Novelas y relatos de Death Note

"Fierro, why is your face doesn’t have a mark?" He raised his eyebrow. "Huh?" “N-nevermind . . .” I lowered my gaze. I was just hallucinating. “Are you still dreaming, Maximaze? Wake yourself up first” He sighed, approached me, and laid the tray on my bed. I gazed beside me. There was sunlight. "Maybe . . .” I sighed. “Maybe I was just dreaming—no, those were memories,” I whispered. More than a decade ago, I became the Death Judge. I, Maximaze Lativitus Park, was the youngest Death Judge in history. Having this title helped me learn more about the world. As I gathered more experiences, more nightmares started to haunt me.

No matter the circumstances and odds against me, I am always ready to fight until death. And let me remind you that I have slain many soldiers, knights, monsters, and beasts. Don't forget how I single-handedly killed ten vicious players. I might not know the power of the Smith or anything about the so-called nectar that General Zod and the familiar voice are requesting from me. However, I am sure of one thing. I am sure that I won't die because "Tomorrow Never Dies."

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.

"From now on, you are the prime suspect in Chester Paget's murder!" Eleanor said as she leaned on the table with both arms, her sharp gaze drilling into me. "The lab results are out. We found sleeping pills in his bloodstream! Aren't these Diazepams yours? Tell me, why did you murder your husband?" I froze for a moment before abruptly standing, my emotions spiraling out of control as I shouted, "That's impossible! This bottle contains Carbamazepine!

There, right beside my husband Brandon in the photo, was my so-called best friend, Melissa. … Snapping out of it, I stared at Melissa's two-faced expression. She must have known about the lottery win by then. They had probably plotted the whole thing, faking his death to pocket the cash. "Noelle, don't take it so hard. You're already unwell. What if Brandon's death makes you worse?" I shrugged off Melissa's hand and asked with eerie calm, "Where's Brandon's body? I want to see him." Melissa blinked, thrown off by my composure. "In the ward," she stammered.

An untraceable phantom known only as Ghost. Every target assigned to Ghost had ended up dead with a single, surgical puncture to the heart. No alarms tripped. No forensic evidence left behind. A true myth. Five years ago, the underworld partner I had been trading logistics networks with was murdered overnight, and rumors whispered that Ghost had been the weapon. Then, the assassin vanished completely from the grid, leaving the name to gather dust in the archives of the syndicate wars. I opened my eyes, my gaze shifting to the rear-view mirror.

Death was a tall 6'5", slim man with mostly pale skin. His arms, like his legs, were pitch black. His hair was long, about shoulder length, and almost as dark as his limbs. Death was wearing a dark purple robe that went down to the top of his shins with a hood on the back. The sleeves were long enough to cover his lanky arms. His office was a simple room, about eight-hundred square feet, with grey walls. There was a desk and a plaque behind the desk that reads "Memento Mori" Death didn't care for the plaque and often saw it as kind of a joke. He was given it as a gift though, so he kept it hung up at all times, hoping his new recruits wouldn't notice.

The soul eater sits on the floor, covered in blood and something else that I don't recognize until I open the door further and step in. Looking down, I see a disemboweled baby torn to shreds. It's in so many pieces that I can't even tell for sure what it is, except for the baby bottle half buried in the blood and intestines. Suddenly, the smell hits me and I have to bend over as I lose my supper. Sandwich spraying everywhere, even on the soul eater. She looks up at me and smiles while holding an arm bone and then begins gnawing on it.

He was crying but finally looking at her. "What happened Damien?" He didnt say anything but he cried more. Silently. She didn't even think he was breathing. It was as if he was trying to hold his breath to hold in his tears. "Oh you found- what the fuck?" Jonathan gasped in shock. Ashleigh looked at Jonathan, "Please, make all this disappear?" "Sure." Ashleigh watched Damien stare at the floor as Jonathan got rid of the pills and the blade and all of their companions. When Jonathan left to put away the stuff she spoke.

Black as the darkest night hair against a crisp linen pillow, brown skin against a blindingly white sheet, and tiger’s eyes burning with deliberate cruelty and triumph into hers. In horrified rejection of the imagery that had sprung into her mind, Lara Anderson shuddered violently, dimly aware that she was still in the grip of severe shock. Abruptly, she was dredged from her turmoil by the insistent shrill of the telephone in the hall. Reluctantly she answered the summons, carefully shutting the lounge door behind her so that her father was not disturbed.