Please give feedback. If there's interest I'll continue posting. The next story will feature a young ninja who almost fails at her latest assassination attempt - almost.

Nicely written

>>30007
Thanks a bunch, what parts did you like? I'd love to hear what worked and what didn't so I can improve. Ill have the next one up before long.

The Son of the Warlord
The intruder moves like a shadow across the palace roof, testing each step to avoid dislodging any of the ceramic tiles. Up here, the moon is her greatest enemy. Were it not for its glow, her dark clothing would make her virtually undetectable. She pauses at the edge of the roof and looks inside.

She's here for one purpose: to kill. Kill without honor. It doesn't take her long to locate her target below. There he is. The boy is sprawled on his futon, one arm thrown over his head, lost in sleep. From her position, she's near enough to watch his chest rising and falling beneath his nightgown.

She draws her dagger and tests it on her sleeve, a nervous habit for a novice like her. It's not a long blade, but it's sharp. Sharper than she needs it to be for a soft target. She watches the boy for a long moment before committing. She clamps the weapon between her teeth and lets herself drop inside.

She lands in complete silence. Now she's inside his chambers, in the same room as her sleeping target. The only sound is his breathing. She creeps closer, moving like water.

The young ninja slips the dagger from between her teeth. The room is vast and decorated with polished furniture and vases. But her eyes are locked on the boy's exposed throat. Five steps. That's all that separates her blade from home. Her heart beats louder than a temple drum. Four steps. Three.

She lifts her arm. Lets her blade catch the moonlight as she draws it back. And that's when she sees it - a flash of silver in a mirror behind her that illuminates the whole room.

The boy's eyes snap open.

She goes still.

He immediately springs off his futon. She pounces on him, knocking the breath from his lungs, and jabs the dagger into the mat where his neck had been a second earlier. He yelps. For a split second, he can feel the pain - his body tricking him into thinking the blade has carved through his throat - before his mind catches up with reality. She missed. Just barely.

He shoves her hard, the sudden counterattack catching her off guard. He scrambles backwards, then dashes for a katana mounted on a stand. Before the girl can refocus and pull her dagger free from the mattress, he's already ripped the katana from its mount and spun around to confront her.

That son of a concubine has a sword now! Her heart jumps and her mind suddenly races with panic. This wasn't part of the plan.

The boy tries to jerk the sword from its sheath, but it's a long ceremonial blade and it won't come off completely. Seeing this, she charges. In his panic, he doesn't even think of screaming for the guards. His brain has short-circuited, leaving him in pure survival mode.

She crashes into him and they both tumble to the floor. He stumbles backwards, but she's already on top of him, her dagger stabbing towards his face. He yanks his head back just in time. He catches her wrist, the katana slipping from his grip. It hits the tatami floor silently. He uses their momentum to roll her off and springs to his feet again.

The boy scrambles away from her and finally opens his mouth to scream. Too late. His foot catches on a low table he hadn't seen - where did that come from? - and he lands on its surface, his back hitting the wood with a thud. He tries to cry out again but she pounces on him, keeping him pressed to the table with her weight. Before a sound can escape, she clamps her free hand over his mouth, her fingers digging into his cheek and clamping his jaw shut.

MMMPH!

He tries to scream into her palm. She anchors herself with her knees on either side of his ribcage, her hand still locked around his chin, forcing it back hard so he can't lift his head. He's pinned. She's got him immobilized like a wasp with its prey. She readies her dagger and looks down, concentrating. The boy reaches for a vase on the table and smashes it into her shoulder. The impact cracks the porcelain but she doesn't give him an inch. She's fighting for her life, too.

MMMMPH!

Another muffled cry against the girl's hand. She can feel the warmth of his breath. He thrashes beneath her like a fish, twisting his torso left, right, trying to get out. It's useless. He's only wearing himself out while she steadies her own breathing.

