Scythe X Vinestaff Mga Nobela at Kwento

Vsevolod chastises me. “You’ve worked under more unsteady conditions than this, I’m sure I was fine,” I say as I stare at the engraving of a scythe on the bullet. What the fuck is going on? “I think I was shot by the assassin they call Scythe…” I say, my voice trailing off. Vsevolod looks over at the bullet with a surprised expression. “I’m surprised he was such a lousy shot,” he says with a tone of disappointment. “Well, I had just stabbed him in the gut with an aconite-laced dagger,” I say simply.

Xander sneered and thrust the hunting knife into Vito’s thigh, the same way he’d done to Serenity. “Let’s see how long you can maintain your silence. It’s gonna be a long night.” Xander frowned in mock sadness, “What should we do next? Perhaps something to take the edge off.” Xander picked up the syringe, knowing full well that whatever it contained was meant to enhance the feelings in your nerve endings instead of dulling it.

And in his hand was Alexis' scythe. Swuuungggg~... Swuuungggg~ ... Swuuunggg~ ... Andrew Tomahawk, the noble class vampire who became a shadow army, and in his giant form, swung Alexis's mystical scythe at Damien, trying to attack him. Damien was a little surprised that Andrew, despite being in such a large body shape, could swing a scythe very quickly. His movements completely did not reflect the body of a giant who was slow and also had a limited range of motion.

It was looking for an opportunity to stop Adrian and Rozi's joint attack. The black scythe emanated with an air of death. It felt even colder than the air around them. A faint black aura could be seen around the scythe, seemingly made out of a singular soul locked within. The soul shrieked and wailed in pain. The scythe thirsted for human life, and it would lock the soul it reaped within itself for an eternity of suffering.

After dealing with Severin, Cyrus casually finished off Graham as well. Graham was lucky. He was still unconscious when he died, so he felt no pain. Cyrus stored both bodies in his pocket dimension. He planned to dispose of them later. Blood still stained the floor. He took a mop from the bathroom and cleaned it up. Vincent still had not woken. Cyrus stared at him for a full minute. If he wanted to kill Vincent, now would be the perfect moment. Vincent would never even know it happened.

I stepped in closer, gaze cutting straight through him. “Vincent didn’t kill Brian just because he overheard a conversation about mass-producing Strigoi venom. That alone wouldn’t warrant a death that brutal. And if you’re about to say it was to protect his identity—don’t. Brian wouldn’t have recognized him. The Pierces joined the fold five centuries ago. Vincent’s name hasn’t touched a single lesson in generations.” I let the silence stretch, let the weight of what I was implying drop like a stone in water. “So tell me—what did Vincent think Brian heard? What was so dangerous, so damning, that it couldn’t be allowed to exist in the mind of a tribute rejecter?”