Human Cross Sans Novels & Stories

He was holding an empty aluminum soda can. Without breaking his dead, burning stare from my face, Leo’s large fingers slowly clenched. With a single, terrifying flex of his bare palm, his knuckles went completely white as he crushed the thick aluminum completely flat, the sharp metal screeching loudly as it deformed inside his fist. He didn't blink once, his jaw locking into a tight, rigid line that told me everything I needed to know about the storm waiting for me in the dark.

Alive. Her relief hit Alexander like a physical blow, sharp enough to steal his breath. She was seated, shoulders tense, breathing visibly hard as if she’d been forced to hold it in. Sweat slicked her hair back from her face, strands clinging to her temple. Her wrists weren’t visible, but the angle suggested restraint. No blindfold this time. Her eyes were open. Focused. Alexander stepped closer without realizing it. A man’s voice came from off-screen, distorted but confident. “Mr. Cross.”

"The Tenth Life... it’s tired of hiding. It wants to be shared." ​"Do it," I said, my voice vibrating with a power I didn't recognize. ​I reached behind my back, locking my fingers with his. ​BOOM. ​The "Forbidden Touch" didn't just spark—it detonated. ​A dome of violet and silver energy blasted outward in a perfect, lethal circle. Shipping crates made of reinforced steel turned to splinters in a heartbeat. The soldiers didn't even have time to scream. One moment they were pulling triggers; the next, they were nothing but fine white ash dancing in the draft.

They shout for Syd, the first guy steps on the wire and there’s a moment before it goes off, Sansom blurs out the front door again with one other person following on his heels. The other two are staring at the wire, and not moving. Idiots, the faster one gets blasted in the back, and thrown forwards out of frame. The other two are splattered all over the walls, there was no recovering from that. It’s a much bigger explosion than he’d thought it would be. Sansom comes back into frame to look inside again.

My voice scrapes out of my throat, completely wrecked. "I didn't need my hands. This tongue is capable of magic." He leans against the marble vanity, crossing his ankles. Water drips from his messy blond hair onto his collarbones. "I get the whole list, Kir. The collar, the cuffs, the St. Andrew's cross. All of it." "We are not buying a wooden cross to carry across the world while we are traveling." "I’ll find a collapsible one," he argues immediately. "Or an inflatable one. I don't care. I won."