On The Run
  • Reads 50
  • Votes 6
  • Parts 6
  • Time 1h 19m
  • Reads 50
  • Votes 6
  • Parts 6
  • Time 1h 19m
Ongoing, First published Dec 24, 2020
Mature
In the world of Ukiyo, Everyone is running from something...


Excerpt:

He eyed her suspiciously before his eyes went wide with worry. "Why are you defending this... this... MURDERER!" He shouted, making Kenji flinch a little at the sound. Kenji had never said it out loud to himself because he had managed to trick himself into thinking that killing someone who deserved it wasn't murder. But hearing it said out loud he was forced to realize the truth in his actions. 

The girl frowned slightly and let her gaze fall to the ground as if searching for an answer. When she looked up at him she held a look of resolve that was unmatched. "Thanks for escorting me here but I think you should leave now." She said her voice was unmoving and emotionless. 

"And leave you here with this hired blade?! Not a chance!" He replied. 

The air grew tense as the group watched the interaction unfold. The girl stepped back and a light blue almost white magical circle opened up behind her with all types of detailing and four swords each pointing in towards the middle and the hilts pointing North, east, south and west.  He would have been impressed if he wasn't so on edge. "Sebastian... please. I won't say it again. Just please." She pleaded. 

For a moment Kenji thought the man would refuse but he lowered his weapon yet still looked upon her with stern eyes. "Fallon this man is a criminal... and currently wanted. If you are running around with him that's aiding and you'll be considered a criminal as well. Think about this please."

It didn't take her long before she replied. "Well if he can help me find my father then I'll gladly be called a criminal."

He sighed and sheathed his weapon. "Then I must do my job the next time we meet."

"I'm sure you will. Goodbye Sebastian. And thanks for all your help." She said, he only nodded his head and turned to leave. Kenji released a breath he had Been unaware he was holding and sheathed his katana again.
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Reaping The Red Heir

54 parts Complete Mature

He smiled. The devil himself couldn't have crafted a more wicked grin. "What do you say we play a game, little Reaper?" I narrowed my eyes, trying to decipher his intentions. "What kind of game?" His grin widened, showing the tips of his fangs. I watched the prince curiously as he strode over to his bag. With a swift motion, he withdrew a bow and a quiver of arrows, flinging them at my feet without so much as a second glance. I furrowed my eyebrows, casting him a look of uncertainty. That sinister grin stayed plastered upon his lips as he said, "Run." *** I, Skyla Ashforth, am what some might call a "sociopath." It was a title that fit. Why shouldn't I embrace it? I am a vampire slayer, a Reaper of bloodsuckers, and an exceptionally good one, if I do say so myself. Yes, being a sociopath has its perks; I could manipulate and deceive with the best of them. So, when captured by the notorious Red Prince, I embraced the challenge of manipulating my freedom. Pierce Darcee, was a sadistic vampire with a God complex. The fool actually believed he could break me. Little did he know, I was the kind of Reaper who would dance through a battlefield, whistling a merry tune as I twirled my braids. I relished the challenge of manipulating his oversized ego, planning to stab that rotting, blackened heart of his with a venom-laced dagger. I crafted a scheme so delightful, so intricate, that I couldn't help but salivate at the prospect of victory. It was foolproof, or so my mind believed. But then... then there was that pull. That unexpected, unwelcome spark that ignited something within me. Feelings, of all things! Now, that was a complication. Disgusting, messy feelings that could very well lead to my destruction. Or his. It was a dangerous game we played, but then again, the most thrilling ones usually are. *Rated M for Murder, Mayhem, and some profanity. Sorry but no smutty interludes. You've stumbled into a blood bath, not a bodice ripper.*