The tide has shifted. Decisively. She positions her dagger at the perfect spot just below his sternum where the ribs meet and leans forward, putting all her weight into it. One nice, clean thrust upward and it will go straight into his heart. Then she'll have won.

The boy feels her shift above him and grabs her blade arm in a final throw to save his life. For a moment, it looks like he might be strong enough to hold her back. He's fighting so hard.

But her body weight is behind the thrust and he's losing ground. He can see the writing on the wall and opens his mouth in a silent scream when he realizes that this is going to be his fate. Despite all his efforts, all his luck and quick thinking, he's still going to die right now.

The blade is in. The steel slowly cuts through his flesh and muscle, angling up, until it pushes home. The boy convulses, squeezes his eyes shut from the awful pain, and gives up.

The girl knows she's succeeded when she feels the blade encounter no more resistance and then sink another inch. The boy's heart is soft and yielding compared to his chest cavity. His hands fall away from her arms.

She buries the blade to the handle, then pulls it out. There is a sickening, wet squelch. Blood spurts out, warm and copious. It wells up like water through a hole in a ship, soaking into the silk of his nightshirt.

She removes her hand from his mouth and steps off him. The dead son of the warlord lies on the table, his eyes half-lidded, staring at the painted dragons on the ceiling. He makes no sound. Just the quiet drip of blood.

She notices small, bloody teeth marks dotted along her fingers that sting when she touches them. He must have bitten her during the struggle. Oh well. That's nothing compared to the brand-new heart condition she's given him.

That was close. He almost got away. Well, almost. It was a clean kill after all, once she'd managed to slip past his defense. But there are still many lessons to be learned from tonight.

The girl wipes her blade clean on the dead boy's silk clothing. He bled a lot.

I hope you liked it. Let me know what you think. And feel free to leave feedback. I'm still new at this.

The next part will be a bit different. We're skipping ahead to modern times. That's right, guns are coming into play for this scene. Our main character might seem familiar. A gifted schoolboy with a dark power who's killed thousands without ever leaving his room. Let's see how this "genius" copes when things get more hands-on.

I really don't have a "favorite part" per say. Your stories are overall, very well written. They are missing a sexual element. I and a lot of people here like the sexual element. Like in your first story, you could write how when the boy had his neck snapped the girl noticed he had an erection & or him cumming.

>>30213
Thanks for the helpful feedback LordofPancakes.
You've got a good point. My original intention was to focus more on the action and false hope before the boys are killed off but I see how most readers here want more. I'll definitely add those kinds of details going forward. It's fun to write them, too.
Just for fun, you can picture that in "Death Battle", the boy was hard the whole time he was trying to win, especially once he could see nothing but her shirt. And yes, when she snapped his neck she felt him pulse against her leg. In "The Son of the Warlord" it's possible that the boy came as she buried the dagger in his chest. Proximity to death, girl contact and clenched muscles might have that effect.

Justice
The elevator doors slide shut with a soft mechanical hiss. The boy takes a slow breath, then runs his fingers through his hair. He watches the floor numbers above the door, descending from the top floor where he'd just completed his masterpiece of planning.

He smirks with satisfaction. Because he knows that by the time the elevator reaches the ground level, everyone in this building will be dead.

All this is possible because of the black notebook under his arm - the Death Note. When he first found it, he thought it was a prank. "The human whose name is written in this note shall die." But he tested it. It was real.

He immediately understood what a godlike power had fallen into his hands. He could kill whomever he wanted, anywhere in the world, and it would be completely untraceable as long as nobody found the notebook. He could even dictate the exact manner of death.

Soon, he was visited by the book's original owner, a shinigami named Ryuk. Ryuk explained that he'd grown bored of the monotony of being a god of death one day and had decided to give it to a random human for his own amusement.

But the boy never believed that he got it by chance. He knows it is his destiny to clean up the world. In the first week alone, he killed more than a thousand criminals. He numbers each entry. Now he's at 13,802. He's in love with it.

