Puck Kills Subaru Novels & Stories

He looked out the window, gripping his phone in his hand. The driver parked the car in a desolate corner where no one passed by. Kevan sat inside the car, with a clear view of the prison gate. He patiently bided his time. Finally, after over two hours of waiting, a flashy red Ferrari roared by, screeching to a halt at the main entrance of the detention center. Kevan recognized the car—it was the new Ferrari model released this year, and Cody happened to own one.

She smiled as she said to Joel, “This b*tch deserves it. Brother Joel, since my cousin is dead, I’ll marry you!” Joel’s face was red with rage, and he slapped Judy without reservation. “You idiot!” But very quickly, everyone soon found that there was no one in the wrecked car. The people from Sakura Racing Club also pulled up the footage from the camera then. Before the camera was destroyed, the scene had been recorded. Then, when the footage was played in front of everyone, their mouths opened in shock as they cried out in surprise.

I squeaked. Puck cursed darkly, hauling firewood. A trio of wolves pawed in behind him. The alpha, a fierce gray, nipped at the satyr's haunches. “Blast it, you skieving beast! To my master aright I've led you, but Death flies fast as the wind.” He dropped the logs in a pile near the hearth, then turned, seeing me. Puck's eyes bulged. He scratched his horns in disbelief. “So Dis partakes of Yuletide? Spirits fizz in the charnel grounds!”

I felt completely small, ready to just break down and sob right into my plate. *Clack.* The loud, violent sound of a silver fork slamming hard against the porcelain plate shattered the psychological warfare. I flinched, snapping my head to the side. Brayden had dropped his utensil, leaning forward over the table as his pitch-black glare locked directly onto his mother. The aggressive energy radiating off his massive frame was instantaneous, completely shifting the gravity of the room.

Coach barked after I missed a clean pass. I didn’t answer. “Eyes up!” he snapped. I skated back into position, jaw tight, chest burning with irritation that had nowhere to go. Lyon skated up beside me during a water break, nudging my shoulder with his glove. “You good, man?” “Fine.” “That’s your third ‘fine’ today.” I shot him a look. “Drop it.” He raised both hands in surrender. “Okay, okay. Just don’t bite my head off.”

Bang!!! In front of the hotel, the deafening buzzing sound of the 15th knight exploded. Like a sharp arrow, it hit Xu Changsheng hard on the supercar. Xu Changsheng’s supercar wasn’t bad, but in front of a knight for fifteen lifetimes, it couldn’t put up the slightest bit of resistance. After being hit by the knight for fifteen lifetimes, Xu Changsheng’s supercar tail caved in, and the entire car was damaged.

My grip completely failed me, the carbon fiber shaft slipping against my leather palms. The black puck slid completely underneath my blade. "What?!" I gasped out, my green eyes widening in absolute horror. I missed the easy pass completely. The rubber skittered uselessly into the corner, where a fast Detroit forward picked it up instantly. Before our defensemen could even turn their skates, the Detroit Iron launched a lightning-fast breakaway up the right wing. They cut past Miller, executed a quick double-pass, and fired a blistering slapshot straight into the top corner of our net.

He was using his laptop to track the truck. “WHAT THE HELL DID YOU JUST SAY? WHY DIDN'T YOU LEAD WITH THAT? I CAN'T BELIEVE THAT BITCH PUT A FUCKING BOMB IN MY TRUCK!” Bubba yelled as he ran past his nephews, now running full speed towards his truck. “Damn, he musta got a robocop hip during that surgery. He musta got a turbo button somewhere, because he sure isn't running like he got a hip replacement.” Luke said, picking up speed.

The SUV jolted as one of the pursuing black vehicles pulled alongside them, the driver-side window rolling down to reveal a submachine gun. "Down!" Roderick reached over, grabbing Elias by the shoulder and shoving him further into the reclining seat just as a burst of gunfire shattered the rear side window. “Glass integrity compromised,” Sparkle noted calmly. “This is distressing. Playing ‘Sugar Candy Love’ by The Pixie-Sticks to counteract the negative energy.” A high-pitched, bubbly J-pop track exploded through the high-end speakers. The beat was frantic, the vocals sugary sweet, and the bass was loud enough to vibrate the floorboards.

Then someone crashed into the frame. Number 17. The Falcons’ captain came out of nowhere. His stick snapped forward, and with one clean, ruthless move, he stole the puck right from Marvel’s control. One second Marvel had it. The next, he was stumbling, off-balance, as number 17 blew past him. I lowered my phone, my breath catching in my throat. He moved like a storm. Aggressive. Unstoppable. His own teammates seemed to clear a path for him as he charged the Eagles’ goal. The goalie crouched, but it was too late.