Student Council Killing Game Novels & Stories

I would just have to accumulate as many small kills as I can. “The B level are dangerous. Unlike the C’s to E, they will hunt you… and kill you…” my breath caught my throat. Murmurs rose amongst the students and I wouldn't even lie, it was a relief to know that I wasn't the only one afraid. “You'll need to work as a group or team of three strategically to kill one or better still run. You'll get ten points for each kill and additional five points for clean hits.” If you survive that is— I could literally hear the rest of the words she didn't say out. She tucked her perfectly chapped blond hair behind her ears, clearing her throat to ease the commotion.

I thought back to that tiny detail from the fifth loop. No. 99 had said, "There's no winner in this game. The only way for you to live is to kill me, but then you become the next me." That was a paradox. Killing him meant losing, because I would become the next hunter. But not killing him also meant losing. So, what if this "room"—or rather, this "game arena"—was fake to begin with? I remembered the fifth loop. I never saw the changes in the numbers on the elevator. He just appeared from the elevator after a Ding, like an NPC spawning in an online game.

"But you're going to hate it." The Council met within the hour. I stood before them. Fifteen years old. Terrified. But certain. Catherine sat at the head of the table, carrying her mother's authority. Beside her was Riley, my grandmother. The young team sat together. James Marcus, Kai, Zara, Nova, Lyric. My friends. My team. All of them about to hate my plan. "I've seen the successful path," I began. "The one where we win without more deaths. Where all eleven realities survive. Where The Unmaker stops being a threat."

Because, you know, they are unique rebels. There’s also a smaller profile list of students who have gotten on the Goth Gang’s bad side, mostly preppy cheerleaders and jocks. And then there’s an even smaller profile list of teachers who have gotten on the Goth Gang’s bad side. These kids and teachers are included, because I will have to kill off some of them in order to keep up the story of Derek and his gang going off the hinge. While suicide pacts aren’t exactly unheard of, the general public tends to assume that if a group of teens are going to kill themselves, they’re going to take down at least a few of their enemies with them, and since it’s my job to make the case raise as little suspi

The Midnight Club erupted in a puddle of yeahs and that’s-the-spirits. Little do they know that they are in for a little treat. Little are they aware that what’s next to come will be the price of dawn. One of them must die. Tonight. — IN WHAT SEEMED LIKE A painfully ordinary month of August, on a Tuesday that looked like any other school day, all of Van Duke Public High School shuddered to the news of another death. Grief, fear, and remorse enveloped the campus. Terrifying rumors and gossips spread around the halls of Van Dyke faster than wildfire—most of them grounded from paranoia, none of them grounded from the truth.

Andrea just secretly rolled her eyes to him and looked at Franklin who was riding the cart. The game was called game of the death, or chivalry death game. Any number of participants can enter the game. Now, there are only two numbers of participants, Alpha Homer was entrusted to be Alpha by the small version of Andrea, and Franklin who was entrusted fully by Andrea. In the game, there are two sets. First, the participants need to ride in the cart while the two horses are dragging the cart while running spontaneously around the oval.

I growled, the raw, savage dominance of my bloodline taking over. "No," Aria said, her hand coming down to rest on my right shoulder, her fingers digging deep into my muscle, grounding me. "Death is too clean for a traitor, Malakai. If we kill him now, the board panics, and the meeting is postponed. Victoria slips away. We use him. We let him think his play is working, and then we crush him in front of the entire executive committee." I looked up at her, amazed by the sheer, beautiful coldness of her mind. She was not just a killer; she was a tactician. She understood the chess board of high society just as well as I did, but she played with pieces made of glass and razor blades.

“Riven.” “Hmm,” I responded. “That thing back there… I don't know what it is. But something is wrong,” he said, still looking at nothing in particular. I nodded. I Didn’t say anything. He continued. “A council member can't just die like that. And of all places—in the school. Why would he be killed on the school grounds? What happened to his house?” “Exactly what I have been thinking, Stiles. How did he get killed here? He’s not even a trainer. He’s an intermediate member,” I replied, giving everything a deeper thought.

Super Catherine, is this going to be okay? Catherine glanced at her with a faint and cold look. She looked incomparably calm. "Let's take a look first." There were only four positions in the game team. To facilitate better viewing for the rest of the club members, Franco projected his phone onto the large screen. As soon as the players of the esports club got online, the Penny Team sent out an invitation to apply for a rivalry match. They chose the entertainment mode, team killing! The rules were simple. The team members could resurrect an unlimited number of times, and whichever team's one member got 16 kills first, the team would be considered the winner.

The posting in social media of acts constituting immorality as described herein besmirches the name and reputation of Concepcion Integrated Technology School which reserves the right to take legal steps to defend its name and reputation. Kate and the Student Council are thinking about this particular section as they contemplate the fate of the video taken by Unicorn photog Eman, contained in an SD card now ejected from his DSLR camera. The SD card is resting on the pad of Kate’s armchair, right next to her improvised gavel of a claw hammer. Kate doesn’t know why but she’s looked everywhere and she can’t find Dion’s gavel from last year. She’s guessing one of Dion’s countless secret admirers