Game Of Thrones Head On Spike Novels & Stories

If not for my body being secured by the seat belt, I would have been thrown forward, head slam into the dashboard, cracked skull, cut on my forehead, blood dripping down to my nose, dizziness and I'm petty sure I would have had a concussion as well by now. Dawn's main concern, however, was my sacrilegious joke. She let go of the breaks and the car began to roll forward slowly, thank God there were no other cars closely behind us and while that was happening she turned her entire body to face me and said in a grave manner, "Don't you EVER joke about such things again girlie... DON'T." Yup and there you have it. That, folks is Dawn, switching from jolly to serious at the mention of George Cloo

SPIKE Spike held the silencer and waited for the front door to open. The reason he had chosen the silencer was to keep his hiding safe, so they wouldn't get where the bullet came from. As soon as the first assassin entered, he aimed for his head and pulled the trigger. What Spike did not quickly get was that they were assassins like him and were as smart as he was. The two assassin started to shoot at the chairs but spike was fast enough. He quickly rolled out and bent his head, caught hold of his gun that fell from his hand shot and assassin by his ribs.

Zanele Okafor "The true cause of this warrior's death is not the heavy trauma his stomach took during the border fight," I brief the young cubs assisting my table, my fingers moving a sharp silver blade across the cold flesh inside the Healers' Moon Network room. "The lethal blow sits right inside his skull. Three thick steel spikes were driven straight into his brain. Our paws will send these metal spikes to the shadow trackers for a deep metal analysis after this work is done." Riven Thornclaw hands the metal tongs straight to my fingers, while another young healer takes quick magic-stone pictures and records every single observation my tongue lets out during the cutting.

It was over before they could blink. Two shots for Marco, center mass. The squibs taped to his chest detonated on impact, spraying a dark crimson mist. He dropped in a heap. Hendrix charged like a bull. I sidestepped, put one in his knee, then his skull as he buckled. The packs burst, painting the concrete with convincing gore. Chris fired wild, but the boss was poetry. A clean headshot. The round struck the squib hidden in his hairline, detonating it in a spray of red and bone fragments. His body crumpled without a twitch. Fake blood pooled quick on the concrete, the air thick with powder burn and the metallic tang of the theatrical blood.

I said and lunged towards him as he screamed. I stuck the knives on either side of his throat as his eyes bulged in their sockets. I pulled the knives together and his head fell backwards, held on only by skin and his spinal cord. His body slumped down in slow motion and landed at my feet with a thud as I wiped the knives on my black pants and put them back in their holsters. “Nice,” Abeloth murmured and I knelt down next to his body. I took his head in my hands and yanked it away from his body. I heard the crunch as his spine snapped and I stood up. I walked through the trees until I reached the back of the Walmart and left his head in the dumpster at the back of the building.

The sound was a mechanical snap, loud as a gunshot, echoing from the walls. From the walls, the ceiling, and the floor, hidden compartments slid open. I looked up, my breath catching in my throat. Silver spikes. They shot out from everywhere. Hundreds of them. They were six feet long, as thick as doorknobs, and made of pure, toxic silver. They moved with terrifying speed, aiming for the center of the room—for anyone standing near the pedestal. They were heading straight for Nash. Nash was frozen, his hand locked onto the dagger. He was looking at me, his eyes wide with the realization of his death. He couldn't move fast enough. The spikes were seconds away.

The other two Reapers have moved further down the line, checking the riverbank. He is alone. I creep up behind him. The smell of his cigarette smoke is a guide rope in the dark. Ten feet. Five. He turns. He senses something. Instinct. "Who's there?" he grunts, reaching for his rifle. I don't freeze. I lunge. I bring the railroad spike down. I aim for the soft spot between the neck and the collarbone. THUNK. The iron drives deep. Vargos gurgles. His eyes go wide. He drops his rifle, his hands flying to his neck, trying to pull the spike out.

"That's because I've already accepted he isn't any better than you. I would rather take my chances with you." ************************************************** The west wing was chaos. Gunfire cracked through the air, and the sharp scent of gunpowder and scorched stone filled her nose. Sergio’s guards were already engaged, exchanging bullets with masked intruders clad in black from head to toe. Rosana didn’t hesitate, her body acting on its own with ease as she moved closer to the battle ahead of her, Sergio just before her. She ducked into cover behind a collapsed marble column, raised her pistol, and fired twice. One man dropped and another went down after Sergio’s return fire snapped thr

Gideon unclenched his fist and grabbed the Beast Supreme Bone Spur, ripping it away by force. "Bastard! Give it back!" Freddie roared. Gideon sneered, "As you wish. Here!" The Beast Supreme Bone was hurled through the air with devastating force, aimed straight at Freddie. "This is bad!" Morgan, Samson, and the others turned pale. The blow was too vicious. If Freddie took the full hit, he would either die or be crippled. He was, after all, Chase's uncle. They couldn't just stand there. Instantly, several people made their move to block it. Even so, the Beast Supreme Bone Spike broke through layer after layer of defense, slamming into Freddie. His body cracked open like a splitting log, crashi