Undertaker Black Butler Scythe Novels & Stories

Number 50 was the rude stranger from before his weapon was the most breathtaking of all. Its stats were as follows:- Name: "Soulcutter" ‎Appearance: A dark, curved scythe with an ebony wood staff (6 ft long). Intricate silver etchings (like skeletal vines) crawl along the edge. At the base, a crimson gem glows faintly – said to pulse with every soul "harvested". ‎Stats: ‎- Damage: High melee + possible "soul drain" effect ‎- Range: Long sweep (hits multiple foes)

Agatha leans forward, "I came for his head. I ain't leaving without it in a sack." "I'd call the Don and inform him of this incidence, we'd decide on what to do," Mr. Butcher responds. "Oh how the mighty has fallen. You need orders from your Don to kill someone now? The Butcher himself begging for orders," she scoffs and takes a sip of her wine. Butcher chuckles, then: "I'm just an underdog, just like you're to Nimrod. We can both agree on one thing, underdogs do bite. Anyways, I have men looking for Griffin as we speak."

Sweat plasters the white t-shirt to his chest, rendering the thin cotton virtually translucent. Jesus. This is torture. "My turn," Butcher announces, stepping onto the mat. Butcher is a close quarters fighting specialist, especially good with knives. He’s entirely bald, and as heavily tattooed as I am. He thrives in the brutal, chaotic space where firearms become useless and personal space becomes a battleground. He tosses a solid black rubber training knife onto the mat in front of Oliver. "Pick it up," Butcher orders. Oliver groans, pushing himself off the wall. He picks up the rubber blade, holding it awkwardly in his right hand.

What they face was not the weak and helpless ant-like cultivator as they had expected but the wrath of the grim reaper in a black butler tuxedo wielding a rapier. “Sir, I’m afraid you’re in the wrong and at the wrong time. Might I suggest you evacuate out of here at once? Otherwise, I’ll need to forcefully remove you from this world.” The butler in the black tuxedo said toward the invaders in a British accent. The invaders look at each other before some of them rush at the Butler and get turned into thousands of slices of meat cubes as they fall to the ground that was littered with their blood, innards, and organs.

“This is just the beginning. Next, whether it’s Tyr Summers or Carson Yorke, all of you have to die.” After issuing that stern warning, Butcher lunged as swiftly as lightning, to the point where he turned into a blur as he moved towards Peter’s group. Butcher was indeed capable of killing all three of them. However, at the moment when he pulled out his blade, he heard a clang. A figure suddenly blocked his knife with a greyish blade. It was the collision between both weapons that had resulted in that clang sound. Although Butcher didn’t retreat, he felt a numbness in the space between his forefinger and thumb.

"Because from where I'm sitting, no one did. Not until you found out I might be useful to you." Brent made a strangled sound. "Is that what you think this is about? Usefulness?" "Isn't it?" I set down my fork, suddenly not hungry anymore despite the delicious food. "I'm the last Blackthorne. I'm your supposed mate. I'm a political asset now. Of course I'm useful." "You're not an asset," Kane said fiercely. "You're..."

(Joaquin Castelera) “Crafty bastard…” The old butler tried to masked his snake like personality under the guise of respect and age, but I’ve always sees through all his façade, the last time I comes here, he wasn’t here if not I would already killed him that time, like anyone in the mansion he too is guilty and greedy, I ended his life as soon as he tried to turned around at me, my cherry petals slashed through his neck, and kill him, his head rolled on the ground, with evil grin expression still shown on his face. Before I entered the room, I wave my hand, with my command the pink cherry petals started to waft into the room and what follows them were shouts and the sound of flesh being cut

Quick to spot the points that most people would miss. Kate, 37 years old. Dressed in an oversized black hoodie and navy blue ripped jeans. Her specialty lies in technology. A white-hat hacker with impressive hacking skills. Stefan, 39 years old. Dressed in a casual white t-shirt and a sky blue shirt on top and black jeans. Also, has a unique watch on his right wrist. He is Mr. Anderson's old disciple who has cracked many important and difficult cases with him. And last but not least Mr. Gray, the same age as Mr. Anderson, 44 years old. Dressed in a black suit. He always wears formal attire. His biggest rival and friend. He and Mr. Anderson were rivals since his first day here.

I get there and see Hayden's on the counter passed out drunk. Today is Dylan's off day so i can't ask him to help me.Just my luck Dang it.How am i going to get this hunk of a man on my motorbike?. Since clearly i need help so i called Kayla back. "Kay,i'm with Hayden.Can you call Jack and come to the underground.You can't come alone alright." "Okay wait a second,we'll be there in 10 minutes"She said with some clacking noises in the background. After ten minutes with a drunk Hayden who's passed out and might i add,is on my arm.Does he not know how heavy he is.My arm feels like it's about to fall off.

My stomach churned, but there was nothing left inside me to throw up. Butcher didn’t stop. He brought the blade down again and again. In moments, all four of the werewolf’s limbs were gone. He collapsed into a twitching, blood-soaked mass on the ground. The other werewolf broke down, wetting himself as he crumpled to the dirt. Butcher rested the bloodied blade against the man’s neck and then slowly turned his gaze toward me. “You,” he said. “Come here.” I forced myself to crawl upright, every step feeling like I was walking on knife edges.