Hourglass Skull Mga Nobela at Kwento

Skull after skull built up the massive back of the chair: human skulls, animals, and ones with horns and unnatural outgrowths. Bloody weapons were stuck in between them here and there, an ax wedged between a massive bone I had no chance of recognizing and a skull; its edge blinked as the light from the walls next to it hit the sharp point. Squinting my eyes and taking a step closer to see, I swear it looked like the blood on it was still wet, still flowing down the handle. And sure enough, as I came closer, I saw the drops fall and land with a splat on an old little leather drum sticking out from the massive wall of skulls and bones.

She fell to her knees gasping in pain. The giant did not look at her. It did not have eyes to turn. Its skull was a block of unpolished gray granite crudely chiseled into the shape of an old king's crown. Two narrow slits had been cut across the stone where the brows should have been. Through those gaps a dull unblinking purple fire flared and faded in time with the turning of the basalt cylinder in its chest.

The doctor swallowed, then fixed the rims of his glasses on the bridge of his nose before looking at the of in his hands. “She has a subdural hematoma. It is a type of brain bleeding that occurs between the dura mater and the brain itself. She seems to have hit her head hard, twice, which worsened the state of the blood clot in the brain. We will need to have her under our watch. If the clot doesn’t go down on its own in the next 72 hours, she’ll need an open skull surgery.” He paused, and I was fucking thankful because every word he said felt like a rusted spear was piercing right through my heart over and fucking over again.

In order to figure out how the mechanism of this skull worked, he cut a small wound and dripped a drop of blood on it. The cracks in the skull emitted a faint red light, and it was extremely clear that it was absorbing the dripping blood. Soon, the blood disappeared without a trace. "This thing is really a little scary. No wonder those believers are so convinced." Samuel sighed. If he were not an atheist, he would have been fooled by this kind of situation. However, he firmly believed that there were no ghosts or gods in the world, so the skull was just a prop in his eyes. He just could not find out how its mechanism worked for the time being.

“No problem.” He was silent again for several more minutes. I became absorbed in my studying again, only to notice eventually that he was inching closer and closer so he could see my notes. “Hmm,” he muttered, rubbing his head. I sighed and looked up from my work again. “What is it now?” “Well, the glabella is used for facial expression, not supporting the lacrimal apparatus. That would be the lacrimal bone.” Once again, I realized that Luke was right. I fixed my work.

The thick, heat-shielded blast doors of the pod blew outward, tumbling across the ruined road. A thick, viscous green gel spilled from the pod, pooling on the hot asphalt. And then, the Hound stepped out. It was a nightmare sculpted from human DNA. It stood nearly eight feet tall, its musculature grotesquely swollen and hyper-dense. Its skin was not flesh, but a overlapping lattice of pale, bone-white cartilage and dark, metallic scales. It had no eyes, only a smooth, sloping dome of thick bone protecting its brain. Deep, jagged gill-like slits lined its neck, flaring aggressively as it processed the chemical and thermal signatures of the air.

And I would never have guessed she went through it all if not for the x-rays. Somewhere in the back of my head the small voice appeared, whispering a name. But of course. The big guy is Jennings, big, bad Elky gangster Jennings. My hand flinched, I just hoped the two people watching me didn’t notice it. Elky stared at the scan in his hands. It was black film, and I saw it too. I saw a skull cracked in multiple places. It was then stitched, glued, fused, assembled piece by piece, like a broken Chinese vase. He didn’t seem to like it that much. He stared at the black lines of transplants on the forehead and cheekbones; the nose has been broken; the pins in the corners of the upper jaw and at t

Gulping, Zander stared at the three heads torn apart from the bodies lying in the dark slime, the only thing recognizable in the room. The skulls were getting disintegrated. Slowly burning, going down, submerging in the acid like black substance. And he gulps. Daring, he lifts his eyes to look at the source of all this chaos. The girl who stood in the center of the slime with her head lowered, her wet hair veiling her face. The skin he was kissing and caressing a few hours ago was pale, white as a ghost. The worn out hoodie she wore every day was red with blood. Torn from places like someone tried to force her.

Gemma has to hurry. There are two points on Draconian that can be used to immobilize them. Jo’s father’s voice rang in Gemma’s head. The Draconian swung its claws again, almost hitting Gemma’s arm. Gemma couldn’t attack it if this flying cockroach kept swinging its claws. The first is in the open forehead. But before that, you have to slash their hands. Gemma looked up and saw what Jo’s father meant. Draconian skulls are not as complete as humans. There was a hole in there that revealed the contents inside its head. There was no brain in it, just a thick, black pulsing lump.

This was an action that he will regret for as long as he lives. Pale, translucent skin stretched across its skull, and greasy, stringy brown hair hung off of it in patches. One of its eyes was a pale corpse-colored blue, its pupil merely a quivering pinprick. The opposite eyelid was plastered into a deformed crevice, revealing the cavernous insides where an eye had once made its home. It growled through a clenched mouth, revealing jagged yellow and black teeth, some of them looking like they had been sharpened down to a point. Its body was grimy and severely emaciated, the outlines of bones looking like they had been carved into its flesh. Red, raised scars covered this thing from its arms t