Death Angel From A Quiet Place Novels & Stories

/ He laughed loudly, swinging his bat and hitting brittle objects in the fancy hotel. He is a Death Angel, his name is Draven Black. A modern-day grim reaper, wearing not a cape but a black emo suit with a pair of black wings to fly. He does not have a scythe, he has a bat for beating humans. His look is completed by black hair and an upside-down cross hung in his left ear.

****** **UNKNOWN LOCATION** In a dimly lit room, Chris sat staring out into the quiet. The air was heavy with tension, and the shadows seemed to stretch long across the floor. He wasn’t alone for long, though. The sound of footsteps echoed through the hallway, and soon, The Angel walked in, his presence filling the room with a quiet authority.

Angel’s blood ran cold. He leaned down. Reached for it. Gripped it. Raised it. “Tony. Stop.” His voice cracked. Tony stilled. And he saw the gun pointed at his face. Angel’s hand trembled. His chest heaving. “Do you see me now?” Angel whispered. Voice jarred. “Do you finally see me, Tony? Not as something you can hide. Or fuck into silence?” Tony’s eyes narrowed. “Shoot me.” Angel was shocked. “What?” “Shoot me, Angel.” **

before he left. "You," I whispered not being able to look at his face. He was covered in blood which I'm sure wasn't his. "This is my job, Andrea. I have to do this," he said taking a few steps towards me. "This isn't the Theo I know," I whispered backing up, "This is a whole entire spawn of Satan." And I was right. With blood dripping from his clothes he looked the part too. He chuckled darkly and for some reason I wasn't scared. "That's where you're wrong," he whispered. My back hit the wall as backed away from him. He leaned closer and whispered, "I am the devil himself."

Well after all, this is his world so it'd be natural if she can feel it. As she steps further into her piece, she saw a boy whose hair is long, his body so skinny, his face almost looking like that of the corpse bride. It looks like the boy is on his way to dying, just in this dim vintage looking place, his ice blue eyes dull. Why is she seeing things like this? Is the Angel of Death disrupting her peace? When Amorivia opened her eyes, her breathing heaved. She puts a hand over her heart, feeling it beating inside of her.

But these days every time he tried to read Angelica's poem came to mind. 'There is a way or two.' He scoffed. What way could there be? "May I disturb?" Suddenly Acheron was with him in the room. Knowing that his silence was often a yes, he sat in the other armchair opposite him. He looked into the fire as well and they sat quietly for a while. Another tortured demon. Rayven had seen him in his worst state and it looked ugly. The constant hunger could turn him into a monster. "Did you feed?"

He said as he pushed my head into the coffin. It felt as though I was staring eye to eye with my end. Without great effort, he reclined me inside. I was shaking like a leaf in the strong breeze. Ace closed the lowermost lid of the coffin and all that could feel the outside air was my head, accommodating a mouth totally lost for words. Ace drew his pants and sat over me, on top of the lid he just closed. “Nobody has ever dared to cross me, Angel. I don't know know what you and Luis eat that gives you such guts!” He paused to glance at my pale face, his eyebrow arched.

"Tessa! This is all your fault! If it hadn't been for you, I wouldn't be in this mess! I wish you were dead! Dead!!" Eric had stepped in front of me and took a knife slash across his chest. He crumpled to the ground, his face ghostly pale, his consciousness fading. The ambulance crew rushed him away. Slowly, the chaos of the scene settled into silence. I just stood there, staring at a ring on the ground, then smeared with bright red blood. I crouched, picked it up, and gently wiped the blood away. My fingertips went cold for a second, but I felt no regret.

Sirens wailed in the distance, fading behind us. Angel stirred in my lap. A low, pained moan escaped her lips. Her eyes fluttered open, seeing nothing. She whispered, the words slurred but clear with despair: “They took him… I couldn’t stop them…” My throat closed. I looked down at her battered face. “Who, Angel? Who did they take?” Her one good eye found mine for a fleeting second, filled with a bottomless grief. Then it rolled back, and she was out again. I looked at Anthony. His face was pale, streaked with grime and blood, his jaw a hard line. He wasn’t looking at the road ahead. He was staring back the way we had come, his eyes dark with a promise of violence.

I couldn't help but recall the night when I suffered an unbearable stomachache. When I opened the door and saw her, I knew right then—she was the angel in my heart. Even though it was strenuous to carry me on her back, she still forcefully took me to the clinic. From that moment, I eagerly awaited our next meeting. Later, when I saw her in a video Rachel posted online, I realized she was Rachel's roommate. This gave me the perfect excuse. I told Rachel I wanted to visit and conveniently mentioned I had no money.