Re Zero Clown Novels & Stories

The acoustics of the concrete canyon carried sound for miles. "I feel like I'm walking into a raid without armor," Leo grunted. "My hand is throbbing. I can barely make a fist." "You don't need to fight today, Leo. You just need to loom," Ren said, adjusting the collar of his jacket to cover his neck. He rubbed more grease onto his cheeks, masking the sharp lines of his face. "We aren't Squad Zero today. We aren't the heroes who crashed the server. We're rats. We're bottom-feeders looking for crumbs."

My Luna. But now, standing here, faced with the reality that Claire was not just an ordinary agent but the head of the very agency that had become my second family, a profound sense of duty washed over me. The shock gradually transformed into a fierce determination, a willpower to rescue her from Zack’s clutches, the cunning mastermind who sought to manipulate and control her for his own sinister purposes.

I murmured to no one in particular, running my fingers along the table edge. "They should be magnificent. They cost enough." The voice stopped me cold, sending ice racing down my spine. I straightened slowly, my carefully constructed mask of polite interest never slipping for even a second, and turned to face the man who had haunted my dreams for ten long years. Zephyr. Except he was not the boy I once knew. That child who had shared secrets and honey cakes and promises by the lake had been completely carved away, replaced by six feet of pure Alpha dominance wrapped in an expensive suit.

Eventually, she clenched her teeth and made up her mind. She made up her mind to commit suicide!!! Clara would rather die than become a zombie. Subsequently, Clara raised her palms and summoned all her strength. She gave out a purple aura that indicated she was a Grade S Genetic Fighter. Just when her palms which were engulfed with her purple aura were about to strike her own heart, a strong and powerful hand stopped her. Clara was caught by surprise, and she looked up at Lucas. "You…!" Lucas did not answer her. Instead, he gently tapped Clara on the back of her head with his hand, and Clara passed out.

“Four.” “Three.” Tears burned behind her eyes. “Two.” “One.” Mark leaned in, his lips curling. “Zero.” Clara’s knees nearly gave out. She squeezed her eyes shut, her voice barely audible. “Okay. I’ll do it.” Mark exhaled, satisfaction gleaming in his gaze. “Good.” Jason’s voice rang out, sharp with command. “Now strip.”

Like being a sentence in someone's private vocabulary. I run on. I file it. Clara meets me for dinner at the Italian place on Leith Walk at half seven. Clara is my best friend in the way that someone can be your best friend when they've known you long enough to have stopped being impressed by the parts of you that impress other people and arrived at something more useful, which is genuine comprehension. She orders the cacio e p**e. She asks about the mountain man from the conference before we've even looked at the menus, which is Classic Clara, who keeps receipts on my romantic life with a dedication I find both touching and faintly alarming.

POV: Zia The smell of Tony’s Deli hit me like a physical blow. It was the scent of my childhood—salty provolone, cured meats, and the sharp, vinegary bite of peppers. It was a sensory overload that threatened to trigger a Reset, but I gripped the handle of the silver sedan's door and forced myself to stay in the present. "Stay sharp, Z," Clayton whispered. He was wearing a dark hoodie, his eyes constantly scanning the street. "I don't like this. It’s too exposed."

His hand moved again, back to my face. He smiled, in a very weird way, like a fucking clown. His finger teased around my face, from my cheek to my jawline, back to my cheek, to my nose, and my lips. His finger froze on my lips, his eyes were fixed on it, slowly he lifted his gaze, and stared at me.

“Thank you so much, Uncle.” After Gideon stepped back to give her privacy and sat on the opposite sofa to watch the spells, Clara’s heart raced. She quickly opened the special video call app set up for her. Before she could call, an incoming notification appeared with Zevko’s name. Clara pressed the green button without hesitation. Zevko’s face appeared on her laptop screen, still wearing his fitted black work shirt. Behind him was his tidy project supervisor’s office at the company headquarters. The tired lines on his face faded, replaced by a look of relief when he saw Clara looking healthy.

I've just gotten back from a business trip when my wife, Lisa Irwin, steps onto the windowsill. She looks at me, tears streaming down her face, and whispers, "I'm so sorry, honey." Then she jumps in front of me. Our three-month-old daughter, Ariah Conner, lies silent in her crib. She's not breathing, and her skin has turned a deep purple. Beside her, our nanny, Aunt Caitlin, lies unconscious with blood pooling from a head wound. The police tell me Lisa was sexually assaulted before she died, and Ariah suffocated. The security cameras were down. There was no sign of forced entry. In a single day, my whole world shatters. Every clue points to a phantom who doesn't exist. I spend five