on my life, but it was too simple and plain. There didn't seem to be much to remember. My life had been a tragedy from the moment I was born. The minutes turned to seconds, and I slumped onto the table. I had my urn and photo beside me. Five, four, three, two, one… The countdown ended, and a dead silence descended upon me. The room went silent—even the sound of my breathing disappeared. At the same time, I heard the sound of the doorknob turning. Someone was back!

"Chains. Always chains." Another shadow tore toward us. Kieran caught it, fire pinning it down. "Cut!" I did. The ember carved deep, slicing its silver bonds. A boy's face flickered through the smoke before vanishing free. They kept coming. We kept cutting. Each one screamed, fought, begged, but when the chains broke, the cores flared, and the shadows fell apart. But it was killing us, too. My chest burned raw, ember fraying at the edges. Kieran's fire sputtered, his storms uneven. He bled from his side where one claw had cut through.

The book quivered in resistance to her touch, and the chains tightened around Vincent even more tightly. Vincent cried out, “Camela!” She screamed back, gripping the cover tightly with both hands and pulling it apart forcefully. The book tore cleanly down the middle. The noise wasn’t the sound of paper tearing. It was flesh ripping apart. Her chest burned, as if something inside her was ripped too. She stumbled forward, gasping for air, blood smearing her lips. The chains broke apart, exploding into sparks. Vincent caught her and held her shivering body with horror in his eyes.

Like the darkness itself is holding its breath. Then I hear it, the screams. Far off at first. Sharp and ragged, like someone being torn apart. My heart jumps into my throat. The sounds grow louder, closer. Until it echoes off the walls and vibrates through my bones. It’s not just someone crying out—it’s someone dying. The chains rattle as I instinctively pull back, cowering into the wall. My breath comes fast and shallow, my eyes dart across the chamber. And then I see them.