Unholy Player Novels & Stories

I raced back to the living room and snatched my phone from the table, then quickly answered it without checking the caller's ID before the call would end. "Hello?" "Hello, is this Miss Alessandro?" an unfamiliar male voice asked from the other side. I frowned, pulled the phone away from my ear and checked the caller's ID, but found out it's an unknown number. "Hello, am I speaking with Miss Alessandro?" he asked again. "Yes" I answered. "Who is this, please?" •••••••••••• Stella's point of view. *Lala-land's Private Lesson**

But it was a bond nonetheless, one that I vowed to uphold. Just as her fear began to fade, a subtle noise filled the room, jolting us both from our trance. I instinctively reached for my weapon, ready to defend, only to find the mysterious person standing before me once more. "Hector," he spoke, his voice a low whisper. "The Vamps are planning something. You need to be prepared." I nodded silently, my grip on my weapon tightening. There was no time for pleasantries or explanations. We were thrust into a world of darkness, where danger lurked in every corner.

He replies. “Let me help you understand...how do you think I am so wealthy?” He asks. “Because you work your butt off.” I respond and he shrugs lightly. “Yeah, that, but I also have a dark side that brings me the cash more quickly. I created this alias, Jacob Reigns, so that I can fully do whatever naughty illegal thing I wanted to do; and it worked so perfectly.” “And no one could tell your identity because you were hiding in plain sight. No one would expect Henry who works with the queen of England to be one of the most notorious mafia bosses in America.” I say and Henry claps for me.

I hugged Jeremy, after Riley pulled me in for his signature suffocating hug. "Wow...you look happy. Like... very happy." "Thank you! But you look tired, why? I thought crazy rich bachelor like you are living the life?" Riley said while sitting in front of me, and Jeremy to his side. "This player is being played at my own game Riley." "No freaking way! I never thought I'd see the day!" Jeremy chuckled beside him, but let us be while he was calling the waiter to order our lunch. "So...don't leave me in suspense do tell..." He demanded, while Jeremy shook his head smiling at him.

There wasn't one. The pink-haired Hollow was still on the ice. He was drifting past the Reapers' bench with the smug, unhurried pace of someone who knew exactly what he'd done and was enjoying the reviews. Seth Aparo, number eight. Khyle filed the name and the number and the expression and the specific angle of that smirk into permanent storage for later retrieval. Then he looked at Gunner and found Gunner already looking at the pink-haired player with an expression Khyle recognized. He was building the list.

I could hear the faint hum of prayer from the main hall, voices rising in unity, unaware of the blasphemy happening behind the booth. He stepped closer, like he was still deciding whether to damn me or indulge me. "Look at me," he said. His hand touched my chin, tilting it up until our eyes locked. The heat in them wasn't holy—it was raw, carnal. "This isn't why you came to me, is it?" he asked. I shook my head slowly. "No, Father." "No," he repeated, almost to himself. "You came to be ruined." I didn't argue.

"Who owns that property?" Vincent’s fingers fly over the keys, ripping through the encrypted municipal firewall. "The owner is a man called Waylon Yoder. He died intestate. The property should be empty according to the city’s records." The air in the bunker suddenly turns electric. We found the blind spot. "Enzo, assemble the strike team. Dark comms. Overwhelming force." Enzo racks the slide of his sidearm, a lethal, terrifying smile stretching across his bruised face. "With pleasure, Donna."

Shorts and a t-shirt are over my body in a few movements. "I'm ready when you are," I yell out to Cutter as I head to my room and grab my bag. He wears a look of disgust on his face when I come back into the living room. "What's wrong?" "This piece of shit player4u is killing me at every opportunity." A belly chuckle works its way loose from my tight chest. "He's a thirteen-year-old from North Carolina." Disbelief flashes through his eyes. "Don't parents pay attention to what they're children are doing anymore? Why is he playing this game?"

"You carry not a shred of compassion. Saint Anna does not shelter empty shells—brains without souls." The moment his words landed, one of the players was simply erased by the system, dissolving into nothingness. He then turned to the female player who had tried to manipulate me. "You treat others as stepping stones. You see kindness only as a tool to exploit. In your world, there is only you. And what Saint Anna despises most—is absolute selfishness." Her scream was cut short as she vanished from existence. [What the hell—instant death by judgement?! How are players supposed to survive this?!]

The humans went about their business eating dinner and getting ready for sleep; oblivious to what went on inside the large canopy of the dense trees. Deep inside the forest, the scent of blood hung thick in the air. The night had gone eerily quiet as the five creatures were standing in a loose circle. They were oddly shaped- a cross between an orc and a goblin with limbs sprouting from their bodies at odd angles. Their eyes were mere sockets, lidless and black orbs and a slit for a mouth with a set of crisscrossed pincers and a long nose to complete their look. They were the hycwens, a blood-thirsty race of wild and untamed creatures that killed for sport and ate anything that moved.