Novelas y relatos de Postmortem

"You'll die exactly the way you murdered her… But before that, you'll feel what she felt." Gracie's smile froze. "What are you going to do?" He released her, taking a glass vial from the witch behind him. The liquid inside shimmered silver in the dim light. It was silver nitrate. I instinctively recoiled as painful memories surged—the acrid stench, the searing agony, the sound of flesh dissolving in the silver solution… Of course, Gracie recognized it, too. Her face paled at the drop of a hat before she struggled violently. "Shit! You can't do this to me, Simon! Have you forgotten how much you loved me?"

Then she walked up to me, viciously grinding her foot into my wound, using my blood as ink to press down her handprint. After finishing all this, she revealed a cruel smile. "Let him go," she ordered the security guards before saying to me, "John, you know? Your look of despair was just like your mother's before she died. On the day I went to court to declare you dead, I deliberately delivered the good news to your mother. Who would have thought that she'd be so frail? She passed away due to a heart attack." Nora did not have an ounce of pity on her face, only provocation.

"Avelina, I trust you. We'll leave Nina in your hands." I was restrained by two bodyguards, so no matter how hard I struggled, I couldn't move. I could only watch helplessly as Avelina returned to the OR. I remembered that in my past life, less than half an hour later, Avelina came running out in a panic to announce Nina's death. The consent form, which included the organ donation clause, had allowed her to freely harvest all of Nina's organs. And now, she had already re-entered the operating room with the form in hand.

Even the big screens at shopping malls were displaying missing person notices. I let out a chuckle. "Why is he looking for me? I'm dead." "Because they never found your remains in the explosion, not even a trace of your DNA. The police said that given the intensity of the blast, your chances of survival were slim, but he's still searching for you. He even went to your former piano school." The staff member assured me with full confidence, "But don't worry. We have very strict protection measures. He won't find anything."

I needed it. I pulled out my phone and dialed. It rang once before a raspy voice answered. “Don.” “Status on the dead body?” I commanded. “Still running the toxicology,” he said. “It takes time, Don. This is a dead body we’re talking about.” “I’m not paying you to give me excuses.” He sighed. “Look, unconfirmed? The signs are all there. The same decay. The same purple shit in the mouth. Same paralysis marks on the spine. Same”

Every blade of grass in the park, every alleyway, and every trash can had been searched. … April 11th, 2025. Rainy. The 101st day after my death. Caleb's condition had worsened, and his body was riddled with tubes. "Mom, save me. I don't want to die." On the sickbed, Caleb looked pale. The blood tests, lab work, checkups, and injections over the past few days had worn him out completely. "Don't be afraid, Caleb. I'll save you," Mom cried out. These past few days had taken a toll on her. Her blond hair was streaked with white, and she no longer wore makeup or cursed at me.

I was dead. I was hidden in the fridge for 40 days before they found my body. I was completely naked, and my face was twisted into an eerie expression. Anyone could see the inhumane torture I had undergone before I died. Then, high-definition uncensored photos of my body began to spread across the internet. Even in death, I could not escape the public's heated gaze as they judged and commented on my body. "I expected nothing less from a celebrity who's all about fan service. She's incredibly hot!"

The pack's forensic specialist pulled on isolation gloves, crouched, and began the preliminary examination. Within minutes, they stood back up, their face ashen. "Time of death exceeds forty-eight hours. The core organs are burned out, drained completely by the mark overloading." "Mark Enhancement had been pushed to the lethal threshold. The host was already deceased before the Trials began. Every action taken after that point was the Submission Mark driving a dead body." The statement went out through every recording crystal that was still running, directly into the pack's live communication network. The "genius first-ranked warrior" that the whole pack had been celebrating minutes ago was

Just as Jack finished his last word… Morse, Rainier, and Paulette took their last breaths. The corpses stared at the screen with their lifeless eyes wide open, unwilling to give up. Before they died, their hands were still clutching the intestines from their anuses, trying to pull them out a little more. In the live broadcast, Bazaar’s body was lying on the floor. The cut on his stomach and the torn anus were still flowing with a thick, stinky liquid. The other three corpses stared at the camera with their eyes wide open.

Diving deeper, she found wild speculations: accusations of her teaching ominous makeup techniques, baseless theories of dark spells, and even doctored chats where she supposedly asked fans for their birth dates. Helma sighed, debating internally if she should intervene. Refresh. A new headline post caught her eye. From Cole? Helma's eyes widened. Cole's post read: [Mortician: A solitary, yet noble calling.] Images and details highlighting the profession's gravity and purpose accompanied his words. [The intention of morticians? To bestow the departed with final grace, allowing families to remember them as they once were, especially those who met untimely, tragic ends.] Helma's lips quirked up