Soul Eater Dr Franken Stein Novels & Stories

like flies. Thousands upon thousands of fat, mutant, yellow flies. “Join us,” he buzzed with a chorus of voices, “accept His Blessing. Be remade in His Image. Join in Communion with us.” I stared at him, mouth hanging open. His eyes glowed a yellow twice as bright as his suit. His teeth glimmered a sickly, unnatural yellow. His face sagged, the flesh loose around the eyes and mouth, like an ill-fitting rubber mask that no longer held the shape of a human face. A nauseating thought bubbled up in my head: If I were to pull off the man in yellow’s face . . . what would I see, underneath?

His abs, perfectly outlined through his shirt, rippled with every step. “You gonna stare all day?” I flushed. “You gonna tell me your name?” “Why? You wanna thank me?” “I wanna know what to carve on your gravestone when Freddy’s crew jumps you.” He laughed—a low, rusty sound. “Dragon.” “Dragon?” I snorted. “Like the fairy tale?” His eyes narrowed, but the smirk stayed. “Like the thing that eats little boys like them.” A shiver skittered down my spine. Not fear. Something worse.

Laila was forced back three steps, her boots leaving deep ruts in the gravel, her arms vibrating with a dull, sickening numbness that she hadn't felt since the Bank of England. Takashi didn't give her a second to recover. He lunged forward, his long naginata slicing through the air in a horizontal cut aimed directly at her unprotected throat. The steel blade was no longer humming with a blue electrical current; it was coated in a thick, oily black smoke that carried the unmistakable, suffocating clicking sound of the First Soul Eater.

Aurelia bellowed as the arms began to wrap around the deadly entities. "No, I will not go until I have her soul," He squeezed the lead Cheval Mallet. Purple blood oozed out its mouth, and then something bright and warm flew around the cloud of misery. "Thea, forgive me. I did all this for you...," the glowing orb hung in front of Dietrich, "I am still the man you fell in love with all those years ago. Don't leave." The soul hung in the air and took off towards the heavens. The arms of light and dark now dragged the nightmares toward the urn. Dietrich screamed and shouted while he mercilessly beat the Cheval Mallet.

"But Master—" "We'll help her," Frank interrupted. He seemed to be fond of Keada, and I was pretty sure it wasn't a physical attraction because Keada appeared more masculine than he did. In my opinion, Frank was more ghoul than vampire. His preferred attire was S&M Dom, and for all I knew he might have invented the damned style. He was dirty, skinny, and had not gained one ounce of preternatural beauty when he was turned. "We will?" Cyrene asked.

He's as good as dead. Menkel was the second elder in Blood-Drinker Gang after all. Even Mick was no match for him. Severin took a few steps forward when he saw Menkel walking toward him. "You don't only look skinny and weak but you have the face of a thief as well! I'll be doing a public deed if I exterminate you vermin!"

He cleared his throat as I placed the drinks and bread he had ordered on the table, my eyes shifting between his face and the items I was setting out. "Thank you," he said with a smile. It was something that rarely happened in this dump, and I was taken aback by his courtesy. "You're welcome," I replied with a smile, feeling excited about where this conversation was heading. As I turned to leave, he called me back. "Excuse me... You're not a Werewolf, are you?" I shook my head and met his bright blue eyes. "I figured. That's why you smell different. I'm Frank, a transferred warrior from a neighboring pack to the Lycan kingdom. What's your name?" He raised an eyebrow, looking at me with inter