Four Or Dead Novel Free Novels & Stories

Theme:- Welcome to the Afterlife part 1 As it was inscribed in the holy book, it was given for a man to die once, and after that death, it is judgement. But for me, Rey Reed, it is different. If my guess is right, this will be the third time I have visited the land of the dead. The first time was when I escaped from the tar pit. I can't remember how long I lost consciousness, but when I woke up. I only opened my eyes in hell.

He bent down to me. "You can sense that, correct," he asked roughly and ran his fingers down my cheek. I nodded my head and sighed with my eyes closed feeling his touch and the memories it invoked. Rai chuckled and turned to the fates with his brow raised in wait for their answer. Morgan pulled her sister to her side and mumbled something into her ear, making Elise smirk. That told me they had no intention of leaving either of us alone and Rai sensed the same thing. I felt a gust of air and heard two thuds hit the floor. The sound echoed through the empty museum and I gritted my teeth at the two bodies that fell next to the decapitated heads. "Oh shit, you just killed the fates, Destiny is g

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Never write it down. The answer came without trying. 4-12-7. Varek. 9-2-1. Is hiding. 14-8-3. What you are. Couldn't breathe. The last line. Come to the Neon Wards tonight. Staring at the dead man bleeding into the stone. Not Syris. Syris didn't know my father's knots. Nobody knew my father's knots except people from before. People from the life buried in Sector Four ten years ago. People who should not have existed anymore.

"He thought he could teach a bird to rule the sky. But birds were meant for the cage." I tried to turn, to drive my carbon steel blade into his ribs, but my muscles were completely paralysed. The chemical darkness was already dragging me under. "Welcome to Phase Four," the dead man whispered, his grip tightening possessively around my waist. "The hunt is officially open." Everything went pitch – black.

The four of them were grey-faced and haggard, stubble grown out, eyes sunk deep, the look of men who hadn't shut their eyes in a month. The instant the doors opened, all four turned their heads at once. When they saw my mother's face, the cup in Rex's hand slipped and shattered on the floor. “Alice?” Rex was first to rush over, his voice cracking. “You're not dead? You're really not dead?” Cormac stumbled two steps forward, shaking all over, reaching out a hand and not daring to touch her, as if afraid she were an illusion. “Alice… this can't be.”

Something Maya has no useful word for. The word would have to describe a man aiming twelve bodies the way she would aim one rifle, and English, having spent centuries finding twelve ways to describe uncomfortable chairs, apparently never prepared for this. Marcus turns the pack. Points it. The dead come over the west fence and meet a thing already there to meet them. One animal with thirty heads.

Then she walked up to me, viciously grinding her foot into my wound, using my blood as ink to press down her handprint. After finishing all this, she revealed a cruel smile. "Let him go," she ordered the security guards before saying to me, "John, you know? Your look of despair was just like your mother's before she died. On the day I went to court to declare you dead, I deliberately delivered the good news to your mother. Who would have thought that she'd be so frail? She passed away due to a heart attack." Nora did not have an ounce of pity on her face, only provocation.

That she was just tricked by the Yamato's team. Well, though the truth transpired it was too late now, Clench never regretted to be with her in death. Well, it seems that it was already written on the book of life, where the love story they once built and was broken into pieces, reconnected again, between the tragic of Love and Death.

Wiping his hands on his pants, he tried again and was able to dial 911. As he waited for the call to connect, his eyes roamed the library, darting here and there, anywhere but at Harold. He noticed some books had been knocked off a nearby bookcase, a scattering of anthologies. Yet among them, he spotted his own name. A copy of his novel Dead Don’t Dance. It shouldn’t be here, he kept all his author copies in his office out in the carriage house. “This is 911. What is the nature of your emergency?”