Dead Sans Novels & Stories

°❀⋆.ೃ࿔*:･ I don’t know how long I sat there staring at that damn screen after it went dark. Maybe a minute, maybe ten. My brain just… couldn’t process it. Dead. The word looped through my head over and over, echoing like a broken record. Dead? How could I be dead? I could feel my heartbeat. I could breathe, my chest rising and falling, air filling my lungs. My palms were sweaty, my muscles ached from being thrown — dead people didn’t feel all that, right?

Instead, she grabbed Eve’s arm and pulled her back. “We can’t, Eve,” she whispered. Eve yanked away. "What do you mean?! He’s still—” “He's dead.” Eve froze. The world around her seemed to stop. "No." Her voice broke. "No, he’s not. H-he just needs help, we can—” Daisy squeezed her wrist. "Eve." Her voice was softer now. "He's gone." Eve turned back to Anthony, her vision blurred with tears. His chest wasn't rising anymore. His eyes, which once held so much kindness, were now empty.

To help her childhood sweetheart, David Middleton, take my place studying abroad, my wife, Sharon Griffin, destroys my records and deliberately fills in false information, ensuring that I'm permanently denied a visa. She even severely injured my hands before sending me to the Behavioral Reform Center. My mother-in-law, Paula Brown, who has always treated me with affection, takes Sharon's side. "Kyle is so ungrateful. We gave him everything, and he still wanted to get a PhD abroad to find his biological parents. Who's going to take care of me if he's gone?" Sharon snorts. "He's just vain. When he found out I'd turned down Westbridge's offer of admission, he gave me the silent treatment an

The temperature in the bunker seemed to drop to absolute zero. I stared at the screen, my jaw clenching until my teeth ached. Marcus had been with Thorne Industries for ten years. He was a man I had trusted, a man I had given millions in stock options. And he had sold my life to Victoria Vance for a percentage of a dying syndicate. "He is dead," I growled, the raw, savage dominance of my bloodline taking over.

"Mrs. Henderson, she—" "What now? What is she trying this time?" Blake frowned impatiently. "Tell her I'm busy and that I don't have time for her games!" "N-no, Mr. Henderson. Mrs. Henderson seems to be…" The butler took a deep breath as if gathering all his courage before continuing, "It seems she's dead." "Dead?" Blake's expression instantly turned livid. "What the hell are you talking about?" Then, he suddenly recalled the call from the butler that morning.

Create myths. I provide truth. Exact. Detailed. Undeniable. 7:18 AM - Wolf fighter (W-22, name: Sarah Klein). Throat torn by Cormac's enforcer. Bled out in forty seconds. 7:19 AM - Vampire hunter (V-34). Staked by Valentina Corvino. Turned to ash. 7:21 AM - Dragon mercenary (D-03). Holy water attack by Tom Cracksman. Burned from inside. Died screaming.

The room froze. "They're both dead." Total silence.

"We did everything we could. The patient lost too much blood. There's nothing more we could do." I stood frozen. My mind was blank. The man who had hurt me for eight years, the one who had pestered me all this time, was gone just like that. Vincenzo's funeral was simple. Only a few of his men and the Costa family's longtime helpers attended. I wore a black dress and stood before the tombstone. As I stared at the name—Vincenzo Costa— carved there, I felt unusually calm. I took a bouquet of white roses from my bag and placed it on the grave.

she stammered. I stepped into the ward, where Brandon lay under a stark white sheet. Melissa moved to block me, murmuring some excuse about sparing me the pain. However, I was not having any of it. I gently nudged Melissa to the side and drew back the sheet from Brandon's body. There he was, lying on the hospital bed, his cheeks flushed and his face peaceful—hardly the image of a dead man. I shook him and called his name, but he would not stir. Something was off. Without hesitation, I dialed the crematorium. "Hello. My husband has passed, and I need to arrange for his cremation immediately."

With every bit of strength he had left in him, he kept saying the spell, even though his voice was getting weaker with each word he spoke. "Dekekrankem delenfoouud." "Please," he cried out, his sight becoming fuzzy. "Please, just let her be safe." Everything around him started to spin like a dizzying ride, and he felt his consciousness beginning to break apart. But he fought to stay focused, determined not to let go until he knew his baby daughter was out of danger. Finally, with one last push, he whispered the final part of the incantation. In a bright flash of light, the baby vanished, leaving Draven all alone in the temple. He fell to the floor, his body shaking as blood continued to flow