Today, he did something special. He wiped out the police task force investigating the mysterious deaths. It wasn't easy because he didn't know their names. But he found a way to obtain them. They had to be punished for trying to stop his new world order.

"Everything went according to plan. Do you understand now, Ryuk?"

The shinigami floating next to him in the elevator tilts his head. Only a user of the Death Note can see or hear him, so no one questioned the ten-foot-tall demon following a boy into the police headquarters.

"Huh? You mean you're done already? I thought you were going to kill everyone in this building. But you only killed the young officer who brought you up here and the fat old guy in the office. There are still like three hundred people in here."

"Of course. I know that. I killed them too. Didn't you see what I was doing in his office?" The boy says condescendingly and chuckles. "You know, Ryuk, sometimes I wonder why I even bother explaining anything to you."

The boy opens the notebook to show page after page of meticulous writing.

"You see? The Death Note lets me specify the cause of death in detail, including the victim's actions before death. First, I found a detective in the lobby and read his name tag. It said he was Matsuda Tōta. So I wrote that Matsuda Tōta would die of a heart attack after escorting the boy claiming to be the police chief's son upstairs to his office." He flips the page.

Ryuk's face looks interested now. "Oh! Even I didn't know the Death Note could do that. So that's why he believed you when you approached him, huh."

The boy smiles at that. He likes it when his intelligence is recognized. As the smartest student his age in all of Japan, it happens a lot.

"Then I wrote that the police chief would go into his office, making sure he would not be disturbed, open the database of everyone working for him on his computer, and die of a heart attack. He did exactly that. He was already dead when we walked in. All I had to do was sit in his chair, copy their names into the Death Note, and walk out. And right now -"

He checks his watch.

"Every single person in this headquarters, every detective in Japan working on the Kira case, will be dead or dying. Right now. While we ride down. A bunch of civilian secretaries and janitors too, of course. But you can't make an omelette without breaking a few eggs. Besides, no one who isn't on my side of true justice is truly innocent. My fingers still hurt from writing so many names." He laughs maniacally.

"That's pretty clever. But couldn't he have just emailed you the list? Why did you have to come here?"

The boy laughs.

"You know what emails are? I'm impressed, Ryuk. But of course not. An email would have been traced. I can't risk that; it would be irresponsible. I had to come here myself. If I want to be the god of this new world, I have to take these kinds of risks."

The elevator continues downwards. The numbers above the door illuminate in sequence:

9

8

7

The boy looks at the indicator with a self-satisfied smile. Soon, he will step outside and see the building of his enemies turned into a morgue. He'll go home and pretend to be shocked when he hears the news.

"Oh, this is so interesting," Ryuk says suddenly, as if he sees something through the walls, and starts to cackle. His red eyes glimmer with something the boy misinterprets as approval.

The boy takes out his phone and searches YouTube for "kira". That's the name they've given him. Some people call him a monster. Some call him the god of the new world.

He likes the second group. The ones who truly get it. There's one channel in particular that he loves called "Kira's Conquest". Run by a woman with long red hair and enormous cleavage that she always puts in the camera. She seems to truly believe in his vision, defends him, even says "Thank you Kira!" at the end of every video. His face flushes when he sees the thumbnail. He has to adjust his pants.

4

3

2

The boy puts his phone away and frowns at Ryuk. The shinigami is cackling, floating in circles around him like a puppy.

"What's so funny? Shut up," he snaps at the empty air. "There's nothing funny about this. This is justice. I'm building a new world order, and you're just here to watch. So stop interrupting."

His small hand reaches up to smooth his hair once more, a habitual gesture of self-assurance.

Ryuk's grin widens. "You have no idea, do you?"

The elevator comes to a smooth stop. The mechanism releases with a soft ding.

1

The doors slide open with a pneumatic whisper. The boy prepares to step out, then shrinks back, his eyes wide - the first moment of genuine surprise he's shown all day. He's staring into the muzzle of a suppressed pistol. Held by a young woman in tight-fitting tactical gear, aimed at the middle of his forehead.

