Merchant Of Death Book Novels & Stories

“We’re just passing through.” The leader of the group let out a bitter laugh. “You really think we’ll let you pass through? Not without sharing what you’ve got.” He gestured toward my pack. “That cure... it could make us kings in this world. Hand it over.” “Not a chance,” Ethan snapped, his voice firm. “We’re not handing anything over to people like you.” The leader’s smile faded, and he signaled for his group to step forward. The tension was unbearable now, every second feeling like it might explode. I could hear the faint hum of my own pulse in my ears.

As such, Charles would never let the matter go out of hand. "I know Celine's death is unjust, but let's deal with it after this period is over, alright?" he coaxed Susan. However, it was obvious that his patience had reached the limit. "You knew about it a long time ago, didn't you?" How would Susan not understand what their reaction meant? Her tears streamed down her face. I never recalled Susan crying this badly. My death, the concealment of my death from the world, and the perfect hiding for the murderer…

"No more brother. No more cure. Just the mercury and the dark." Behind him, the Sovereign ship let out a deafening roar of light, and as the sky began to bleed indigo, I realized that by saving Dante, I had just signed the death warrant for the rest of the world. (Watch out for Chapter 226) 💬 Please add to your library | Drop your Comment/ Reviews | Your Gifts mean so much to me. Thank you, readers.

When he opened the door, he was greeted by the sight of Carmen sitting on the couch, reading a book. Once she saw Evan, she held her arms open. Her voluptuous body was slightly visible beneath her sheer nightgown. Evan walked over to the couch and hugged her. He took a deep breath as he rested his head against her nape. "How did the autopsy go?" "The victim was a pitiful young woman. According to our preliminary findings, we suspect it's the work of an organ trafficking ring." Evan couldn't see Carmen's reaction, but as I was standing behind him, I could.

No, no, no, please! She opened the door and the girl who had screamed ran past her. She was literally shaking in fear. Laying right ahead was the body of the weirdly insane librarian who had freaked out infront of her earlier. Was she dead? Did she kill her? She walked slowly to the body for verification and each step she took destroyed her hope piece by piece. It was the same way. The same way that man had died. No injuries, wounds or cuts. Just a mouth flowing with an eye scorching amount of blood.

The night prior had seen me tossing and turning, a turbulent sea of thoughts churning within me as I contemplated the impending encounter with Antonio, my betrothed. Antonio Luca, a name that carried with it an aura of dread and an air of mystique. Over the months leading up to this juncture, I had delved into the depths of research concerning this enigmatic figure. My findings, culled from various sources including newspapers, painted a haunting portrait of a man rumored to have single-handedly taken the lives of fifteen individuals, earning him the chilling moniker "The Death Angel of Doom." Though official channels may have debunked these claims, my intuition whispered a truth that refuse

That she was just tricked by the Yamato's team. Well, though the truth transpired it was too late now, Clench never regretted to be with her in death. Well, it seems that it was already written on the book of life, where the love story they once built and was broken into pieces, reconnected again, between the tragic of Love and Death.

Blood was already dribbling down the priestly robe, staining it. On the wall, there was a message, a message that Conrad was too terrified to read: Hell hath no fury. Vengeance is of the earth. “No,” Conrad said. “No.” He turned and fled, running as fast as his legs could carry him.

Now, I understood that love was sharper than any blade, and this cliff would bear silent witness to both the beginning and the end. … As our vacation on Cinnabar Island came to an end, I treated myself to a grand feast. I ordered a lavish spread and uncorked a fine bottle of imported wine—not for the Lowes, but for myself. It was my way of saying goodbye to the life I was leaving behind. Little did I know that bottle would become the catalyst for Olivia's death. It was a gray, overcast day. Yvette looked distant and listless at the table. She drained glass after glass of wine, her eyes growing hazy.

Inside there are black candles, several scrolls, and a thick pitch-black book. Of course, it is the book that gets my attention. I took it and inspected it if there are dents, torn pages, or mites. Fortunately, although the book looks old, it also looks new, feels new, and smells new. It has gold writings on it, Death of God. "Death of God?! How did this get to here? I am sure if Mama saw you, she's gonna burn you," I said laughing at my own jokes. See, I am not just unlucky, I am also corny and crazy.