Deadshot Novelas e Histórias

He was less than seven meters away, his finger already tightening against the trigger group. Dante braced himself to pivot into the incoming line of fire, preparing to take a round to the chest if it meant neutralizing the threat. BANG!l The sharp, echoing crack of a compact, un-suppressed weapon shattered the rhythmic hiss of the automatic rifles. The heavy hitman in the eastern bay froze mid-stride. A single, perfectly placed 9mm round had penetrated the soft flesh directly beneath his left ear. His eyes rolled back into his head, his assault rifle slipping from his useless fingers as his skull shattered from the internal pressure of the kinetic dump. He collapsed forward into the grease,

It was a light designed to burn away the darkness, regardless of whether the person carrying that darkness survived the fire. I was still pinned against the cold stone of the catacombs, my body trembling in the aftermath of a passion that had turned into a death trap. The black smoke of the King of Sorrows was still curled in my lungs, tasting like soot and old blood. My heart felt like it was being squeezed by a frost-covered hand, struggling to beat against the crushing weight of the entity now occupying my husband’s skin.

Zero. The Shared Heat didn't just die; it recoiled, a violent, icy snap that tore through my own chest. The bond between us—the jagged tether I’d spent five years hating—went stone-cold. Kael collapsed like a tree burned hollow by lightning. Black blood splattered the frost as he hit the obsidian floor, his eyes vacant and gray. "Kael!" My voice broke, the mountain's scream in my skull reaching a deafening crescendo. He didn't answer. He lay still, a monument of ash.

It also made him feel very uncomfortable. After thinking for a moment, Sheldon took out his phone and made a call. The other side picked up, and a casual, flippant voice could be heard. "Why are you calling me at a time like this?" If Damian had heard him, he would have immediately recognized the voice as belonging to Kevin Young, from Sengrove. "Mr. Young! One of my dad's Four Fighters, Black Bjorn, has just been assassinated. And the killer turned out to be Damian Luther!"

Kael tapped the screen, and the headline lit up instantly, bold and chilling: **"MYSTERIOUS DEATHS CONTINUE AMID ICE CIRCUIT: THIRD PLAYER FOUND DEAD OUTSIDE ARENA" I took a step closer, reading over his shoulder. The article described how, over the last four days, three players from different teams had been found dead in almoo similar conditions, no visible wounds, just collapsed in alleyways or locker rooms. And all within hours of finishing a game or training session.

"I need you to die. Slowly. Painfully. While knowing that your precious little wife will follow you into the darkness." The warehouse exploded into chaos. Hardhik moved first, his chair crashing backward as he lunged for the nearest of Shaheen's men. His knife—always kept razor-sharp—found its mark in the man's throat before anyone could blink. Blood sprayed across the concrete as the thug dropped, gurgling his last breath.

I’m not anyone, I’m Aaliyah, assassin of the Italian mafia known as Shadow of death. There is no stopping me when I start. Every single last target had to die was my motto. If you didn’t plan to die any time soon then don’t approach me. But I had to restrain myself from killing the last one because I knew Dominic probably wanted to question him so I only knocked him out. I was back to normal and I turned my attention back to the people who were standing a few feet away from all of this that had just happened.

Like he’s already seen the ending, and it’s written in our blood. Dez, our youngest recruit, whirls toward him. The gun comes up too slowly. The shot cracks like thunder. Dez’s head jerks back. He drops. Just—drops, his eyes blown wide, mouth still forming the command he never gets to finish. Smoke curls from the wound—red. Thick. Twisting like some kind of unholy signature in the freezing air. No one breathes. My eyes narrows onto the red smoke and my chest tightens. Only one person is notoriously known for using rounds like that.

The chaos outside seemed to fade momentarily as they entered the principal's room, a deceptive calm settling within the confined space. The principal, nervous but compliant, opened the door, revealing an empty room. He gestured for Liam to enter, and with a smirk, Liam walked towards the door. But in the blink of an eye, the atmosphere shifted once again. As Liam reached out to twist the doorknob, he felt a sudden touch behind his head. Without hesitation, he reacted, swiftly turning around and firing his weapon. The bullet found its mark, hitting Lane in the chest. Lane, who had been pushed forward by Adam, crumpled to the ground, life extinguished in an instant.

An unknown contact, yet the content is unmistakable – a picture of a battered Daren accompanied by a chilling message: "72 hours are up, Elena."