Fwip.

His head snaps back as the slug penetrates his skull, his blond hair whipping around. The nerves in his brain fire in a final spasm of confusion and his knee jerks up once. He leaves a fine splash of red on the elevator wall behind him, which is then smeared by the back of his head as he slides down to the floor. His eyes, still containing that spark of intelligence, roll upward to show the whites. His body doesn't even convulse.

The doors begin to close, but the tactical officer jabs her leg between them, forcing them back open. The small, lifeless body hasn't moved. It remains slumped in the corner of the elevator, bleeding onto the carpet, with one leg folded awkwardly beneath it.

Her radio comes to life. "I heard gunshots! Report immediately! Pull back if you have to, I repeat: do NOT risk your life!"

"I shot him," she replies. "Repeat: I got Kira."

There's silence on the other end. She steps into the elevator, keeping her gun trained on the limp form, ready to put another bullet in the boy's head should he stir. She pokes him with her foot. No response.

She takes off her glove and bends down to check for a pulse. "Target eliminated. Repeat, he's fucking dead."

The doors close again. She grabs the boy by the cheeks and looks into his face. There is a neat hole in his forehead with a trail of blood running down from it. His mouth hangs open. One of his eyes is half-closed due to nerve damage, giving him a sleepy expression. Blood mixed with brain matter continues to ooze out of the hole in the back of his head. His blond hair is matted with it.

He deserved this, she thinks. He murdered thousands. Just because they were criminals didn't make it right. And today, he murdered her friends and colleagues, as well as probably everyone else in the police headquarters. She's happy she got to be the one to serve justice. Plus, L will finally have to stop being a creepy shut-in and accept that someone else finished the job.

She looks down and sees the obvious tent in his pants. He's hard. She makes a vindictive smirk and slides her hand into his pants, past his underwear, and touches his small penis. It twitches a bit from the stimulation, then settles into the curve of her hand. She gives it a squeeze.

The shinigami laughs.

"Humans are so interesting."

District 4 Male

Samuel leans against the wall of the narrow elevator as it ascends through the underground. He can feel the glass vibrate against his shoulder blades. He watches his reflection, a skinny, wild-eyed stranger staring back at him. Black pants, black boots, and no shirt, just a male tribute in the Hunger Games. He never thought he would end up here one day. Nobody does. Like everyone, he had always assumed it would happen to someone else.

He reflects on the final moments of his old life. Four days ago was national reaping day. There were no classes. Instead, he and the other kids took one of several buses to the district capital. His classmate Rebecca cried on the trip and their teacher asked him to console her.

"What if one of us gets picked?" she asked repeatedly. They weren't exactly boyfriend and girlfriend, but they went to the same after-school activities and invited each other to their birthday parties. Maybe she saw him as something.

"Yeah, sure. You'll get picked AND your brother, and your parents will die from grief, and your cat too, and the universe will explode! Come on. It's not gonna happen. It's far too unlikely." He gave her a pat on the back, but that was it. In hindsight, he wishes he had at least given her a hug.

She sniffled. "B-but you don't know that. Your name's in there too."

"Yes but..." he tried to explain. "Look, the odds are 1 in 8,000 for either of us. That's zero point zero one two percent. You know how low that is?"

She nodded but didn't look up. Then they got off the bus and the boys and girls got separated. He didn't see her again after that.

The moment his name was pulled is burned into his memory. The way the announcer reached into the glass bowl and slowly stirred with her finger before pulling out the slip of paper. The way he felt a sudden wave of nausea deep in his stomach before she even said it.

"Samuel Baker."

How all the boys around him groaned in relief. The way his friends looked at him as he slowly walked up to the stage. He still wonders what Rebecca thought at that exact moment. Where are she and his friends now? Sitting at home in front of their TVs, watching the live feed?

He feels a lump in his throat. They're still going to be alive two weeks from now, he thinks. Everyone is. I'm not.

