The Executioner #1 Novels & Stories

Moving on autopilot, I crept forward until I was pressed flat against a cold, rusted dumpster, and slowly peeked around the metal edge. Three men stood beneath a flickering yellow streetlight. One was on his knees. Bleeding. Crying. Begging for a life that was already over. Another towering man held a heavy, black gun firmly to the back of his skull. And the third man… God forgive me, but even in the middle of a literal execution, my brain noted that he was illegally handsome.

I pressed the gun harder against his head, grinding steel into skin. “That doesn’t make you a king,” I snarled. “That makes you a criminal. A parasite. A disease rotting everything it touches.” The old man leaned back just slightly in his chair, lips twitching at the corners. Almost a smile. “And you’re the cure?” I let the grin spread across my own face, sharp, feral. “No. I’m the executioner. I’m here to erase you from existence to stop the rot.” For the first time, I saw something crack in his mask like a flicker. Maybe a ghost of recognition. Maybe fear. Maybe respect. Didn’t matter.

a cold voice rang in the whole arena. Everyone stared in utter shock as the executioner’s head was ripped out of his head. The cloud of smoke kept growing bigger and bigger but there was no sign of anything inside it. When the executioner’s lifeless body hit the ground. Alan stood up immediately, “who dares to kill in my pack?” his voice thundered. Two glowing red eyes suddenly appeared in the middle of the smoke and looked tauntingly at Alan. “Your pack? Yet you punish one of you so mercilessly,” the voice answered.

She raised her hand, signaling for the executioner to proceed with the punishment. The executioner, a grim figure clad in black, stepped forward with the gleaming sword. The crowd fell into a heavy silence, knowing that there was no turning back now. Lucius, as the overseer of the execution, stood with a resolute expression, his duty clear despite the heaviness in his heart. As the blade fell, a collective gasp rippled through the crowd. Alpha Nyx and Lord Randall's heads rolled to the ground, and the courtyard was filled with a profound and somber silence.

Willie gazed with his eyes totally open, his face brimming with outrage. As of now, Monica, who had been quiet this while, talked. "There are four kinds of chronic executioners as far as topographical ways of behaving the space type, meandering sort, fixed area type, and interruption type. The Death Judge is a common fixed area type. He would bait or hijack the casualty into a pre-arranged spot to perpetrate a wrongdoing. This sort of chronic executioner has an extremely amazing feeling of arranging and is exceptionally careful in his activities. Also, the Death Judge is a sure and quiet individual. I trust this won't be the final remaining one. He will perpetrate another wrongdoing!"

His palm always found my stomach first now, fingers spread wide, as if he could shield the baby just by touch. “You did good today, amore mio,” he’d murmur, lips brushing the shell of my ear. “Kept the world guessing.” I’d smirk into the dark. “They’ll guess until the day I decide to tell them. And that day, tesoro, the Executioner will already be in the ground.” He’d answer with a low growl of agreement, hand sliding lower, possessive, reverent, careful. Because out there I was still La Rosa Nera, queen, killer, untouchable.

Not about the murder, but about the vision I just had and whatever changes are wrecking through my body at this moment? “The signs are clear as day, the compromise runs deeper than we could have ever anticipated,” the council leader is saying. “What compromise is he talking about?” My head hurts from trying to process everything that has happened tonight. “I'm not…” “Proceed with the execution” he commands. My words quickly die on my lips. The executioner steps forward holding a silver blade in his right hand even as the circle beneath me begins to glow brighter, each of the markings igniting one after another, a dark ancient power rising in a torrent.

It glistened under the moonlight, with its sharp edge clearly inviting a daring soul to test it. The ground shook as this mammoth made his way towards where the prisoners were headed. His aura alone sucked the life out of the air. With every breath that I took, it felt shallow, almost as if there was no more fresh air left to breath in his wake. I watched as he went down the trail,and with his back finally turned towards us, I asked, "Who was that?" "That's the executioner! He's going to do exactly what you're thinking right now!" Jasper didn't hold back.

It was a sin that stained the soul forever. He had done it all for her, and perhaps that was the reason I couldn’t bring myself to carry out the order immediately. “I found his soul, Enzo! He’s at Dark Moon Lake!” Bernie’s voice broke the silence as I waited. Smoke curled around my arm before gathering in my palm, slowly taking the shape of the executioner’s blade. As the weapon solidified in my grasp, I felt the familiar weight of my duty settle into my chest. My eyes burned, shifting from dark to deep violet, the unmistakable mark of an executioner carrying out a sentence.

I walked to the window and stood there looking out at the grey mountain light. "What are the Executioners," I asked. "Not the title. What are they actually." "They are the Council's answer to a question that was supposed to be permanently resolved," Mara said. "Four individuals, always four, selected and trained specifically for one purpose. They carry blades forged with a compound that disrupts the Veyrith energy core on contact. One cut and the power goes dark. No projection, no regeneration, no presence. Just a body." She paused. "Then they finish it."