Logan Paul Dead Body Uncensored Novels & Stories

The young man's steps were now towards the brown coffin. The coffin shows a man who is already lying in it lifeless. His face was very pale and it was clear that there were still scars on his forehead and an incision on the man's neck. Alvin's hands have now opened the hood slightly covering Ace Morin's coffin. The young man looked at the man who already looked very pale and really looked like he had died. Alvin's eyes were now staring intently at Ace Morin's body in the chest and confirmed for the umpteenth time that the man had really died.

The morgue was cold, carrying a foul, sterile smell. Expressionless staff pushed me into a metal drawer. With a soft "click," the door closed. The system's voice echoed in my mind. [Death confirmed. Final storyline completed.] [Countdown to soul departure: 71 hours 59 minutes.] [Please await the opening of the passage.] I drifted in the cold, hollow air and let out a breath. Finally, things were coming to an end.

Vivian died alone in her home, her body not discovered until it had already begun to rot. Only then did a question arise within me. After the deaths of my parents and Vivian, I never saw their souls. So why did I remain? The system finally appeared and answered my doubt. It said it had seen how painful my life had been, and how tragic my death was. So it used its power to keep my soul intact, allowing me to witness their downfall with my own eyes. Now that they were all gone… it was time for me to let go and be reborn.

High-purity wolfsbane had eaten away at her skin, while silver wounds cut deep enough to reveal the bone beneath. All strength drained from Aiden's body, and he collapsed to his knees beside the body. The Rogue walked over to him. "Luna Elara died three days ago. The cause of death was a combination of severe injuries from wolfsbane and silver before she fell into the rapids. Her body was only discovered this morning. Please sign the confirmation of mate death." The world lost all color, leaving only the stark white of the sheet before him and the black hole tearing open in his chest.

The door swung open, and there stood Chester, who was supposed to have been a fixture in the morgue for the past two weeks. I nodded at him, my face a blank slate. "It's been a while!" The relatives froze, their exchanged glances screaming silent panic. "Ah!" "He's alive!" "I said we shouldn't visit the morgue after midnight, but no, you had to see for yourselves!" "All this for a few bucks from selling their organs? It's not worth dying over." My aunt, gripping Theodore's arm and shaking it, wailed. I let out an icy laugh, lifted my hand, and gave Chester a slap that left a red mark blazing on his cheek.

I asked. “Well, I'm glad you asked,” he responded with a smile. “It’s nothing much, actually. I'm just curious to see if you can comfortably watch your husband die,” he smiled the most terrifying smile I had ever seen, and tilted the camera a bit. And there he was. Luciano, in the freezer. “He was hanging by his wrists from a meat hook, his feet barely touching the frosted floor. His shirt was gone, and his torso was lined with purple and black bruises all over. His head hung low, his eyes swollen shut, and he looked almost lifeless.

"He died twenty minutes ago. I am sorry, Flora. I am so fucking sorry." The words did not land. Could not land. My brain refused them. "No." "I was there. I saw—" "NO." I tried to sit up. Machines screamed. "He cannot be dead. He promised. He promised he would survive." "He tried. He fought so hard. But the infection—" "Where is his body? I want to see him." "They already removed it. Marcus's orders. Said something about disposing of evidence." I screamed. Animalistic. Primal. Every loss, every violation, every destroyed piece of me erupted in that sound.

Marcus said, pointing to the news on the screen. [The infamous Peter Palmer, youngest son of Leonardo Palmer, who was presumed dead, has been confirmed alive and hospitalized at Rosaria Hospital in Florentia. It seems he wasn’t dead after all, though the man is reportedly in poor mental health—which isn’t surprising, given the recent revelations about his past. Peter Palmer was linked to the mafia, a close associate of Marcus Bartz, and a potential hitman for him. His name is connected to a long list of individuals who died under mysterious and horrific circumstances.

It was sprawled across the screen in a way that made sure that even the faint sighted of readers were going to be able to read it. It said “Detective Walsh killed, heart removed and body mutilated. Left in the park to die.” When I saw the pictures and videos of the man that I had spoken to facially and physically forty eight hours ago, I found myself dumbfounded, unable to speak for a few minutes. I stared at the bodies again, knowing that I wanted to throw up but I was just controlling myself. Denver was as shocked as I was, staring at the pictures and videos open mouthed. It was at that moment that it hit me.

His voice was low and clear as he announced, "He has been dead for over three days. The body shows clear signs of postmortem lividity and early bloating. The victim appears to have died from mechanical suffocation." Hearing the words "dead for over three days", Dad reeled. The color drained from his face instantly, leaving him as pale as a sheet of paper. When an officer pulled back the white cloth covering my face for identification, Dad finally got a clear look at my swollen, distorted features, mottled with dark purple spots. He could no longer explain it away as paint or a tantrum. The next second, he doubled over against the wall, dry-heaving violently as if he were going to throw up hi