He Was A Dead Man Walking To His Fate Novels & Stories

“I’m taking it.” On the walk back, the first dead thing crosses her path. Male. Forties. Office shirt torn at the shoulder. One shoe missing. Blood down his tie, which feels unnecessarily formal. He shuffles from between two parked cars, head cocked, mouth working around a sound too wet to be breath. Maya stops. Not freezes. Stops. There is a difference, and she has paid for it. The dead man turns toward her. Slow. Hungry. Certain. Her body remembers dying. It tries to send the memory through her knees, her hands, her throat.

I nod back to her. “Kneel before your pack, Justin.” Justin walks forward to the front of the platform and kneels facing the crowd. “For your crimes of treason, deception, and pack endangerment, you are sentenced to death. May you find redemption in the realm of the Moon Goddess.” Justin looks me straight in the eyes and I want him to stop me. Just give me a sign, Justin, and I won’t do this. Justin closes his eyes and leans his head back slightly. I allow my wolf to come forward and the claws of my right hand extend. I take the deepest breath to steady myself. I plunge my hand into the center of Justin’s chest.

He's sort of right to say this because from the very first moment, I awoke that morning, misfortune seemed to trail my every step. But before I could fully process his words, his voice sliced through the air once more, this time tinged with a dangerous edge. "Or maybe," he continued, each syllable dripping with a foreboding intensity, "you can call it your death." The sheer gravity of his words hung heavily in the air, a chilling reminder of the perilous situation that engulfed me.

No one who knew him would think that he was afraid of death. But what really scared him was the predetermined death—the predicted way of death. Everything was already waiting for him on the predetermined path. It was as if there was a grim reaper in front of him. It was not chasing him like before, but it was standing in front of him and waving at him, and he could not run away at all. He could only follow the set script and walk step by step toward the Grim Reaper. “F*ck! I won’t die! I won’t die in this pathetic fish tank!”

Did all die , or maybe he is the one who died , I can’t believe it , yet I can’t just favor their death over him , I cant , I am crying their death , and I don’t want him dead either , I know now he would not die . a walking big shadow is now breaking through the fanfare, walking while dragging a big body behind him I can’t believe is it him , I got up , confused and shaking from just the idea. That body was thrown out high over the fence to the leader who stood there shaking, it was the biggest one of the culprits, but he is no longer here with us .

“I have no idea how I am going to do it, what I can actually offer The Saviors, but whatever it takes, I’m willing to do it. Just so another kid doesn’t lose his world.” I wish I sounded as confident as I felt. Because walking down the hallway felt like I was being walked to the gallows. My throat felt tight. Was this how my mother felt? Small? Alone? And her son idolized her killer. Declan puts his hand in mine. I smile at him gratefully. Together we stood in front of the large doors that would lead to the end of his reign, and the beginning of my doom.

He was dropped on the floor and he heard the man announce: " vamos!! vamos!.. "the man ordered to the rest of the men and they began trooping outside. He saw the lifeless body of the boss and his heart flinched again. No matter how brave we are, we still ought to die someday.. he reasoned as he was pushed out by the men.

He was a walking disaster and was still gulping down his drink, despite how inebriated he was. I hit the gear and drove up to him, knocking him off his feet with my car. I watched him through my rearview as he spun in the air before crashing to the floor. No way he would survive such a fall. I got out of the car and walked to where he lay lifeless. “Have a nice time in hell, bastard!“ I waited to see if he'd show any signs of resuscitation in him. He didn't. He was dead. Convinced, I hurried back into my car and drove off. I was gonna return to the palace, but my hands seemed to have a mind of their own and they were taking me to Rackline.

“That’s what you did, isn’t it? Look where that fucking got you!” He doesn’t answer, just tilts his head as the chains rattle above him faintly. “You flinch when they talk about fate,” he says after a long pause. “But you don’t look away. That’s how I know you’re dangerous. You’re not broken—you’re sharpening.” That word—fate—tastes like poison in my mouth. It used to mean something holy. Now, it means rot in silk robes. He shifts in the dark, his shackles creaking. “Most of the ones they keep down here either beg or go quiet. You? You bleed like it’s a message. You look at your own wounds like they’re scripture. I’ve seen witches carve themselves for less.”

I had all my memories in this place, and I still remembered when I woke up the next morning after my night at the bar—I couldn’t remember anything. What was happening? Didn’t I die? I thought to myself. “You did die,” he replied to me, even without me saying it. “But death is a doorway. And I am Fate. I control who goes in.” I clenched my fists, trying to anchor myself. I wanted to punch him in the face. “What the hell are you talking about? Cut the crap.” His smile never left his face. “It means you are... unique. Not just you—both of you.”