Scythe Citra Novels & Stories

I tried to think of an explanation that would sound reasonable. Dresna blurted out, “Are you some kind of witch”? A witch was not the comparison I expected. “There’s something weird going on with you, Skye. You saved my life on the mountain, and now at the Drock...” “It was the Drax that got to those two,” I said, trying to sound convincing. “Seriously, Dresna, you know what that concoction did to you.” We reached Dresna’s home, and I stood for a moment contemplating whether to expand on my answer, but noting his questions had subsided, I decided to let any further response lapse.

Caroline, a she-wolf who has been considered a monster since she was a child, can she break the tragedy spell and find her MATE?

she said, finding my confused gaze again. "Aaron? But their nests are impossible to find. Not unless... light have mercy," I said, feeling like I'd been punched in the chest. "We're gonna go," Lills mumbled, getting to her feet. I nodded, too lost for words to find the one's that would make her stay. Scorchers were dangerous, a militia that stood outside the rules and laws the rest of us lived by. They were those who'd committed their lives to the destruction of every non human creature beyond the borders of the Diarna, the furthest mining town in the south. They married their work and bred for numbers. They were smart, strong and loyal to a fault and would rather see our entire world blaze

He is so happy because he will finally be able to escape this chaotic world and they will be able to fulfill the simple dream of Akira and his as a normal couple. When he arrived at the condo, he immediately took a shower first to be able to clean and to make sure if he hadn't been scratched before. As the water flows through his body you can see the blood of his victims clinging to him gradually flowing into the sink. Azrael’s body is full of scars from his wounds from his previous missions and on his back is a large tattoo— “Deus Mortis” which in Latin means “God of death” is what the organization called him because of the number of impossible missions he has accomplished.

Our parents are used to our banter. “I see Mom gave you your gift. Well, let me give you my gift.” Dad says with a grin as he waves his hand, and shadows swarm around his hand. When the shadows disappear, there is a war scythe in his hands. It’s almost identical to his. Except where his has black details, mine has dark purple. The top part of the blade has jimpings as the blade curves toward where it meets the staff; it has dark purple bone-like fragments sticking from it. On the bottom of the staff, there is a badass-looking skull with purple jeweled eyes. “It’s time you had your own war scythe for reaping souls.”

He didn't offer a bribe. He stared at the man with the cold, dead eyes of Wraith—the top killer on the server. Say a word, and you go in the chute. The message was clear. The skeletal man gulped. He looked away, trembling. He went back to sorting. "I saw nothing," he whispered. QUEST UPDATED: LOOT ACQUIRED: Encrypted Slate (Rare). RISK LEVEL: Extreme. TIME: 19:00 HOURS. LOCATION: THE SCRAPYARD GATES.

“Thanks. So what do we have here?” Bryan asked his partner, who pointed at one of the eight frames on the laptop screen, which was relaying the live feeds of hidden cameras that were set up in strategic places around the harbor. Looking at the screen, he saw three Latinos unloading some crates from a speed boat at the pier. From where the boat was, there was an open space about half the size of a football field, which was surrounded by shipping containers that were stacked on one another. Looking closer, he saw that each of the men had viper tattoos on different parts of their body.

"It’s your last moment to prove your loyalty to me. With my lethal blade, end Lara’s life." Cyrus, his face pale and gaunt, stepped forward from the shadows. His expression was vacant, his eyes hollow as if drained of all emotion. The once-proud warrior of Tribiano, known for his honor and strength, now moved like a puppet on invisible strings, completely under Thana’s dark influence. He was holding a sharp, ugly knife that felt dangerous and powerful. It had strange symbols on it that glowed in the moonlight.

“Here.” Leda stunned and stared up at her sister, who had been watching her silently. She took the little packet and unrolled it with trembling fingers. Four mismatched tablets of different colors and sizes rolled onto her palm. “You’ll need an additional dose,” Cythia mumbled, voice deceptively casual. “The last thing you want is to slip your scent around a bunch of Alphas.” “Will this be enough?” “Fuck an Alpha and I guess you’ll see,” Cythia snapped, the anger betraying

“Scythe of the Seventh, come to your master.” From the darkness above, an even darker shape fell to the ground and I reached out to touch it. It felt cold to the touch and the shadow dissipates to reveal a huge scythe, several times taller than I am. I pick it up and swung it around, testing the weight. It feels a little bit heavy, but nothing that I can’t handle. I twirl it above my head and rush at him, sweeping low and going for his torso. A large hand clamped down on the scythe with incredible speed, jolting me forward into a fist. I block, but I feel my bones crack under the intense force.