The Executioner #1 の小説・ストーリー

One would think they’re restraining a monster. Perhaps what bothered me most was her eyes. They’re empty. The usual lightness disappeared like it was stolen from her. I let my gaze trail from her neck down her chest, noticing they had stripped her off her uniform, leaving her in nothing but her underwear and bra. My hands trembled with an urge to kill someone right now, and I know exactly who. Scarlet Tate. I could smell her disgusting perfume even from a mile away. From the corner of my eye, I caught sight of a small knife laying on a table nearby.

“I’m sorry for everything we lost, for the chances we never took. But I won’t let this be the end. Not for us. Not today.” He squeezed my hand, his grip strong despite the bonds. “Then let’s do this. Together.” With a final breath, I opened my eyes, my vision sharpening as the power within me surged to the surface. The time had come to turn the tide, to take back what was ours. And as the executioner raised his weapon, I unleashed everything, shattering the bonds that held us and igniting the fire that would burn through Maria’s lies once and for all.

Kaelen breathed, pulling Sera behind a massive cedar tree. A figure stepped out from behind a veil of fog. He wasn't wearing tactical gear like the Council guards. He wore long, sweeping robes of deep crimson and a mask made of polished silver. In his hand, he carried a staff that dripped with white, liquid fire. The Executioner. "Kaelen Thorne," the masked man said. His voice didn't sound human; it sounded like the collective whisper of a thousand dying flames. "The High Pack has judged you. You have been found guilty of soul-corruption. Step aside, and the Oracle will be purified."

Derek’s POV After the execution, it seemed that everything had gone back to normal. Whoever threatened Erika and the pack had been eradicated. Erika wasn't bothered by nightmares anymore. Everything went as planned. Things were getting better and better. However, two days after the execution. One of the executors came back to the pack. “Is he dead?” I asked. I thought that he came back to report Baron’s death. “No, alpha.” The executor lowered his head and said with a trembling voice.

With a force that would have thrown most wolves clear. Kieran did not move. He held it with a locked jaw and the absolute refusal of a man who had decided this ground belonged to him. The Executioner went still. The column was completely silent. Then the blood came from the Executioner's lip, from his nose, running together at the corner of his mouth. His chest shook once. He was laughing. Low and wet and entirely genuine. The laugh of a man who has just encountered the most interesting thing he has seen in years and cannot help responding to it honestly.

I walked barefoot out the main gates of the Silvermoon pack territory. A rusted-out pickup truck waited for me. A relic from my old life. The door didn't just creak; it screamed in protest as I pulled it open. Now, it was my only way out. As I opened the door, I saw them. A pack of reporters, already waiting. "Elena! Over here!" "What does it feel like to be rejected by Alpha Aiden?" "Do you have anything to say to Lady Cora?"

His silver-gray eyes fell on the smear of wine on my dress before it then moved to my face, searching for a crack in my stoicism. "Elena." He called. "Mr. Sterling," I said, my voice echoing slightly in the hollow room. "I wasn't aware that the Executioner frequented police stations at three in the morning. I am yet to hear of that tale. Or have you come to watch the public execution?" "I don't watch executions, Elena. I make them happen," he replied. He stepped into the light, and I saw the cold, satisfied tilt of his mouth. He reached into his inner breast pocket and pulled out a small, charred photograph.

Then a stone in the corner of the nursery shifted. It was a block I had always thought was part of the wall, solid and unmoving. But now it slid backward with a harsh grinding sound. A dark opening appeared. Slowly, the Executioner climbed out of the tunnel beneath the floor. He wore torn clothes. His skin looked pale and grey. Yet when he looked at Leo Kael, something dangerous still lived in his eyes. “The lie was beautiful, Alpha,” the Executioner said quietly. His voice sounded dry and tired. “The coffin. The smoke. The grieving mother.

I’m one second away from hurling it through the window when Parker suddenly freezes. “They’re back,” he says, eyes distant. “And they brought a guest.” We head back to the kitchen. The doctor’s still at the body, taking careful notes. The detectives return moments later, bowing. But the man behind them doesn’t. “Bow to your king,” one of the guards growls. The stranger lifts his chin. “I bow only to my mother. No one else.” Interesting. So this is an Executioner. He’s tall, striking. Raven-black hair cropped short, piercing light blue eyes. Probably used to being the center of attention—but his beauty’s hollow. Cold.

Family and friends of the victim’s out to get him for the murders. But on August twentieth, 2001, Druid Hills Headquarters moved their illegal enterprise to North Atlanta 6.8 miles elsewhere. They discovered fresh unwilling organ donors, continuing their murderous violence covering up their atrocious acts and identities. Closing Remarks I hope readers enjoyed my work Revenge of the Executioners. I wanted to lean toward writing impact action, adventure, and drama for once. Your reviews on my book inspire me to continue writing fiction of crime, mystery, thriller, fantasy and paranormal. Visit Amaze and give my book a review if you enjoy it!