The Stalking Dead Novels & Stories

The thirty red dots that had been branded into his small chest just seconds ago were gone, leaving only the bruised indigo glow of the ruins and the suffocating scent of ash-choking bitterness. “Recall,” a voice whispered from the depths of the fog—Elder Thorne. It wasn’t the retreat of the defeated. It was the clinical order of a scientist finished with a successful diagnostic. One heartbeat, the air was screaming with the high-frequency hum of necrotic rifles; the next, the Stalkers were ghosts, melting back into the swirling frost-mist without a sound. They didn’t fall. They didn’t die. They simply ceased to be an immediate threat, leaving behind a vacuum that tasted of rock-dust and copp

"Sayler... is he..." "He's alive," I cut him off. I didn't offer comfort. I didn't offer details. I just stated the fact. "We need to move. The collapse... it might have attracted things." Things. In the Deadlands, where magic went to die, the predators were those that didn't need it. Shadow-stalkers. Bone-eaters. Creatures that hunted by scent and sound alone. Nash nodded, wincing as the motion pulled at the burns on his legs. He tried to stand. His left leg buckled instantly, unable to bear his weight. He hit the ground hard, a hiss of pain escaping through clenched teeth.

The countdown had begun. The first rays of dawn painted the sky in hues of blood orange and bruised purple, casting long, ominous shadows across the battlefield. The air hung heavy with the scent of pine and damp earth, a stark contrast to the metallic tang of blood that would soon saturate the air. The Shadow Stalkers, a formidable force cloaked in darkness and malice, emerged from the depths of the whispering woods, their numbers seemingly endless, a tide of black fur and burning eyes. Their leader, a hulking behemoth with eyes like chips of obsidian, stood at the forefront, his snarls echoing through the silent forest.

“Not now. Not ever.” I drag the knife from his chest, licking the rain-washed blood off its edge before sliding it back into my pocket. My heart is wild, my head spinning, but I feel alive. I step back into the road, rain cascading over me, arms stretched slightly at my sides. A shadow among shadows. And then—movement. Someone else is there. Watching me. What happens when a stalker finds a stalker of his own?

The creatures below were still reaching, still making sounds like grinding metal mixed with human screaming. "What were those?" I managed. "Stalkers," Amon said between gasps. "Class C. They hunt in packs and use the subway cars as lairs." He looked at his ankle where the thing had grabbed him. The fabric of his pants was torn, and beneath, I could see deep scratches that oozed dark blood. "Damn it." "How bad?" I pulled out my med kit. "Not deep. But their claws carry infection." He grimaced as I cleaned the wound. "I'll be fine for now, but we need to move fast. If it gets worse..."

How could those witches be alive when we all watched them die? My heart was racing in my chest as Malcolm, my brother Roman, and I drove toward where they were buried—the location where we'd previously encountered the Death Stalker. Was I prepared to face that monster again? Even thinking about it gave me nightmares. The stalker was about to kill Emily and me the last time we saw it. Now I was returning there—and I wasn't sure I was prepared for what we might find.

'It appears to be that we need to reconsider our own staff! This thought streaked through Ross' brain, then, at that point, he considered something and said, "Does he need to kill them individually? Close battle or long-range shooting? In any case, regardless of what, his redesign this time will leave more hints for us. He has gradually left the shadows." Monica said, "You can say that, however the stalkers are the most perilous kind of chronic executioners. They will just go after brilliantly. They are like phantoms."

It was inevitable that their depleted strength would be no match for it, and only moments after Emily and Lucette had spirited themselves away and along the side of the building towards the rear entrance to the car park did it break free of the FSU. It carried itself with the elegance of a dead ballet dancer, arms swishing through the air so its elongated claws whistled as it walked. The whiteness of its skin was reflected in every door handle, in the concave mirrors masking security cameras, upturned in a teaspoon thrown from a dropped food tray. Hunger drove it on, sending it stalking through the corridors of the hospice. Were it unlucky in its pursuit, it would go back to the other place

After getting what his co-gang wanted, they gave it to me to have it scanned and to the tables to eat it. Aside from Josh, thankfully, the others aren't causing any trouble. Looks like tonight will be a peaceful night… "Hey spider gang!" Oh, sh*t. "What the f*ck you want?" Gardo stands up and goes outside to face the evil gang. That's what they call themselves. Those two are mortal enemies, and based on the other gang boss' tone, they'll skin each other alive tonight. One by one, Gardo's underlings went outside. Josh follows them.

They tried to lose their stalkers, but they didn’t know the city. “What is it this time? I want to bait them in an alley to find out who sent them and why they’re after me this time. Lord Meozo better not be back again.” “Our stalkers are vampires. We should indeed get them to follow us into an alley, to at least lure them away from humans. Lord Meozo cannot return, you made sure of that.” “Authorities said that 15 years ago and they were dead wrong,” said Coralis.