Dead Wrath And Beyond Novels & Stories

“What are you talking about?” Dimitri’s sneer faded as his horrible face came even closer, “Don’t even play with me! You’re the reason he’s dead, so I’m gonna get my revenge on your little buddy Nate,” he yelled, spit landing just under my eye before he backed up a little. Not enough.

The metal groaned and buckled as the Duke tore through the rotor housing with his bare hands. ​The explosion lit up the coast in a brilliant, terrifying orange. ​I slumped against the stone wall, the "Oxygen Debt" finally hitting me. Not because he was far, but because he was killing. The bond was feeding on the death he was dealing out, and it was making me feel stronger, faster, darker. ​I looked at my hand. The black vein wasn't just a line anymore. It was starting to branch out, forming the shape of a blade across my palm.

Blood spurts from his nose, and he turns and runs. I grab a man by the throat and flip him to the ground. A whip slashes my arm, but I ignore the pain and grab the end of it. I wrench the whip, and the Hunter holding it is forced to the ground. I kick him in the face, and he goes down. I take the whip and wrap it around the ankle of another hunter. It only takes a little pull, and he topples to the ground. When he tries to get up, I kick him in the face.

The linguistic scholar died. Before we could even reach the secondary stairwell, the massive, tinted glass windows of the living room shattered inward. A hail of high-velocity tactical rounds tore through the air, punching violent holes into the dark velvet couches and marble walls. Three heavily armed mercenaries, clad in matte-black tactical gear and Vance syndicate insignias, breached the shattered ledge using high-tension ziplines from an adjacent rooftop. Malakai returned fire instantly, his sidearm barking three times in rapid succession. The lead mercenary dropped hard against the broken glass, a tight cluster of crimson blooming across his chest.

Note to self: Ask Adrian who they were later. With nothing else to do, I spent the day reading a book on my phone but got bored and ended up playing different video games, or—more accurately—getting my ass handed to me in a game called ‘Warzone Legion Xr’. A hyper-realistic shooting game that puts players into an underground warzone where criminals, assassins, and mercenaries fight for their freedom, using everything from different weapons and strategic sabotage, very Antonio-like. I kept losing to a player called WadeSlasher, and somewhere between our eighth or ninth match, I discovered, each loss cost me three thousand dollars.

The warehouse fell silent save for the dull, repetitive thud of the bat and Deather’s cold, unfeeling laughter. When he finally stopped, the lifeless body of Mr. Wong lay in a twisted heap at his feet. Deather wiped a hand across his blood-splattered face, his grin unwavering as he turned to his men. The Scarface Cartel members stood in tense silence, heads bowed, their breaths shallow and fearful. “What I did was right, isn't it Drako?” Deather said, addressing his consigliere without so much as glancing at him. Drako nodded hesitantly, his expression stoic yet wary. “Your verdict has never been wrong, Deather.”

The heavy main door of Caden's mansion clicked shut behind me. The sound didn't offer freedom; it sealed me into a new kind of prison. The bright afternoon sun felt too harsh, mocking the darkness that had just settled deep inside me. I was outside, yes, but no longer my own. The air felt thick, heavy with the weight of the deal. My limbs felt weak, like every bone had turned to water. I had agreed. I had sold myself, not just for money now, but for Caden’s sinister game.

Blood splashed around and dripped abundantly from their neck. Narco uses two golden stiletto-type weapons. They have a handle with a thin, circular loop at the butt and a long, conical point designed for stabbing and thrusting. Narco finished them by ruthlessly stabbing their chest, piercing their skull and hearts out. It was a quick and clean death. Dreygur and Cataleia's lifeless bodies fell to the cold floor bathing in their blood where Mort slightly froze. Mort saw Narco enter the place earlier but he didn't sense the young man's bloodlust, so the hunk didn't do anything but now he really has nothing else to do except to look at his adopted son who has an unnamed weapon with its pointed

He is so happy because he will finally be able to escape this chaotic world and they will be able to fulfill the simple dream of Akira and his as a normal couple. When he arrived at the condo, he immediately took a shower first to be able to clean and to make sure if he hadn't been scratched before. As the water flows through his body you can see the blood of his victims clinging to him gradually flowing into the sink. Azrael’s body is full of scars from his wounds from his previous missions and on his back is a large tattoo— “Deus Mortis” which in Latin means “God of death” is what the organization called him because of the number of impossible missions he has accomplished.

"You can change your name, your hair, everything, but I know you. I'll never forget your eyes, your nose, and the corner of your mouth." He reached for my hand, but I stepped back. My bodyguards moved in and blocked him. "Luna, why won't you acknowledge me?" Vincenzo's eyes were full of pain and disbelief. "I know I was wrong. I killed my Papa and destroyed the Camorra family. I avenged you! Come back with me. Let's start over, please." "Start over?" I scoffed. "Vincenzo, are you insane? You destroyed everything I had, and now you want to start over? You locked me in that cold room, broke our token of love, watched me get tortured, then tried to pin fake crimes on me. Did you forget all that