Daylight streams in from above and he emerges from the ground. The boy gasps when he sees the cornucopia. Maybe because it looks bigger when you're actually down here? It's the last place in the world a kid would want to be right now. The countdown has already started. Thirty seconds. He wonders what would happen if he just stood here and waited. How many of the others would he outlast before someone came back to finish him off?

The final second ticks away. He bursts into a run. He's on autopilot. He makes it all the way to the outer wall of the cornucopia and grabs a bag with both hands.

He turns to flee. Suddenly he spots a girl to his left sprinting right at him out of nowhere. He sidesteps but she collides with him at full speed. He hits the grass hard. Her knife pierces his shoulder. Pain and adrenaline kick in.

He scrambles to get up but the girl is relentless. Her knife glints, then sinks into his belly, once, twice, three times. Every strike hits. Pain explodes where she stabs him. He tries to push her off him. She stabs him a fourth time, then gets up and runs. It's over in seconds.

The boy presses his forearms against the wounds and tears his mouth open in a silent scream. Blood bubbles out between his arms. He writhes on the ground but no matter how he twists and turns the pain from the stab wounds all over his upper body only gets worse, the one in his shoulder serving as a throbbing counterpoint.

FUCK! Stupid, stupid, stupid! Why did I go for the cornucopia?

He tries to crawl away with the bag but his body seizes up and he has to roll in on himself again. Fuck! He takes a breath. I'm out of it already, he thinks. She manhandled me so hard.

He begins to feel cold sweat. He wonders what his friends must be thinking seeing him like this. Did they get a close-up shot? Would Rebecca be uncomfortable with him losing to a girl?

He hears hollering and opens his eyes. The career tributes have spotted him and are coming nearer. He coughs and rolls over.

"Well well well!" says the bigger of the two boys. "Who are you?"

Samuel looks up at them. He knows the only reason they don't kill him right away is because he's already been cleaned out. "Samuel," he presses out.

"I meant what district, idiot!" The second boy interrupts. "Shut up. Hey. Who killed you?"

"I-I don't know."

"Are you stupid?" The first boy leans down. "What do you mean you don't know? Was it a boy or a girl?"

"Girl. Julia, I think."

This amuses them. He was beaten by a girl? They make crying faces. "Did you see which direction she went?" one of the girls asks, prompting corroborating exclamations from the other careers who were about to ask the same thing.

He points to the trees into which she disappeared, then presses his arm back against his belly. The boy from district 1 looks in the direction and nods. "Alright." Then he steps away and offers his sword to his district partner. "You should have the kill."

She scoffs. "Why? Because I'm at zero?"

"No... because a girl should finish what a girl started!"

"Pah! Gimme that." She takes the sword and walks over to Samuel. Seeing her standing over him, about to give him a coup de grace, sends confusing feelings through him. She's so confident and beautiful with her long, blond hair and her round breasts underneath her rashguard. Her blue eyes are staring into his, looking over his wounds. He feels his pants getting tighter.

"Do you know my name?"

He nods. "Lucilia."

She smiles and nods. "From?"

"District 1?"

"That's right!"

She plunges her sword into him.

An alert box pops up on television screens throughout North America: District 4 male placed 15th - Time survived 00:00:02:13.

Link fucking kills himself

A year had passed since Link had defeated Ganondorf and saved the world. But now he was upset, depressed, and angry. The obvious reason was the crushing sense of loss and grief. His parents had both died before his first birthday, so in retrospect, any chance he'd had at a normal life was over before it even began. He grew up as an orphan among the Kokiri, and while that had its ups and downs, he'd still had a relatively normal and happy childhood. Or rather, he might have had one until he found out there was a prophecy about him and was forced to abandon everything from one day to the next. But most devastating of all was Saria's death, which he blamed himself for. Saria, who had raised him, who was like a sister to him and whom he cared about more than anyone in the world, was gone because of her connection to him.

