Killua Zoldyck Assassin Mode Novels & Stories

The assassin ducked under his swing and slashed upward. Elise screamed his name. Kai stumbled, catching himself on a tree just as the blade skimmed across his ribs, tearing through fabric and skin. He growled—low, feral—eyes glowing in the stormlight. The assassin’s attention flicked to Elise for a fraction of a second. A fatal mistake. Kai roared, pushing off the tree with explosive force. He slammed into the assassin, both of them crashing into the mud. They rolled, grappling for control, hands clawing for weapons, each trying to gain the upper hand.

A Were-cat assassin, draped in midnight-blue silk and holding twin curved daggers, dropped from the branches toward Aradaa. "Aradaa, move!" Kaelor lunged. He didn't use the dagger. He used his raw, physical weight. He tackled the assassin mid-air, the two of them crashing into the shallow water with a violent splash. The cat hissed, a sound like steam escaping a pipe, and clawed at Kaelor’s chest. Kaelor didn't flinch. He grabbed the assassin’s throat and squeezed until the sound of snapping cartilage echoed in the silence.

Every strike, every dodge, every snap of fangs was a declaration: Blackwood would not fall, not today, not to assassins, not to traitors. Finally, with a coordinated lunge, Kade and Lena struck simultaneously, claws and fangs tearing into the master assassin. The cloak fell back, revealing a scarred face, eyes blazing with hatred and disbelief. The assassin’s body crumpled to the stone floor, defeated but alive—barely.

How can someone who murders a person be capable of the greatest skill of all, healing? Lucien, I need to remember his name instead of just ‘the assassin’ softly knocking on the door late into the night. I sent Kyra to deal with him but even I had to admit he looked immaculate in a crisp white shirt. He was wearing one of Alexanders, but it was stretched to the max over his wider shoulders and muscles.

Then, realizing their worst fears, Zayn pounced at them with a primal terror tantamount to releasing a starving wolf into a field of fat lambs. They tried to run, they did, but there was no way that they could have survived. Their lives were in the palms of an invincible, godlike fighter. The moment Zayn set his eyes on them, he had claimed ownership of their souls. It only took Zayn about ten seconds to completely remove the rest of the assassins with the destructive and punishing power of a hurricane. They died instantly.

Dresses aren't my thing. I'll pick a pair of jeans or sweats before I put on a dress. Dresses make me feel exposed and uncomfortable. I'm a warrior. I don't find killing myself to look good as a priority for the fact that I don't care about finding a mate. The mate bond is ridiculous, in my opinion. Falling for someone and losing yourself in them just because the Moon Goddess paired you two is utterly pathetic. Being an assassin, I learned that loving someone only leads to hurting them or yourself. Love makes people vulnerable and weak, and I want no part of it.

A black power bike is a right of passage in the organization; each assassin is given a black bike, on the night of your initiation into the family, we only differentiate one bike from the other with the numbers written on it. "Is there something written at the corner?" I asked Cole, who was still busy looking at the bike.

“Ah, dear niece, so this is what an average day in the life looks like… waltzing with your kill and staring right into their eyes right before you snuff the light out of it… brilliant!” It was obvious he wanted a reaction out of her, and on a very good day, he would have gotten nothing, but today wasn’t exactly going as planned for the plus-sized assassin. Barbara moved with a speed that would have stunned the girl she used to be. In one fluid motion, she was behind him. She didn't bother shedding the server's jacket; she simply reached beneath it. The cold steel of a ceramic knife was pressed firmly against the pulse point of his neck before he could say another word.

He bit his bottom lip, lowering his arms to his sides and glancing towards his palms before asking, "What is it? Y-You...you don't like what you see?" Nate had not spoken yet, gulping when he saw Dante's fingers drop the knife beside him and reach for the next button on his dress shirt. When Nate realized what he was doing, he instinctively leaned downwards, his mind completely pushing away the assassin murderous rumours and all the threats Dante had mentioned, instead reaching for his hands and stopping him from continuing down the placket. "What the fuck are you doing?" Nate pushed his hands away, closing the other buttons as well and hiding the chain back into his shirt.

The Abyssal-Striker didn’t fight like a machine. It fought like water. In the center of the Founder’s penthouse, Captain Reyes engaged the deep-sea assassin in a blindingly fast, desperate melee. The Striker’s hydro-slick, black carbon-fiber armor completely absorbed the kinetic impact of Reyes’s punches, shedding water across the pristine white floor with every fluid movement. The assassin swung its harmonic blade a weapon that hummed with a piercing, high-frequency vibration capable of parting molecules. Reyes ducked, the blade cleanly slicing through the thick durasteel support pillar behind her as if it were made of warm butter.