Sans Dies Novels & Stories

He did not want them to come in contact with the evil he could feel emanating from the figure. “Someone has to die,” the ascian said. His voice was flat, drab, and without emotions, just like his figure. There was nothing remarkable about him. The color of his worn-out garment was the plainest of grays, and his face was pale. “I want to see my brothers. Make them see me,” Jason demanded. “You haven’t learned anything yet, have you?” “Pleeeeeasse.” “You can’t beg your way out of this. I helped you. You have to help me too.”

I turn another page and my hands go still. The header is in Italian, neat and unhurried. Authorization code, Palermo operation. Beneath it, a string of numbers and letters that mean nothing to me, and beneath that, a date. Two years ago. The date Lorenzo Armenise was killed. And below the date, in the same careful script, a single word. Target. And the target’s surname is Armenise.

We have an old rule in our town. Any family with twins must choose one to make an example out of. That is the way to discipline one’s children and ensure they grow up well. Born four minutes before my brother, I became that example. When my brother snuck out to swim in the river, Mom didn’t scold him. Instead, she pressed my head into the river again and again. She finally stopped when my brother cried, yelling that he would never go to the river again. When my brother forgot to switch on the rice cooker, Mom came back home from work only to realize that the rice was still uncooked in the pot. She then served me two bowls of uncooked rice. “Finish them and don’t leave a single grain be

It laughed so hard that even some of the crying stopped — people freezing mid-sob, stunned by the sheer insanity of the sound. I could feel it vibrating through my chest, every note cutting through my ribs. When it finally stopped, it wiped an invisible tear from the corner of its eye and said, still chuckling, “Have you forgotten?” Its grin twisted. “You’re also dead.” The man’s mouth fell open. “W-what?” he whispered, barely audible. The Game Master leaned down until their foreheads almost touched. “Dead,” it repeated, dragging the word out like a lover’s whisper. “Every single one of you. Including you. You died. You’re not alive.”

Ace Denzell made a spirit charm in the air and put it on Rapper Swithin's forehead and froze him in that place. He brought his face in front of Rapper Swithin's frozen face and gave him a kiss in the air, and smiled. "Save your madness and anger for later. I will only give you a chance to kill me with cruelty. But now I have to settle the account with someone else," he said, starting to look towards the path where Ms. Anastasia passed. In anger and rage, his eyes turned completely red and he disappeared from everyone's sight with the speed of light.

I heard the clicking of camera shutters, but no one called the ambulance. My blood drained dry. My body became cold. Finally, Yvette Skye was no more. I died all alone at the corner of the street. No one cared. My corpse was not a pretty sight. My eyes were wide, unseeing, and there was a large hole in my stomach. My legs were twisted together. One of my arms was flung by the side of the road. My legs were useless now. I was ugly. No wonder the little girl cried. Floating in the air, I stared at my mutilated corpse.

The blood had nearly stopped flowing. The position of his right hand was strange; his fingers curled as if trying to grasp something. I crouched down. In his open left hand, written crookedly in blood, was a single word: "Run". 02:14. One minute left. 02:15 came. Nothing happened. I was still alive. "Substitute death successful. Eric Dawson was killed at 2:14 in Parking Lot C. Remaining loop time: 48 hours. "Go to Parking Lot C. There’s something for you."

"You'll say anything, won't you? "And on top of that, Scarlett was busy working. You're trying to pin this on her? "Are you even human?" Seth chimed in as well. "Exactly. We don't even know if this person actually died or not, and yet he's pulling this stunt to scare everyone."

As one of the country's top high school teachers, I have helped countless students get into the best colleges. But I somehow find myself reborn as a poor kid from the countryside while attending a ceremony honoring my achievements. A mysterious voice echoes in my mind. "If you fail to get into college, you'll die!" How hard can that be? It's just getting into college. That's hardly a challenge for a genius like me. But soon I realize that getting into college isn't really about how smart you are. In the end, it all comes down to people and their motives.

Azen said, explaining the information he managed to grasp in this time. “Zero, Obsidian Beast, Tristan Snyder. One, Death, Unknown.” He paused, glaring at Kriss who acted cool. Azen knows that Kriss knows who Death is but refused to tell for unknown reason but it was distressing to fathom why. Kriss narrowed his eyes, warning him to continue and sighing, he continued, “Two, Communicator, Daphne Sparks. Three, Unknown. We don’t even know its title.” He frowned. They cannot understand where they failed, how they cannot find a single clue against this person.