This leads to the main reason and the reason why he was so angry. Everything about his life was predetermined. The royal family and the saints didn't care that they were sending a literal CHILD to risk his life in their power struggle with Ganondorf. They just saw the prophesized hero who would be their savior. They were grateful afterwards of course, they welcomed him into the castle with open arms and genuinely treated him like one of theirs but at the same time, they never gave a rat's ass about his feelings or interests or showed any guilt about stealing his childhood, traumatizing him and destroying everything he'd grown attached to. And Zelda was a whole other story.

While he did love and value her and knew she loved him back, he felt she only liked him for his role as the hero of time, not for who he was. She was also extremely ignorant and treated him like a child. A few weeks earlier, he had tried to open up to her and tell her how upset and unhappy he was, how he'd never got to choose the path he wanted in life, how nobody saw the real Link and how he'd missed his formative years and didn't even have a real personality.

She just smiled and listened to his rant and said, "Don't worry. You'll always be my hero." And then she kissed him and left him alone, as if he were merely having a bad day.

It fucking infuriated him speechless. It was always like that. She was "the wise one" while he was "the brave one". It was as if everybody around him was incapable of seeing him outside the context of prophecies and triforces. Zelda probably touched herself at night thinking about stuff like that. He also suspected she felt she deserved equal credit for defeating Ganondorf which was laughable since she never had to risk her life and was hardly ever even in danger.

He was just so fucking frustrated and lonely and while he did manage to adapt for a time and find a semblance of happiness in this life - the castle was comfortable - the thought of going through this for another 70+ years made him feel incredibly despondent, so he decided to take control and escape. He knew he couldn't just take off to some faraway land because everybody knew what he looked like and the royal family would have sent legions of their agents to kidnap him back.

So then he thought, why not just kill himself. He'd finally return home, finally meet his parents, see Saria again. He would have done so sooner but he didn't want the royal family to find his body and know he had committed suicide. He wanted them to think he had run away on some faraway journey and search for him until they went crazy. His first thought was to jump into some deep crevice in Death Mountain or, heck, into the lava itself. That would have solved the problem of his remains but the Gorons would have seen him enter their mountain and not leave. For similar reasons, the Gerudo Desert and Lake Hylia weren't options either. No, his body would have to be completely annihilated without a trace but he didn't know how to accomplish that. So he delayed his plan for weeks until it finally hit him.

A flesh-eating plant. It would digest everything, even his bones. He knew where to find those; they were all over the Lost Woods. The answer had been right next to his childhood home this whole time.

He secretly left the castle, exited the town through the main gate, crossed Hyrule Field, took the footpath leading into Kokiri forest and then took the fork into the Lost Woods. He quickly found a plant that was big enough. He took off his clothes and boots and put them into a pile, then lit it on fire. It was exhilarating to see them go up in flames. Like he could undo everything that had happened and return to being the quiet, gentle boy who liked daydreaming and wandering off and falling asleep in the grass. He didn't know how to destroy his sword and shield, so he had buried them and hoped nobody would ever find them. Or, if they were found, it would be by future generations who would then realize what they did to their hero.

Once he was naked and his only clothes burning, he knew there was no going back to the castle. The burning took longer than he expected so he took his ocarina - the one Saria had given him, not Zelda's - and started playing it. He wasn't sure what he played. He had to start again multiple times until he literally wept too hard to carry a note. Then he threw it into the flames, too.

"I'm sorry Saria," he sobbed, watching it burn, "but I know you'll understand. You know I'm not selfish. Please forgive me for not - for not doing more with my life. But I-I just can't do this."

He then waited for the fire to die and kicked the charred remains apart. He stepped in front of the plant. Its red open jaws almost looked inviting, except for the tiny white bristles which served to sting the victim and sedate it. He laughed. How ironic that after all the great monsters and servants of evil he'd defeated, this would be the final boss. Surely this wasn't in any of their prophecies. He took a deep breath, then stepped inside and laid down on his stomach.

