Novel & Cerita Deathless Death

Death finally asked, his voice low and calm, though his eyes studied her with quiet calculation. Venessa’s lips curled into a sharp smile. “Dispose of it. Burn it. Bury it. I don’t care. What matters is that she is never found.” Death gave a short nod. “Understood.” He stepped out of the car, his heavy boots crunching against the gravel. Venessa didn’t wait…her engine roared to life, and she drove off into the night, leaving the air thick with exhaust and silence. The moment her taillights vanished, Death’s hand went up. One of his men emerged from the shadows, carrying Delilah in his arms like a broken doll. Her head lolled to the side, her hair spilling down, her skin pale under the dim st

I scanned through the document, turning the pages. Once. Then again. Deathless Death wasn’t there. My stomach tightened. “It’s been two years since I created it…” I said, lifting my gaze toward Asher. “Why isn’t it listed?” Asher’s eyes dropped to the file for a brief moment before he looked away in silence. “It’s because Deathless Death isn’t a pack weapon,” Ezra said. My brows furrowed. “It’s Asher’s personal weapon,” Ezra continued, his voice growing colder with every word. “A weapon he intends to use on himself.”

Only if I had known my soul would have been sold for nothing, I would have ended it. The room hadn't changed a bit all these years. Same dark walls that made the room intimidating and the absolute perfection in the way it was organized just as its owner, hiding all that evil just barely underneath the surface, simmering and waiting for the perfect time to strike its prey. I repressed a shudder and took a seat waiting for him to notice my presence in the room. He was writing in a journal on the desk, I had always wondered what he wrote in there, the number of people he killed, or the latest mission he accomplished?

I say, then turn and walk away from him just as the sun starts to rise. The stench of a vampire’s burning flesh never gets easier to stomach, and I expect the screaming to follow soon after. But as I said, these Devil’s Void vamps are a different breed altogether; they don’t even scream when their entire bodies burst into flames. When you spend your entire life killing monsters, you become just as cold and unfeeling as them. Another blade to the heart means nothing, even if it is a woman or a child. That’s what I’ve been raised to believe, and I have to live up to it—Katherine Décès, hunter and Death’s Temple heiress; the deadliest hunter guild, Death’s Temple.

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 last two rotten pillars of the old regime." Killian’s jaw set, his silver eyes flashing with dark finality. "Their names are marked." With a casual, almost indifferent flick of Killian’s wrist, the microscopic shadow filaments inside the courier snapped taut. With a dull, internal thud, the courier’s heart ceased to beat instantly, his body slumping forward into the silver chains, dead before his head touched his chest. The heavy silence of the dungeon returned, thick with the scent of ozone and cooling blood.

The corresponding image was a swirling vortex of darkness, vaguely humanoid, a shape that seemed to hurt the eyes to look at. "The Deathless Chevalier," she continued, her voice growing more strained. "A cursed knight from the Dark Ages, bound by ancient, unbreakable runes. Each time he is killed, his body reconstitutes itself within three days, his strength and resilience marginally increased. He learns from every death." The screen showed a figure in pitted, black plate armor, the space behind its visor a horrifying, soul-deep abyss.

Oliver ordered him, but it didn't break him. "I...I can't..." He replied hesitantly. He loved his business more than his life and didn't want all those dark secrets to come out, for they could destroy everything. "I'm asking one last time... WHO IS IT!!?" Oliver lost his temper. The man on the gunpoint stayed quiet and didn't even move a little. He lowered his head and just waited for his death. "Sorry then..." Oliver said one last time before he pulled the trigger. The bullet went into his head, causing immediate death. Oliver didn't even flinch or have a disturbed expression on his face after killing that guy.

Mike laughed out loudly. "I encouraged her to meet you earlier, boy, stop dreaming. She won't come after you," Mike continued laughing. "You can never date her. She is beyond your league. Your love for her is dateless! Please stay away from her. Just one word from me, she would hate you forever. If you value the 'hi' and 'hello' you are getting from her, please maintain it," Mike warned. "Dateless love can also mean love without an expiry date. Mark my word today," Brian said and walked swiftly away.

The jacket had hot chocolate- colored elbow patches and she chose a cutout fringe petal pink turtleneck do accompany it. Meredith took a quick shower and pulled on a Saint Lauren highrise jean pencil skirt as she heard Brayden start up the blue bathroom shower. She put her hair in a french twist and finished getting dressed and was glad she didn’t have to ignore him and he had kept his distance while Taylor was over. But what Edward had said to her kept replaying in her mind. He was right, Meredith didn’t choose what she could and couldn’t do. It was all according to the Death Contract. Of course, she couldn’t have admitted that top Edward. And she couldn’t really tell Taylor what was going