Novel & Cerita Undertaker Black Butler Eyes

My heart plummets into my gut. No. Not tonight. Of all nights, why tonight? The visitors split like the sea, revealing him. Lucian Blackthorne marches into the ballroom, escorted by two tall security wolves in elegant black suits. His ebony hair is fashioned in a tidy undercut, jaw darkened with a dark beard that highlights his sculpted cheekbones. He wears a fitted black suit with no tie, the top buttons unfastened to offer a glimpse of muscular chest etched with swirling silver runes. But it’s his eyes that paralyse me – silver-grey with flecks of stormy blue, shining softly as his gaze sweeps the room with aloof indifference. The Alpha of Moonshadow Territory. Billionaire. Kingmaker. The

I scanned through the crowd and saw unfamiliar faces drenched in misery; except for one— jet-black hair and eyes of silver-grey stared blankly as her coffin was slowly lowered down six feet underground. I watched him closely. He did not shed a tear, but I knew that he was a walking corpse bound to self-destruct. He had small wounds on his lips from biting down on them. He had scratch marks on his palms from clenching his fists too hard. His breathing was shallow. His eyes were blank. When she passed away, he died with heart. I wish it had been me lying in that casket. Maybe then those beautiful eyes wouldn’t be so sad. As if he could read my mind, the man I was watching darted his eyes towar

Five empty wooden chairs pushed tight against the huge round table bespoke of the losses he had recently suffered. The Necromancer was a large man—if indeed the misshapen figure could be called a man—significantly bigger than any of his comrades, in girth even more so than height. He possessed a huge bulbous belly, and his hairless head was almost as round as a basketball. In the dimness of the room, the skin of his face and hands seemed almost white—a milky, deathly white more reminiscent of a corpse than a living human being. He had thick purplish lips, a broad, flat nose, and no eyebrows at all. As fearsome as the rest of his countenance was, his most frightening feature by far was his ey

who is it? My eyes landed on the only unhooded being in the room. Not a wolf. No- he doesn't look like these bloodsuckers. Was he even a vampire? It was an older looking man in a ripped butler's uniform. The buttons had Lamia's initials on it. He works for her. He must be leading this battle. This man was bald with a gray beard. He held onto a black metal scythe. He looked like a grim reaper somehow. He scared me. I watched as he held up against five wolves that tried to attack him together. He swung the blade and I watched as it cut into and injured the wolves severely.

He saw the dead bodies of the men that followed Raymond to run away. They all had their heads cut off from their bodies. Only Raymond's body was missing. He then looked up towards the trees near the building. He saw on top the tree was a figure standing on the tallest tree branch. The figure had a sword behind it's back, a strange mask on it's face and bloodshot eyes. It stared down at the butler who smiled, flashing out his thin snake-like fangs. "Bleach," the butler muttered. "The artifact," he whispered, looking down at the Butcher's hands that held a huge brown coffin.

Working for such a boss, one didn't only need to think consciously, but also walk on thin ice. Butler Thomas rephrased his words, “Let me get the first aid kit.” His words hadn't even finished when he raced to the bedside drawer to fetch the kit. Lord Azael looked at the Butler icily, but his expression changed when he turned to Lynette, unconscious on the bed. His deep black-red eyes, which could be mistaken for black irises if not observed carefully, that had been cold minutes ago, turned soft and affectionate. He lifted his right hand and brushed it lightly yet tenderly against Lynette’s face.

He walked in alone. He was handsome in a terrifying, Southern Gothic way. He had sandy hair, a tan that suggested leisure, and a white tuxedo jacket that was a deliberate nod to the style of the old South. He moved with a lazy grace, smiling at the door staff and nodding to the Senators. He looked like a politician. But his eyes... I knew killer's eyes. I saw them in the mirror every morning. Caleb’s eyes were dead. They were blue, pale, and completely devoid of humanity.

I chuckle awkwardly. “I will get it for you. I will come back with your drinks.” he shoots me a smile and goes to talk with the bartender. I feel the Black Tiger eyeing me. I slowly turn and see him staring at me weirdly. Probably because of my order. “I don’t feel like getting drunk, that’s why.” I simply say.

"Luckily,I came prepared. Just keep an eye out for anyone approaching this way." He took out a yellow paper and laid it on the floor. Joonjae and Yoseob surrounded him, with their back turned towards him, looking out for anyone who may approach their way. Undertaker took out a quill and began to draw ancient strokes on it, while chanting a mantra under his breath. The strokes flashed brightly for a second before disappearing. "There's no demon in there," Undertaker announced. "He's clean." "Thank god," Yoseob let out a sigh of relief. "I don't think I could have taken another gruesome sight."

I groan inwardly. She opens the door for the man who calls himself Butcher. He looks like one. Very bulky and tall. One thing amuses me tho, his eyes. His eyes are dead. He's a killer, a cold bloody killer. He eyes meet mine and he calculates for a few seconds in his head if I'm a threat or not. I send him a cold smile, he could be a monster but when his eyes leaves mine and soften when he looks at Davinia, I know immediately that he would never hurt her.