Killer Sans Stages Novels & Stories

[Seraphine's POV] "Kill him," Cassian repeated that sentence again. "Kill." "Kill." "Kill." "Kill." "Kill." "Kill." "NO!" My feet immediately moved again from where I stood because I couldn't stand Cassian's words. He was so different from before. Cassian kept repeating the same sentence as if he was trying to hypnotize me, manipulate me with his words. "Seraphine! Kill him! You won't be able to raise him!"

“I set up a few magic circles today and made myself the marker for all those magic circles. “How can he kill me when I’m not in the magic circle, but he is in it? The three grandmasters skilled in killing will make a move on him simultaneously. In fact, he may have even been weakened to the level of a late-stage master… “Can he still turn the tide by that? If that really is the case, we will just wait for him to kill us.” Dylan said coldly, “The Admiralporium has captured many fighters, so I can say with certainty that there are cases of peak-stage masters killing grandmasters, but it is rare! “Moreover, the vast majority of them can only kill early-stage grandmasters. Mr. Yale and Mr. Leigh

Chaos erupted. Everyone scrambled toward the soldier's hospital room. Miller dragged me by my handcuffs, pushing me to the front of the crowd. Through the glass, I saw Enzo tangled in a mess of tubes. Disgust flashed across my face. Then I gave Miller a faint smile. "If I had known you were so hard to kill, I would have used white phosphorus instead of cyanide." "I planned nine perfect executions, only for you to become the one stain on my record."

He ducked under a swung fist that pulverized a concrete pillar, spun, and brought the flaming broadsword down in a devastating arc. The first board member—formerly the CFO—was sliced clean in half, the solar fire on the blade instantly cauterizing the wound and incinerating the abyssal parasite inside. "That's one less bonus to pay," Killian growled, stepping over the ashes. Three more rushed him. Killian dropped his sword, grabbed two by their tailored collars, and smashed their heads together with enough force to create a localized shockwave. Their skulls shattered, leaking green witch-fire before they collapsed. The third, he caught by the throat, channeling his Alpha heat directly into t

"Fractured rib, concussion. And a near-fatal gunshot wound. But he’ll live.” "It wasn't random. Scorpion's marking territory again." I stood slowly, walking towards the window. "Yeah. Killian’s been busy lately, tracking him.” "Then watch your back. This isn't the same game as before. He's not just baiting Killian anymore. He wants blood. Yours. The girl's. Whatever he can use to make Killian spiral." I turned, glancing back towards the staircase. That's when I saw him. Killian stood at the top of the stairs, shirtless, his hair perfectly blown out after his shower. His body was still a mess. But he was still sexy as hell. And those grey sweatpants weren’t helping.

The Ghost Pack was standing back, watching the center of the clearing with a heavy, respectful silence. I scrambled up, my knees shaking. Silas Vane was lying on his back. His silver armor was blackened, his chest caved in. His eyes were open, staring at nothing, the madness finally gone, replaced by a cold, empty stare. He was dead before he hit the ground. But Killian... "Killian! No, no, no..." I fell to my knees beside him. He was lying in the dirt, his body covered in deep, smoking burns from the staff. His breathing was shallow, a terrifying, gurgling sound coming from his chest. The black tunic was soaked through with blood...so much blood.

" Killian moved so fast I didn't have time to gasp. One moment he was by the bar; the next, his hand was wrapped around my throat. It wasn't tight enough to choke, but it was enough to make the world shrink down to his face. "You're a villain because you're a St. Claire," he murmured, his voice a low, terrifying rasp. "I’m just the one who gave you the costume." He leaned in, his lips inches from mine. "You think that little whisper on the stage was a power move? Telling me you’d burn the building down? It was cute. But here, in the dark, there are no cameras. No father to watch. No Thatcher to impress. Just the owner and the property."

"One day, it could be you in the crosshairs. Not because of who you are. Because of who I am." She turned. The morning light cut him in two—half the man who'd buried his face in her shoulder last night, half the expressionless killer at the end of the hall. "What? One day you'll shoot me?" The color drained from his face. "I'd sooner put a bullet in my own head." His voice had dropped to something almost inaudible. He didn't finish the sentence. He didn't need to. Her tears fell. She didn't wipe them. She let him see.

"Killian, they're coming back to kill me." Killian didn't look at the door. He turned to her, his face twisted in a terrifying, beautiful grin. He reached out and wiped the blood from her thumb, then licked it off his own skin. "Let them come," he whispered, his eyes turning fully black as the beast took hold. "I’ve been looking for an excuse to burn the Council to the ground. But first..." He grabbed her, throwing her over his shoulder as he headed for the stairs. "We have to finish what the fever started. You aren't done changing yet, Vespera. And the next stage... the next stage is going to make you wish you had died on that bed."

“You know too much. You can’t know too much. What is it? If the miscalculation involves something really big, I can’t overlook it. It might even mess up Phase 3.” “Do you have any idea of the killer?” “No, I killed a lot in phase 1. How do I know? Because it was part of the plan. The list of people I had to kill isn’t big. Now, I just need to keep an eye on all of them.” “So, it’s easy to pluck the killer? Tell me about the list.” “Like I said, you’re not…” he paused. “Or maybe you can take part in it. Break up with her.”