Death Parade End Novels & Stories

"H-Hannibal's alive? How? Wouldn't that make him a three-hundred-year-old freak?!" "There are things that you will not understand. What you should focus on right now instead is dying in peace. After you're dead, I will find Hannibal and end all this." "Wait!" Chase yelled. "Kill him!" Slayer from Daemon's squad stepped forward. Following a slashing sound, Chase looked down at his chest, shuddered, and reluctantly collapsed to the floor. Thus, ended his life. Everyone in the conference room screamed when they saw this. Adrian turned around and said, "Burn this place down after the purge is over."

Nora, who managed to escape and find safety, goes there and upon finding Mercedes dead, covers her body with a sheet before leaving to help the wounded. What a cowardly act it is to kill an elderly woman who can't even defend herself! Mr. Egil Arrabal and his wife lie on the ground, together, surrounded by many bodies. The end of the Arrabal clan, desired by so many, had finally arrived.

Status: Terminated. 1944: Elena & Stefan – Berlin. Status: Terminated. 1986: Sarah & David – New York. Status: Terminated. 2026: Alessia & Lorenzo – Nairobi. Status: Pending. I felt the blood drain from my face. It wasn't just a few lives. It was a graveyard of centuries. "Look at the endings, Lorenzo," I said, my voice barely a breath. "Look at how we die." I tapped the 1922 entry. A grainy, black-and-white image flickered to life. It was me—or a woman with my face—lying in the snow. And standing over me, a pistol in his hand and tears on his face, was a man with Lorenzo’s eyes.

She never saw him again after that. About six or seven years into the apocalypse, Hayley happened to overhear in a base tavern that the small base Thomas had joined was wiped out by a zombie horde. No one made it out. By then, nobody even remembered who Thomas was. Nobody except Hayley. In the apocalypse, most people were like fireworks. They showed up for a moment, burned bright for a second, and disappeared forever. Anyway, back to the point. Taking people from another base always came with a price.

The ground he lay under was soaked in so much blood, I knew it was futile to hope. Kill count for Clara: 104 children, 2 adults.

“You can purge it. End everything. Or lock it forever—take the burden. Your choice.” Emotional climax built slow—years of auctions, betrayals, viruses, deaths crashing together. Sofia’s flatline in Berlin. Nadia’s smile as she died. Anya’s fevered eyes in Port Harcourt. Dante and Rocco—my only constants—bleeding beside me through every hell. I pressed down—retinal scan flaring, heartbeat locking. “Final heir override. All remaining strains terminating. Global network permanent shutdown. Node self-destruct in sixty seconds.” The console flashed green—codes scrolling to zero. Servers began overheating—fans screaming, lights strobing red.

"Ma'am, I went to your house this morning to pick up some documents, and I saw this on the couch. I believe Morgan had drawn this, and I thought it would make you happy just seeing it." He handed the drawing to me with three little stick figures holding hands in crayons with smiles on their faces. Scott thought it was the three of us. I thought so too… Until I saw the date in the lower right corner. That date was the day my parents had died in that car crash. My voice shook. "How did you get this drawing?" Scott looked confused and answered honestly. "It was on the living room couch. I picked it up without thinking..." I burst out laughing, my laughter sounding like it was laced with despair

So did Achilles, the First Elder of the Yalans, the First Elder of the Ice Emperor Clan, and even the eight great elders of the Inuit Clan. Regardless of whether this era was unbearable, or desolate, they had to be left behind for later generations to evaluate. And it was precisely because of these people that this era was born. Sorrow, numbness, and despair appeared on the faces of the remaining people in the western camp, who were still struggling to hold on, with the death of the three top experts. Their last hope had been ruined, and what awaited them was a massacre. There was no innocence in this battlefield, or it could be said that when they stepped into this battlefield, their fate w

Two years after the freeze, Maya Chen stood at the edge of what they now called Hope's Garden—a memorial to every person who'd died in the apocalypse and its aftermath. The garden held 47 stones. Each carved with a name. Hope. Harold. Thomas Miller. Sarah Cho. Marcus Reed. The six others from the war with Grant. The three refugees left behind. The seven rejected at capacity. The infant who'd died despite everything. And 26 more. People who'd died in the two years since—accidents, illness, age, the unpredictable violence of the new world.

Soft flakes drifted downward before gradually thickening into a steady curtain of white. In the allied pack territory where the women, children, and elderly members of the Deltor’s Pack had been sheltered for protection, unbearable grief consumed them. Ever since the war had ended the previous night, a suffocating weight of despair had settled upon their hearts. The crushing news had reached them that their pack had fallen in defeat against the Salavator’s. From that moment on, the refuge had been filled with nothing but sorrow. Agonizing cries echoed through the enclosed space, blending into a continuous chorus of mourning.