Player 380 Death Novels & Stories

'Besides, what's up with this power? "Argh!" The Rank 8 Undead Skeletal Heavy Swordsman let out a grunt. Then, he parted from the world for good. Lucas' stunning face remained composed. To him, the Rank 8 Undead Skeletal Heavy Swordsman was just a pitiful weakling. Hence, his death did not cause Lucas any emotional change. "Let's go." Lucas looked at Scarlet and Rayne and said. Biggy had not informed Lucas about any news regarding the Apocalyptic Legion via telepathy. Thus, they just had to bet on their luck and search all over the place.

“You’ve always been sickly. I suggested taking you to the hospital, but you refused. Jacob told me long ago that something was off about you, but I still chose to believe you instead of him!” He called for his bodyguards to lock Rachel up. As he stared at my body silently, he used a clean cloth to wipe away the blood on my face. He called out my name repeatedly, but no one answered. In the end, Mark could no longer hold back his sadness. He fell to the floor and covered his eyes in anguish. “Jane’s dead… I killed her… “I’ll pay for your life… Jane, just wait for me…” I watched coldly, but my resentment grew.

This wasn't happening—Tyler was supposed to be the male lead. He was supposed to defeat the forces of evil, why was he dead? My mind was in a dark pit of confusion, it only took the cold feel of blood splashing on my skin to put me back to my senses. “Player 78, 90, 67, 64, and 88, are dead," the system announced. A cold chill ran across my body as I glanced upon the ground, now covered with huge chunks of human flesh and blood. Immediately, I felt sick to my stomach, and without a moment of hesitation I slumped to my knees, puking my guts out.

Carl pulled her into his arms and said, "Don't cry, Pheebs. Everyone has their own destiny." What bullshit! I didn't believe in that rubbish, yet my fate had played such a huge prank on me. It had turned me into such a harbinger of misfortune. I saw the slight smile on Carl's face. He seemed to be pleased that I was dead. He and the rest of them surrounded my body. Silence descended upon them as they looked at my photo and urn. Gary said grimly, "Holly called me this afternoon and told me she was going to die. She wanted us to have one last meal with her."

Current players: 20. Less than an hour in, and ten were already gone. I grabbed my phone. The death logs were public—everyone could see how the others died. A swordsman and a knight had gotten into it over the third-floor room. The knight won, stepped inside—then bam. A dragon exploded out, jaws wide, flames flaring. Chomp. Dude was gone. Not even a bone left behind. The dragon yawned like it was bored, then slithered back into the pitch-black room like it was clocking out for the night.

There were Files. Gigantic, scrolling documents replaced the clouds. They were black text on a red background, mile-high, impossible to ignore. SUBJECT: ELIAS THORNE. GAMERTAG: VIPER. STATUS: TERMINATED. CAUSE: GAS LEAK (ENGINEERED). SUBJECT: SARAH K. GAMERTAG: PIXIE. STATUS: TERMINATED. CAUSE: GRAVITY IMPACT (FORCED). Below, the players in the Plaza stopped. Thousands of heads looked up. The chatter died.

Not even if God Himself would decide to forgive her. As she waited with bated breath, approaching footsteps could be heard from the door. Using the tanks as reflection, she could vaguely see the people entering. It was Fakey McBaldy, Gollum, the female player, one man and the last to enter was Undertaker. They entered cautiously with their guns in position. “Five,” thought Gray to herself. “Four down.”

“Now, look carefully and bear in your mind that the scene you are seeing is the end of this loop, but the start of the final game I am facing with Him. For this scene lies Alliah’s death and final corruption.” NOW, SHALL WE HAVE A GLIMPSE OF IT?

YOU CAN SPOT a man who’s seen the reaper countless times in his undying life by the sheer nonchalance they’d have while staring a barrel point-blank in the eye. The scythes of the rowing psychopomp never took it to them to carry this man towards the afterlife to prevent the screams of the perished ceasing to sing about pain, but rather fear. For even as Albert held the Glock at Pierre’s face, his own sweat gave him away while the terminator made literally one shudder from the gunner. That made Albert totally recall his arms as he tried to stay potent.

No way for me to soften the words that continue to hold his gaze. Edward Carolson: Dead at 58.