The bristles stung a little. He was surprised at how dry the inside of the leaf was; he'd expected it to be warm and wet like the mouth of a living creature. At first nothing happened. Then the other leaf silently closed above him until he was folded in. Just out of curiosity, he pushed against it. He couldn't move it at all. It was as rigid as a tree. That was a scary feeling. Even if he changed his mind about dying, he couldn't get out of it now.

The pressure quickly got less pleasant and it became an effort to breathe. The bristles pressed deeper, injecting sedatives into his muscles. He felt his skin swell. Then, the thick red tendrils clamped down around him. They were the teeth of the plant, squishing his skin and preventing him from moving. The plant secreted a white digestive fluid that got into his eyes and burned.

It quickly went from unpleasant to painful to excruciating. One of the tendrils made its way past his teeth and down his throat. He let out a muffled groan and bit down on it but couldn't get it out. Dozens more prodded against his tender flesh or bent his bones. Some pressed into his ass and against his prostate, slid under his foreskin, squeezed his sensitive parts. He came. He tried to shift a bit to relieve some of the pressure but they only bit down on him harder, so he gave up and tried to enjoy it. He could still breathe through his nose but there was pressure on his lungs. Eventually he blacked out.

A few days later, a crying, stomping Zelda commanded Impa to personally lead another search party and either return with her betrothed or not return at all. They would have never guessed that by this point all that was left of the hero of time were his teeth, 32 black marbles rolling around inside a carnivorous plant, impossible to identify as having once belonged to him.

May I ask if you're taking requests?

If so something with Conan Edogawa of Case Closed/Detective Conan where he is cornered by a killer in a shower and is barefoot (His sneakers can super charge his kicks so he kicks objects sometimes)

Sorry if that's too much to ask

>>30400
Sure, that sounds like a lot of fun to write! Don't worry, the boy is definitely getting killed :)
Do you have any preferences for the killer's age/gender, weapons or method of killing? And out of the stories I’ve posted so far, is there one whose style you liked?

>>30405

I love all your stories

And I will leave it up to you who the killer is or how they kill Conan Edogawa

I forgot to mention that I don't like scat but you seem to dislike it too.

Can you kill kid Goten and Trunks with the thighs of the villainess of your choice please

>>30400
Cornered

The killer weighed her suppressed H&K USP Compact in her palm and emerged from hiding when she heard her target turn on the shower. The boy she was tasked with eliminating, detective Conan Edogawa, had left the bathroom door open, thinking he was alone in the house. He was wrong. She entered and saw his clothes on the floor. His sneakers were neatly arranged beside them and his watch lay on the stool. Without them, her victim was defenseless. She smirked. Funny how she was already a step ahead of the so called "genius" detective. Not that killing a small boy like him would be a challenge.

The young woman slowly approached the shower, index finger on the trigger, and grabbed the curtain. She pulled it to the side in a single motion and took aim. The boy stood inside the shower naked with his back turned to her. He hadn't even noticed her pull the curtain right behind him. His mind was miles away. He just stood there, letting the water run over him and pool at his feet. He stared at the droplets racing down the tiles, colliding and merging into larger drops...

"Detective!"

The boy whipped around at the sudden voice behind him and shrieked, instinctively covering himself. Then he saw her unfamiliar, humorless face and the gun aimed at him. His eyes went wide.

Fwip.

The bullet hit him in the chest like a punch. He scrunched his face and reeled back against the tiled wall, his hand flying up to clutch the wound.

Fwip. Fwip.

He groaned in pain as he felt two more bullets slam into his midsection, leaving two burning holes. He tried to stumble out, but she had already stepped into the shower and pressed him against the wall. He kicked her in the shin in an attempt to wrench himself free. The impact sent a jolt of pain through his foot but the woman didn't even budge. Without hesitation, she pressed the barrel against his stomach and fired another bullet into him.

