Doll Murder Drones Fanart Novels & Stories

Face-to-Face Again Through the crackling comm, Natalia’s cold voice echoed, sharp and venomous: "Did you really think... you could escape me?" Her scarred face flickered onto the holographic display, twisted into a deadly smirk. "You’re not survivors... you’re already dead." The Trap Closes The ceiling compartments burst open, releasing non combat drones armed with turret rifles, their red targeting beams locking on. Damien surged forward, cutting through the nearest drone with brutal precision, his dark eyes fierce. Vanessa dropped back, firing fast, taking out three guards before they could reinforce the entrance.

It lurched away from the overpass edge, swallowed by fog again, leaving us stranded on the dead bridge. A low, mechanical whine undercuts the sirens. I frowned. “What is that?” The answer came from below. Shape moved in the alleyways and broken streets under the overpass—sleek, low, wrong. They poured out of gaps like water: **dog‑like drones**, all sharp angles and metal plating, moving with twitchy, unnerving speed. Their bodies were matte black, jointed like wolves but too smooth, too precise. Their jaws were a mess of interlocking metal teeth, wired with exposed cables that sparked when they snapped.

Paint splattered on the floor, on furniture, on Amara's clothes, evidence of the emotional storm that engulfed her. Finally, as the last rays of sunlight faded, Amara stepped back, her breath catching in her throat. The finished painting loomed before her, an unintended masterpiece born from the depths of her subconscious. The eyes on the canvas stare back at her, intense and piercing, capturing a familiarity that sends a chill down her spine.

Rain held back, screwing the lid back on the water and waiting to hear what Mist had to say before she let herself panic. “Drones,” Mist replied on a loud exhale. “They’re heat seeking drones, so they don’t just rely on visual location finders, but they’ll also pick up any animal over a hundred pounds.” “Dang, I knew I shouldn’t have had that second meat stick this morning,” Walt joked.

The blue beams of the drones' plasma cannons missed us by inches, lighting up the interior of the cockpit with a ghostly, neon glow. "They're circling for another pass," Killian said, his jaw set. "Elena, I can't outfly them in this bucket. It’s built for escape, not dogfighting." I looked at the drones. They were beautiful, in a cold, murderous way. They represented everything the Matriarch stood for—nature perfected by cold, unfeeling steel. "You don't have to outfly them," I said. I moved toward the airlock at the rear of the pod.

"Nobody closes it without my say." A Scrapper drone burst through the elbow joint. It was a fusion of a spider and a buzzsaw. I drove my hand forward. The vacuum of the Seventh Seal erupted from my palm. It caught the drone mid-air. The Multiversal market was open. The first customer was trying to break the shop.

His fingers twitched slightly at his sides, the only betrayal of the storm building within him. “Subject: Deceased. Adrium: Not detected.” The lead drone emitted a short, shrill beep, and the others responded with a synchronized retreat, lifting upward like vultures denied a feast. In seconds, they were gone, vanishing into the smog above the ruins. Tunde exhaled slowly. His eyes flicked to the crate. The shard glowed faintly in the shadows like a heart still beating.

So much more important than thread and stuffing and glass eyes, wrapped in a half-torn dress. I still feel bad about that doll. The one I saved from a hooker name. A doll I carried around with me for years, and now remember only in flashes. Bare, bright impressions, like seeing something through burned retinas. Seared over everything in a glowing silhouette. The same as Loki. I barely met Loki, but when I remember him it’s with a sick stirring so deep and violent it’s like there’s a clawed hand rammed down my throat. Churning my guts around. Turning my insides into so much fine flesh confetti.

On several paintings I saw Wraiths similar to those I had seen on the dark path leading to the Mother's hut, but a massive mural teeming with devil dogs, dark smoky spirits, Centaurs, horned figures, and more Wraiths chilled me to the bone. Alexis examined the mural. "It is the dark path…" I focused on the image of a terrified woman, her mouth a gaping maw as she silently screamed. An uprooted stalagmite tree had snatched her from the path, and something slimy gnawed on her foot. "This is what you saw?" Ran asked while staring in horror at the mural. "Yes," I said, shivering. Alexis rubbed my arms. "Follow me." He led us down an immense corridor decorated with murals, statues of winged demon

Lucas was just staring at him blankly until he made his way out. Zera entered the room and collected the ashes of the contract. “Shall I call on the next?” she asks, and Lucas just nodded, feeling sleepy. Zera went outside his office, carrying the ashes and disposed them in the huge Tree of Death in their lounge area. Domus Malum, or the “House of Evil” is nothing like a creepy place that most movies make as the devil’s nest. Lucas made it look like an ordinary office with minimalist designs, it has a wall of shelves for books, a nice lounge area for the guests and a huge piano beside the Tree of Death, where the contracts of their clients serve as the soil and the tree being fertilized by t