The Executioner #1 の小説・ストーリー

If I wouldn’t be drugged I would prove to you who the real culprit is, but I can't continue talking about your nonsense. “The punishment for your crime is death!” he utters so damned sure of his words and I stare at the crowd that started to cheer at his words as if he just announced that they will receive more money. I turn my head and look at Adam. Adam the love of my life and also the executioner of my life. He walks in military steps and lifts the sword that the council brought for my execution. He is not even flinching. He is doing this by conviction. He wants to kill me. His inner spirit longs for my blood.

"They've actually identified the body." There was a long silence, so long I had to look behind me to be sure she was still there. "T—They have?" She stuttered. I nodded. "She's an Executioner." I drank from the cup, refilled and went to her. "H—How are they sure?" "All Executioners have a specific tattoo on their backs. It is one way to identify them." I held the glass to her. "Drink up." With slight hesitation, she took the glass and drank a little.

Salvatore inquired to his younger brother, Marco looking at him with a raised eyebrow before he pushed himself off the wall and marched towards the man their disgust was reserved for. "Who the fuck are you?" The man growled, staring up at Marco with loathing in his eyes. "The executioner,” He smirked in satisfaction and, pressing the barrel to his forehead as he froze in place. "And the judge has sentenced you to die,” He growled before pulling the trigger, the bullet flying out with a silent whoosh from its suppressor before penetrating the man’s skull with an exit wound. The men looked away as the stench of blood flooded around the room.

I saw Calhoun occupied, tearing into a wolf, and then I saw him. The Executioner. He was rising from the dirt, his silver mask cracked, his movements slow and predatory. Jinx was distracted, her back turned as she spoke to Calhoun. She looked so human in that moment, beautiful yet vulnerable despite the light leaking from her skin. The Executioner pulled a hidden dagger, the blade coated in a shimmering, oily purple toxin. He didn't go for Calhoun. He went for the prize. He went for Jinx. Time didn't just slow down, it stopped.

And suddenly, they see a shortcut, a shorter route which would release them from the suffering they were subject to, and they go for it. ‘While executing the shortcut, some of them fumble,’ continued the inspector. ‘Why? Simple ... they fumble because they are amateurs! Some are so overwhelmed by their success, they end up doing crazy things. Husband murders wife but wants to kiss her one last time allowing the servant to spot him. Son murders father, and instead of running away, he starts looking for his father’s pen. Why? He wants to have a souvenir of the bad times. His sister walks in, and then he has no place to hide. These actions cannot be explained, Navpreet,’ said the inspector gloo

I’m pure, cold intent. He thinks he can just come back. The audacity of it is breathtaking. He thinks he can waltz back into my Keep, after three weeks of silence, after leaving me to face the Council and the whispers alone? He thinks he can drag some prisoners in and I will fall to my knees in gratitude? I’m going to kill him. I sweep down the spiral staircase, my coat billowing behind me. Guards flatten themselves against the walls as I pass. They see my face and they look away. That’s wise. I’ve been a fearsome Alpha these past weeks, but today I’m something even worse. The Executioner.

"The system that called these things crimes is the system I fought. I would fight it again." The official moves on quickly, which is the correct response to a statement that is landing better than Parliament wanted it to land. The executioner is a Parliamentary vampire of the specific kind that institutions produce, someone whose function has become their identity, someone for whom the stake in their hand is simply the instrument of their role rather than a choice they are making. They position themselves with the professional precision of someone who has done this before.

The people I have helped in one way or the other to get out of trouble. Then there was my mate and Anna kissing each other's sweetly as the executioner raised the blade up and in slow motion began to bring it down aiming for my long white neck

My body still felt the phantom heat of his touch, my pulse still stuttering from the way he’d looked at me before the world fell apart. I paced the length of the room, my bare feet silent on the cold hardwood. The "Executioners." I knew the stories. They weren't just soldiers; they were the Council’s cleanup crew, shifters who had long ago traded their humanity for the silver-clad authority of the High Wolf. If they were here, it meant the trial was a formality they intended to bypass. A soft, rhythmic scratching came from the service door near the dressing area. I froze, my hand darting to the heavy glass decanter on the sideboard. I gripped the neck of it, ready to swing. The door creaked

He was the **Executioner** of Aethelgard. "Subject 01 identified," the Silas-Sentry boomed, his voice a cold, mechanical chorus. "Violation of 'Reality-Protocols' detected. Initiating: **Final Deletion**." He raised a massive, white blade of light, aimed directly at my flickering heart. And then, a new sound filled the air. It wasn't a scream. It was a **Song**. From the shadows of the "Stitched" houses, the "Glitches" of the Trash Folder began to emerge. Jack the Noir Man, the Protagonist, the wireframe dragons—they were all here, standing on the streets of Seattle.