Novel & Cerita The Last Life Book

Bonus Chapter I, Chester, for the first 15 years of my life, hated Emma with a passion. For the many years that followed, I spent every moment trying to make up for that hatred. On the day Dad took Calvin and I to say sorry to her, she did not even look our way before she was about to shut the door. Out of nowhere, I blurted, "Mom." That single word made me live with regret for the rest of my days. It was the first time I had ever called her that, and it was also the last.

With Jay, life was never boring. THE END

Forever. End of book 36

When my wife, Rosalie Wood, had her first meal after she regained consciousness, the attending doctor, Ethan Joeman, took my seat. He cut the steak while he pointed at her rosy face and looked at me with open defiance. “Do you know how medical miracles happen? It is not because of your constant presence. It is because of my in‑depth treatment.” My fingers that held the knife and fork turned pale. Ethan grew even more brazen. His feet rubbed against my wife's calves under the table. “A person in a vegetative state can still feel things. Every night after you left, I did awakening therapy for her. She said her body could not move, yet the sense of being conquered made her feel as though her

"Then why are they still alive?" ​The man swallowed hard, shifting uncomfortably under his gaze. "Damien intervened. He's protecting her." ​A dangerous, heavy silence filled the vehicle. Finally, Victor spoke, his voice entirely devoid of emotion. "He has made his choice." ​"Should we eliminate him?" ​Victor smiled faintly, a cold gesture that didn't reach his eyes. "No." ​"Why not?" ​"Because he'll lead us directly to whatever the girl knows." ​Damien guided Elena into the labyrinth of a narrow alleyway behind her apartment building, where the torrential downpour masked the sound of their footsteps. They crossed two more streets in silence before finally slowing to a halt near an abandoned

The only hint to its existence would be the words of the last hero that died during the battle. "Another life" This was the last word of the hero who ended the great war and died as a consequence of injuries the demons dealt him. No intellect has been able to explain what he meant until now. Everyone is uncertain whether his request was for another life or an encounter in another lifetime. And nobody will. . ...........................…... As its now-familiar glow is assaulting my eyes after cutting the last infected, I gaze out onto the Dungeon. There was the screaming of the monsters, the sound of claws tearing flesh, and the pulse of mana coursing through the walls, like the pulse of the

The portrait on the opposite wall no longer looked ordinary. The eyes of his grandfather seemed to point toward a single bookshelf. Emma noticed it too. "Liam..." "I think he's showing us something." Liam stood immediately. They hurried toward the shelf. Dozens of books covered it. Most looked untouched. But one book stood out. Unlike the others, its spine was clean. Someone had handled it recently. Emma reached for it. "Wait," Liam said. "It could be another trap." Emma smiled nervously. "At this point, everything is a trap."

In my previous life, Derick had his fling with his so-called 'sister' Jasmine before he ever knew me. All the while, unaware of the truth, I was running the mafia business and raising their child myself. They were busy dreaming about their love child and blowing through the cash I made, which ended up costing my son his life. I poured my soul into making their kid my successor, and they just sat back and enjoyed the spoils. My boy and I? We were just pawns in their perfect life! Fate handed me a do-over, and this time, Derrick and Jasmine would be dealt with a well-deserved retribution!

I need the distraction so I clear my throat and begin. “The buh… bee… beast sttt aa… ree… The beast stared into the eyes of his Goddess and cloooo … seeee duhh… closed his eyes … for the … last time,” I say, then blink rapidly. I look up at all the males staring as my lip quivers on its own. “But… wasn’t he the last one? So if they all died who wrote the book,” I ask, since it seems like the obvious question. I flip to the front where I know the name is usually found, but there’s nothing.

She finishes the fourth book in March. Not March of the sixty-sixth year — March of the sixty-seventh. Two years and one month from the first entry. One hundred and four entries, shaped into four movements, the final movement written in the last six weeks, with the quality of something that has been building for a very long time and is now simply arriving. The book is called The First Life: What the Practice Earned and What the Practice Cost.