Hero Killer Novels & Stories

The deep voice which finishes that sentence is the only sound the ghost makes as he enters the room. "Got bored playing holy arth thou?" I ask without turning to face him as I stare at the now vacant body. I say a silent prayer and close the Italians eyes before I slide my bloody blade across my leather pants. "It's Sunday," he points out, "gotta phone my sisters." With that, I feel his retreat as his dangerous aura leaves the room with him. I've known Killer since he joined the special ops program a few years back. I was the one who introduced him and Snake to the biker world.

My father was a hero cop, but I was a blemish to his shining resume as I was a delinquent who smoked, drank, and got into fights. Every time I tried to visit him at the precinct, he would slap me and tell me to leave in front of his colleagues. His fatherly love was all meant for Nana Smith, the daughter of his fallen comrade who was a paragon of good character and academic excellence. When Nana was kidnapped, he sent the entire city's officers after the kidnappers. When I was stabbed three times by some thugs and called him for help, he snapped at me, "Quit being a bother. The death of vermin like you is simply good riddance anyway." Even as I suffocated in agony, I lay in a pool of my

His mental health is in bad condition. "I know it was Xavier who killed Mica. And they searched for me too, so I escaped," his hands started to tremble and I'm witnessing this right now with my two eyes. "Lily, remember Hero..." he wasn't able to continue what he was saying when he fell to the ground. Three gunshots and it hits his body. I saw Xavier behind him and it was Mark who shot Takashi. "Hero..." I heard Takashi mentioning that name again before he finally closes his eyes. He was lifeless in front of me.

Blood dripped steadily from his mouth to the floor beneath him, forming a dark, sticky pool. His body trembled. Leo leaned casually against the wall, arms folded. The smell…iron, sweat, fear…hit me. I inhaled deeply. God, I loved this smell. “Good,” I murmured. “You’re still alive.” His head snapped up. Terror filled his eyes the moment he recognized me. “You… you’re the Killer,” he sobbed. I chuckled softly and walked closer, my boots splashing in his blood. “Relax,” I said calmly. “This will only hurt… a lot.”

Lying in the deep mud, completely illuminated by the headlights of a Reaper’s truck, was a body. It was Hector. The ruthless shot-caller for the Skulls cartel. The exact man I had been hunting, torturing, and bleeding the city dry to find for the last month. I knelt in the freezing mud beside him. He hadn't been killed in a shootout. He hadn't been beaten to death by a rival gang. His hands were neatly bound behind his back with wire. There was a single, perfect bullet hole directly between his eyes. The entry wound was small, precise, and clean. An executioner's mark.

Veron looked at the Hidden Hero Sect members and said, "Cut their heads off—every single one of them." Darryl was responsible for her mother's death, and Chester and the rest were Darryl's family—killing them would release some of her built-up hatred for him. About ten Hidden Hero Sect elites drew their sabers, darting toward Chester and the rest. That was it. At that instance, fear and desolation washed over Chester, Zoey, and the rest as their faces paled; their eyes shut hopelessly.

So maybe it's better that he is not here. “So, here’s the things we know about the killer. Firstly his targets are all renowned and prominent men in our country. Until now he has had three victims. Mr. Arik Watson- 48 years old. Estimated time of death 1st April 2020, 3.30 A.M. He was a prosecutor who won several awards for bringing justice to the people. Dr. Robert Jonson- 54 years old. Estimated time of death 12th July 2020, 3.50 A.M. He was one of the best general surgeons in our country. Mr. James Brown -50 years old. Estimated time of death 23th January 2021, 3.45 A.M. He was the founder and the Chairman of J.B. Garments company.” And with that, Mr. Anderson gave each of his teammates

It was the same shape and colour. He shook his head, grimacing from the pain. “I encountered the killer this morning,” he replied, his voice so low I had to strain my ears to hear him. “You met Mr Lover?” I asked, closing the distance between us. “Mr Lover? Is that the name he told you? In high school, they knew him as the Scorpion.” I gasped. “Have you found out who he is? Has he gotten arrested? Do you —”

Five men, faces wrapped in gauze and black cloth, moved like shadows, silent, synchronized assassins. The first lunged. Leo didn’t think, he moved. He ducked low and slammed his fist into the attacker’s knee. A crack. A howl. He ripped the man’s knife from his belt and drove it into his throat. He didn’t even blink. The second came from behind. Leo twisted, inhumanly fast, and caught the man mid-air, slamming him against the concrete wall with a bone-splitting crunch. Blood painted the light switch. The venom. It wasn’t killing him. It was unlocking something.

“A no is a no.” “Are you crazy?” I searched his face for a trace of a lie or a joke, but frowned when he continued to be stone-faced. “What is your problem? I need those suppressants! I’m not going to survive without one!” “Who says I care?” He arched a dark brow. “Didn’t you threaten to take yourself out? Well, you need to learn that I’m a tough man, and losing a ma—you, whom I have no emotional bond with or care about isn’t going to ruin me. I can help you die very slowly if you want. Do you want that, Herlo?”