"MMMGHHH!" His face contorted as he clenched his teeth. He wanted to curl into himself but she forced him to remain upright with her tight grip. He looked up at her, gasping for air, his mind still reeling from the sudden violence. The woman stared directly into his eyes. The shower was still running and she was standing in the stream, the water drenching her side. It was irrelevant to her. She just observed his reactions impassively.

Her finger moved again. Fwip.

"Hgkk!" Yet another bullet burrowed into his stomach, his already microscopic chances of survival plummeting even further. He clamped his hand around the barrel and remained like this for a moment, breathing heavily, while she held him against the wall with the gun pressed against his belly. His mind was screaming. He couldn't believe this was happening. His thoughts turned to the scene around him. She was leaving no clues. His murder would never be solved. "Eeuuughhhh..." he groaned out as he finally registered the pain and unfairness. He was going to die. There was no other outcome.

The girl broke the silence. "Say goodnight, kid." She pressed the side of his head against the wall and raised her gun. His skull felt like it was about to burst. The hinge of his glasses snapped.

"Please!" he wheezed out through tears and snot. He could feel the muzzle pressing against his temple. "I'll pay you! PLEASE YOU DON'T KNOW WHAT YOU'RE D-"

Fwip.

His brain hit the wall with a splat. This shut him up. She shoved his body to the side and it landed in the puddle face-first with a cracking sound. Maybe it was his nose, or maybe his glasses. She looked at the stain covering the wall at child height. Years of deductions, calculations and observations, now nothing but a red, chunky blotch waiting to be cleaned up with a sponge.

She turned off the shower and dragged the naked corpse out like a piece of meat, then rolled it onto its back next to the toilet. She began filming the body from head to toe as a special gift to the Black Organization. They always loved it when she brought footage back. The boy's foot twitched once.

She took his watch and sneakers and put them in her bag as souvenirs for them. Then she reached down and took his broken glasses, too, before leaving the dead boy behind and exiting the building. Case closed, she thought to herself.

>>30414
Maybe. I have never seen Dragon Ball and I don't particularly care for the series, but I will keep it in mind.

>>30430

That was hot, you are awesome

May I please ask for the Totally Spies girls killing three evil shotas of your choice with their laser lipstick via beheading?

(Or if you'd rather use a different gadget go ahead)

Hiro Nakamura of Big Hero 6 framed for murder and hanged by the neck until dead...

Would you kindly

https://totallyspies.fandom.com/wiki/Norman

Clovers cousin, can he be snuffed by a villain who wants to get to Clover?

Garroted while being told his corpse will send a message please

How are you btw?

I hope you're okay OP

>>30503
your treating the OP like fucking chatGPT lol

>>30503
>>30504
Lmao, sorry for not responding. I'm definitely still posting. And really, thank you for all the love and comments. It's extremely motivating, especially if there's honest criticism or even just hearing which passage someone liked (and extra helpful since I'm not satisfied with my writing ability yet).

You've posted so many creative plot ideas that I have zero clue how to write because I don't know those shows... why don't you try writing them yourself and we'll give you feedback? It's even easier nowadays since you can use AI for help.

>>30511

Familiar with One Punch Man?

Child Emporer is a cute shot who would make a cute strangled corpse dont you agree?

Asgore Dreemur killing a male Frisk via hanging him by the neck while he's barefoot would you kindly?

You're quite good at writing dude, I do have a request. There's an old story on this site, it was actually written by LordOfPancakes himself like a decade ago. It's called "Heads" and it's a hanging story. I quite enjoyed it and I'd like to see your own spin on it. That is of course if LordOfPancakes is alright with it...

>>30536

I'm fine with it.

I hope you're okay OP

How are you OP

I have this idea of a woman climbing into the room of her neighbor, a naked sleeping boy. She paralyzes him with a drug in a syringe, then she rapes him, before beheading him with a knife while his dick is still inside her, and then dismembers him.

We miss you op

Bump