The God Of Death 소설 & 이야기

More certain. "We'll see," he says. The training room is two floors down, and he spends the walk telling me about the Death God's mythology—the scythe, the hourglass, the absolute sovereignty over the moment of ending. "A fully realized Death God is death itself," he says. "When you can hold the complete transformation, whoever you face will simply stop. In that instant. Permanently. The soul doesn't get a second chance." I think about the scythe in the dream, the clean weight of it.

The cold Metropolis night breeze suddenly came in and ruffled the documents on Chloe's mahogany desk. Alexander stepped forward to the now open lip of the floor. His black robe fluttered wildly. "King to me is just a title for those who need recognition," Alexander hissed, his aura condensing into a pitch black mist that suffocated the gravity around them. "But I am your God of Death. And in this room, there is only one God I serve... and he is sitting behind me."

This new, dark fear felt so personal that I could barely breathe. “Deathroh,” Fin offered. "The god of death."

Proserpina managed to tell him without laughing, still terribly amused, “...Thanatos has taken lives for less.” Indeed, Thanatos–the god of death, her father's right hand–had been delegated as her personal weapon on the night she was named as heir of the underworld in order to keep her soul bound and the former to split his immortality with the relatively new goddess. The god of death's vessel was a black sword with a polished blade, the hilt engraved with the name of Thanatos through Proserpina's human dried blood, binding death to her in perpetuity… Alastor whistled, impressed.

"I've seen some girls since breaking things off with Kendra.. I'm just much much more selective I suppose you could say. Either way it's not her that's the issue. It's the god of death sitting next to her." "The god of death." Vic's attention was brought back down to reality. He looked over at the man sitting with the two beautiful women. No matter which angle he were to look from, no matter which persona his imagination could dredge up for the guy he looked.. 'He's completely average! He looks like you average middle class working man.' "So when you called him a god of death.. I will just assume you're joking or speaking in met

Decus laughed. He liked the spectacle that was going on here. He put his hand on Godric's head, his claws digging into his scalp. The blood slowly seeped into the priest's hair and he groaned again in pain. It felt like he was being dazed with pain. "It won't be long my servants and you will be able to wallow in the darkness! With Lucifer's death our era will arise! I will make everyone suffer! I am Lord Gehenna and a God!"

The other time it happened, she… died? A memory of another life, of another world, flickered in his mind. He had been … he frowned…a God? Not a good one, but one born of Chaos and Death. A God from another world. He had been full of rage and hate and had indeed feasted from the bodies of his enemies. Seven deadly beasts followed him, and together they were unstoppable.

He hurt my mum, couldn’t be there for her when she was dying and never could go to her funeral. “He said he was sorry. That he wants to meet you and feels I’m the only person who can get through to you. I don’t know, he seemed apologetic at first,” he shrugged. “And what do you want me to do? What did you say to him?” “I told him it’s up to you. That the way he went about it was sneaky and you wouldn’t appreciate it. Then he told me some bullshit that he knows you better then me,” his eyes had glazed over. He was tired.

The enemy looks up—and freezes. They didn’t know we called in Heaven. They didn’t know they were going to die today. Every god had been told: find another god and take them down. One at a time. Take them out. So when I see him—Moros, the god of doom—I make my move.