Blackbelly Butcher Novels & Stories

one bellowed, gesturing to a pile of grain where a keen eye could see the faint, tell-tale speckling of blight. At the next stall, a butcher wiped his bloody hands on a grimy apron, selling cuts of meat that had taken on a slight grey sheen. “Last of the season’s venison! Get it before it’s gone!” The flies seemed to disagree, swarming with a fervent optimism.

‎ ‎The sound was like a gunshot, the crack of a neck breaking. ‎ ‎Vance—two hundred pounds of elite muscle, was lifted off his feet and thrown into the side of the car. He slid down the metal door, leaving a streak of red, his eyes staring unseeing at the sky. ‎ ‎Dead. Effortlessly dead. ‎ ‎I couldn't breathe. I couldn't blink. ‎ ‎The Butcher stood over the body, his chest rising and falling in a slow, steady rhythm. He turned his head slowly, and his eyes locked onto me through the reinforced glass.

"I need one hundred thousand units of advanced portable batteries. Immediately. Yes, the power lines will freeze and snap during the Ice Age. I need those batteries." After hanging up, I stepped on the gas and drove straight to the biggest meat wholesale market in Harbor City. The place was damp and reeked of raw meat. Plastic bags and bloody water littered all over the floor. I stood in the pork butchering section in a limited-edition Hermes outfit and four-inch heels, as if I had wandered in from another world. The butchers in the section looked at me like I was a walking wallet. "I want half of the premium-quality pork over there," I said. "And all the premium-quality beef over there. Pac

he promised me with a smile. I want to correct him, but I've done it myself. Something is nagging me to hide my real identity, the person I am in the outside world. "Maybe," was my only response and we continued walking. We reached the hunter's shop and saw a lot of merchandise there. There were live rabbits, there were dead ducks, and minced wild boar meat. Many people were buying and the lifeless hanging ducks were immediately sold out. "Mr. Gaspar! Give me a kilo," Honey pointed at the minced pork.

Momo muttered, blood oozing from his mouth. I gazed at Billy and Kate, who slowly crawled out of the layers of blocks. Their eyes were all white, pleading for a way out of their calamity. “Everyone get behind me.” Pastor Timothy commanded. They scrambled, hoping to get themselves next to the high and mighty Pope Timothy. Kate got herself out of the block, her bones making crackling sounds as she lay on the floor. They stepped back, wondering how a child had managed to crawl all the way out despite the layers of concrete weighing them down.

The expression on Xyrielle’s face also instantly changed, and she could not help but stand up in unison along with her few friends as they looked toward the big black steel cage. “Mr. Babel, is there still something else inside that big cage?” Xyrielle asked Mr. Babel, who was next to her. Mr. Babel’s eyelids twitched slightly. “Yes, Miss Xyrielle. There is a huge black bull inside the cage. That is the only bull with a white horn, and it looks a little strange and eerie. That is the reason why it has not been released yet!” As Mr. Babel spoke, he hurriedly used his body to block Xyrielle’s body.

"The storehouse is emptier than the rest of the buildings, so get some food ingredients first. Or what, are you going to eat grass, or depend on me to hunt every day?" Caleb and the others were all stunned. That was true—they were all Scion-ranked, but all of them had big stomachs! They needed a lot of food! "Come on, let's go buy it!" Oxley grinned fawning, throwing an arm around Bigby's shoulder. Caleb and Fafnir's eyes were twinkling as they looked at Bigby too—would they really starve with their rich fellow apprentice around? No way! Bigby was himself grinning smugly. "Sure, I have the black card of the Blackmoon Traders too, meaning we can slash prices down to half!"

a voice drawled from the shadows. Timothy bolted upright, the movement sending a sickening pulse through his skull. Kan Nelblack leaned against the dresser, his dark hair messy, his silver-grey eyes tracking Timothy like a target. He’d ditched the top hat, looking less like a circus ringmaster and more like the butcher he was. The tiger chuffed, stretching its massive limbs with a grace that made Timothy’s stomach do a slow, nauseous roll. The memory hit him like a lead pipe to the gut. The alley. The bite. The betrayal.

Bellatrix smiles and shakes her head, telling them, "Hello, hello. " Clothes, oil products, daily use items, different types of vegetables and fruits, fish, meat, and animals, etc. have been arranged by the shopkeepers. Buyers and sellers are negotiating. Bellatrix didn't understand their language. Moving forward, the smell of fried meat and vodka came to my nose. Her stomach roared with hunger. Oh fuck, she doesn't have money. Her face flushed as she moved forward. Many girls are talking to men in heavy makeup and colorful short dresses. Next door is a large, two-story wooden house. Two girls hugged and took two men inside the house. Bellatrix knows where they've gone. As she passed in fron

"Can you imagine those poor parents?" Judy just nodded, her eyes scanning the lamb chops in the case. "Are those still on special?" Giselle stepped up to the counter. "Who's next?" Her voice was just as shaky as her fingers. The butcher shop overflowed with people, most scanning the aisles or glass cases. A few added to Betsy's tale, sharing their versions of disgust and disbelief. "I'm next," an elderly man, thin, his fingers trembling almost as much as hers, said. "I need some of those sausage links." He glanced at Giselle. "Are they still twenty-nine cents a pound?"