𝗧𝗮𝗹𝗲 𝗼𝗳 𝗗𝗲𝗮𝘁𝗵 & 𝗛𝗶𝘀 𝗽𝗿𝗶𝗻𝗰𝗲𝘀𝘀 Revenge Countless souls have fallen prey to its grasp, their lives shattered as deeply as those they sought to harm, if not more so. For most, mere death isn't the end It's not enough to satiate their thirst They crave retribution, wish for something beyond the grave. They want misery upon those who've wronged them. Long for the torment of those who've wounded them But at the end of the day, it's merely a wish, A burning desire for- well, nothing realistic, really For they are weak. Powerless Some may even deem them useless But then, there exist the select few- those who refuse to settle for anything less than the worst, denying death's grasp to unleash a living hell upon their enemies, Those who take matters into their own hands, seizing control & becoming the architects of their own vengeance, Now those, those are dangerous. For in their eyes, the concept of contentment is a foreign notion, replaced by a searing ache for more- More agony, despair. More misery, more wails. More destruction, chaos. People like him, they feed off of fear, thrive in causing pain. They're cunning, calculating, heartless But frankly, even the most twisted of them seem like harmless amateurs in comparison to him. He reeks of death Exudes darkness, sorrow Death is all that shadows his steps, making his existence a reminder of the inevitable fate that awaits his victims. And whispers in the Russian underworld speak of him as Mors- The god of death So, what happens when a girl, who abandoned her family, her life & the very empire bestowed upon her- just to escape the sight of death, catches the eyes of the reaper? What happens when he pulls her into the abyss of his world, intent on destroying all she has fought to be in pursuit of vengeance? And what happens when, as the day wanes, the embodiment of her deepest fear captures her eyes as well?

"Do you know what I do to girls who don't answer when they're spoken to?" she murmured, her voice dripping with quiet menace under the mask. "N-no," Salma breathed, her voice barely audible as she kept her eyes locked on Nerezza's dark eyes. Nerezza hummed, tilting Salma's chin up with a gloved hand, her grip firm but teasing. "I fuck the answers out of them," she whispered, each word slow and deliberate. ••••• Salma, a well known radio show host, is used to strange calls-but nothing like this. One Wednesday morning, an anonymous woman dials in live on air, her voice low, dripping with eerie amusement as she confesses to a murder. Convinced it's a twisted prank, Salma plays along, her tone teasing-until the caller whispers something only Salma could know. What starts as a disturbing coincidence spirals into a chilling obsession. Night after night, the woman calls back, turning Salma into her unwilling confidante, her chosen messenger. Each call comes with cryptic clues, taunts wrapped in silken words, a deadly puzzle Salma is forced to solve-because if she doesn't, she'll be the next victim. But fear gives way to fascination. Then obsession. As the game between them intensifies, Salma finds herself drawn to the voice on the other end of the line-a voice that knows her deepest fears, her darkest desires. The hunt for the truth becomes a tangled web of danger, passion, and something far more dangerous than death. They should be enemies. One is the hunter, the other the prey. But what happens when they fall in love? Written by: Tzipora Rosen Edited by: Lean Catherine Benton Disclaimer: Sexually explicit content Violence Strong language 🏆 #1 horror-thriller 🏆 #1 Toxic

9 august 2025 :- top 1 from top 10 india 17 august 2025 :- top 2 from top 10 india 25 october:- top 3 from top 10 india 30 october :- top 6 from top 10 india 17 feb 2026:- top 2 from top 10 India 4 july 2026 :- top 6 from top 10 5 July 2026 :- top 8 from top 10 17 july 2026 top 10 from to 10 ***************************************** Warning Mature story "Aap na bahut bure hai," a four-year-old girl said while pouting. "Main bura hoon? Kitni baar bola hai, hone wala pati hoon tera. Samajh nahi aata? Phir se 'bhaiya' bola na, toh maarunga," the ten-year-old boy replied. Her eyes filled with tears. "Me... ri... galt... i ha... i, ma... ne bola tha ki..." she stammered, crying. His heart clenched at the sight. "Accha, chup ho ja. Tofee khayegi?" he offered gently. She instantly smiled and nodded.