A Trail Of Blood Manga Novels & Stories

The blood glowed faintly white, bright as moonlight. Malachai followed, slicing his hand in silence — his blood darker, like ink. Cassian went last, his grin never fading as his blood shimmered faint gold. They turned to me. I took the dagger, my pulse pounding. The blade was cold against my skin. I drew it across my palm, slow, steady. My blood burned — red and gold, merging into one. Our hands met over the Gate’s crater. Blood fell onto the glowing sigil. The earth trembled.

Flaming Qilin laughed at the other party. As soon as he finished speaking, Flaming Qilin rushed toward the expert of the Blood race with the mountain-sized shadow of fire. The expert of the Blood race let out an angry roar. The sea of blood soared to the sky, and the rolling waves of blood rolled up dozens of meters. A wall of blood appeared in front of him. Flaming Qilin's momentum did not weaken. Boom! The first wall of blood was smashed, and the blood mist rolled like a blood-colored mushroom-shaped cloud in the sky.

Higurashi Shrine’s martial arts were based on kendo, and its members practiced kendo techniques. They weren’t wild shrines that prayed to the demonic god and cultivated in the demonic path. The Fairy Doctor stood proudly amidst the group of people, and she overheard what Toro said. The Fairy Doctor was someone who had an in-depth knowledge of Japan. She glanced at him. “Can’t you see that she’s using the Blood Cult techniques?” “The Blood… Blood Cult?” Toro exclaimed. “You know the Blood Cult too! How… How could Goddess be using the Blood Cult’s demon techniques?” he added.

Something isn’t right here. Her eyes widened in shock when she saw a trail of blood flowing from the edges of Miki’s lips, and the girl herself looked down at her chest. Yuri’s eyes followed Miki’s vision of sight, and her eyes widened in horror when she saw a large pool of blood slowly forming on Miki’s white blouse. “Miki?”

I growled, and I used his own blade to open him up from hip to shoulder while the violet and red blood on my hands started to mix together into a dark, muddy mess. By the time the last of the twenty warriors was lying in the dirt, the creek was running red and the air was thick with the smell of a slaughterhouse, but I just stood in the middle of the pile of bodies with my head tilted back. I could feel my humanity slipping away, like a handful of sand sliding through my fingers, but I didn't want to catch it because the monster felt so much stronger and so much more honest than the girl who had been crying in the garden.

"Help Micah clear the hallway." Mitchell does not hesitate. He moves past me, his boots crunching on something gritty. I do not follow him. My feet freeze on the bottom step. Right there, in the centre of the floor, is a massive smear of dark, thick blood. It covers a four-foot patch of stone, bright red and glistening under the torchlight. It is Nina’s blood. I know the scent. It is sweet, too sweet for a human, carrying a faint, spicy undertone that makes the hair on my arms stand up.

But the moment the blood touched the air— It lifted. My breath caught. The crimson droplet floated above my finger, trembling like a tiny living thing. Then another drop rose. And another. The blood twisted into thin strands that spiraled through the air. Panic slammed into me. “No—no—stop!” The strands whipped faster, forming sharp crimson shapes. I froze. My mind blank. The memory of the road flashed through my head again. The screams. The blood cutting through the air. My chest tightened. Monster.

Just stepped over the guy like he was trash and walked out onto the platform. I stood there, frozen, heart slamming so hard I could taste it in my throat. The doors started to close. I snapped out of it, scooped up my sketchbook, and bolted after him. “Dmitri—wait!” He didn’t stop. I ran. Caught up to him halfway up the stairs. “Dmitri!” He finally slowed. Turned. Looked down at me. His knuckles were bleeding. Split open. He didn’t seem to notice.