The Deathless Manhwa Novels & Stories

This is not a happy starting either. This is the story of Dua, a 19 yrs old girl. Dua is the hero of this story. The whole plotline revolves around her. My first book is completely based on a woman and her dark world. Now Dua is dead. Arin is alone, living in the Memories of her. I know the ending sucked but you guys better wait for the Bonus chapter. .. .. Thank you ShineeSunshine ❤️

Only one. Death Death is painful yet straightforward. By beheading, or a Darkling consumes them from within their soulless bodies. Once complete, they will turn to the ash from their birthright grounds. “How strange, yet sad,” I think while strumming my finger across the edge of the page. I sit and wonder how those women caused so much destruction and how so many loved them. The reality hits me like a ton of bricks. “... Sam! I bet this had to do with him!” I say his name an octave too loud.

Another shows her hand and hand with her brother, Death, as they together usher the shades of dead through the Deadlands, him showing them the way in, her showing the way out. But as we walk, I see that it’s not simply a series of images celebrating her accomplishments. Instead, it’s a story. Life, born from Darkness and yolked forever to Death. Life, in many worlds, holding the hands of people as they are born and live and then pass back into the unknowing realms. Life, beneath the light of a full moon with a howling she-wolf carved at its center, her head bowed as the light spreads all around her. “That one,” I murmur, stopping before it. “Is odd…”

He died as the Shadow Monarch. The savior of Earth. Now he wakes in chains. In a world with two moons, magic is currency and slaves are cattle. Jin Kael, 16, is Property #722. No mana core. No skills. No System. Just a black mana mine that drains life, two C-Rank guards with whips, and seven days until the mines collapse. On Earth, his name made armies kneel. Here, his name is nothing. But in his dirty palm lies a dead shadow ant, and before his eyes flickers a cracked blue window that no one else can see: [SYSTEM ERROR...] [CLASS: SLAVE | LV.1 -> ???] [SKILL ACQUIRED: SHADOW COMMAND - LV.1] His first soldier is dead. His second world is watching. He whispers the word tha

Something I don't have a word for. She reads back over the entry. Six deaths. Or what feel like deaths. What her body insists are deaths, in the way that only truth insists — with the particular, unmistakable weight of something that happened rather than something imagined. She has categorized the patterns. She does this because pattern recognition is productive and grief is not. The deaths are spread across contexts that suggest entirely different worlds — different power systems, different architectural styles, different social structures. The snow-landscape death suggests a military empire, based on the dress she sometimes glimpses in the fragments, the elaborate formal setting. The cliff

That she was just tricked by the Yamato's team. Well, though the truth transpired it was too late now, Clench never regretted to be with her in death. Well, it seems that it was already written on the book of life, where the love story they once built and was broken into pieces, reconnected again, between the tragic of Love and Death.

Thanks for reading Rebirth his angel Thank for completing it,pls follow me for my new books,this been my first book Pls follow me my new book will b out soon #sultana #passion

Martin pleaded, his voice filled with desperation. Struggling to keep her eyes open, Vic gazed at Martin's frantic gestures. Her breaths came in shallow gasps, her weakening heartbeat signaling the inevitable. This was truly her final moment. As Vic's strength waned, she gazed at Martin and silently whispered, "Martin, please forget about me." From the moment she accepted her impending death, all Vic desired was for Martin to erase her from his memory. And even if they meet again in the next life, she wishes not to meet Martin again and falls in love hopelessly.

"The sculpture in the photo looks quite familiar. It looks like the one that won the grand prize just recently." "Didn't the sculptor say she created the piece based on her sister? Why are there human bones in it? This is so scary." "You should look more closely. That's plaster, not bones! You should go and get your eyes checked. Don't go around spouting nonsense." "Our lovely Layla loves her sister the most. You should show the deceased some respect and watch what you say online." "I'm not trying to pick a fight with anyone, but… Is Layla Larson's sister named Hazel? She was my classmate. Even though she had a physical disability, Hazel had always been an optimistic person. She didn't seem

The blame rests entirely upon my actions. His arms tightened around me. Against my hair he murmured the words, "No, it’s not." My attempts to halt the progression proved futile. The sensation of it taking place reached my awareness. That spiraling sensation. The oppressive burden suffocates and compresses. The event extended beyond her mere passing. This event marked his demise as well. The memories returned with relentless force, sweeping through my consciousness as an unyielding tidal surge. An additional firearm discharge occurred. Another friend gone. A lifeless body rests at my feet.