Blood C Death Novels & Stories

His right hand gripped the neck of a third bottle whose seal had just been broken. His mother was gone. Logically, he had anticipated this day. Eighty-five years was a realistic biological threshold, and the medical team had delivered comprehensive reports on Svetlana Kuznetsov’s declining cardiac function since the year prior. Victor had all the data. He was a man who relied on statistics, careful calculation, and realities that could be mapped onto spreadsheets. But possessing a blueprint for death and standing before the actual body were two entirely different dimensions. At this age, Victor was forced to swallow the bitter truth that he had only ever been competent at the former, and had

He turned to see Max who clearly had some pained expressions. "Enzo"! Stephen signaled Max and he stormed out pulling Max along him. Zee and Saint looked at each other and turned to their food. "Wh… What happened to Max". Callum stuttered. "Nothing. He can't bear the sight of blood. Here the blood is stopped. Go wash it before the lunch gets cold. Saint, call Max and Enzo". Callum nodded and left for the ensuite washroom to wash his thumb.

In timing. These souls were not scheduled. They were not substitutions. No balance was redirected to account for their removal. They were taken because Death chose to take them. That distinction matters. “You intervened,” I say. This is not accusation. It is record. Death does not deny it. He stands exactly as he always does when he carries excess, posture steady, attention precise. The markings along his form burn faintly, not fading, not dispersing. Pain contained where it always is. Within him.

The blood had nearly stopped flowing. The position of his right hand was strange; his fingers curled as if trying to grasp something. I crouched down. In his open left hand, written crookedly in blood, was a single word: "Run". 02:14. One minute left. 02:15 came. Nothing happened. I was still alive. "Substitute death successful. Eric Dawson was killed at 2:14 in Parking Lot C. Remaining loop time: 48 hours. "Go to Parking Lot C. There’s something for you."

He went to check the results and found traces of carbon monoxide in the bodies made a few changes, he took out a print of the result to show that the cause of death was not the serum and he went away to show it to Ronald and pretend to be innocent. The subjects were dead. And they would have stayed dead if Kush had not done what he did. The serum was highly reactive with Carbon monoxide. The reaction of all of it inside a dead human's body, caused an unexplainable amount of reactions and it turned the dead men, insane, and thirsty for blood. After a few minutes, the bodies of the dead men moved . And all of them moved and they opened their eyes, that were completely black.

My babaanne explains in a nonchalant voice, accepting her fate. “Who are Mia’s biological parents?” My babaanne opens her mouth to speak, but before she can say anything, multiple men dressed in all black enter the barn with their weapons pointed at us. Before I can fully register what is going on, a bullet drills into the side of her temple, killing her instantly. Blood splatters across my face, and I turn to look at Cenk, watching him with wide eyes as he glides the blade across Emre’s amca throat, bleeding him dry with a satisfied expression on his face.

“Yeah. The daughter died. God. Lily… she was only fourteen. Brother was driving. Kai Petrova. Car got hit and she died at the scene. He’s in a wheelchair now.” Everything goes quiet inside my head. Kai Petrova. Five years ago. Lily. Fourteen. In the passenger seat. And Miles— “After something like that, I’m not surprised he’s difficult,” Beth says softly, pulling me out of my thoughts. Shauna shrugs. “Anyway. If you know anyone desperate enough.” They leave. Renee’s still leaning against the counter, watching me. “You okay?” I nod. She doesn’t believe me. “Cassie—”

Death. Something I never feared of. But at that moment, for the first time, I got scared. I wasn't scared of my own death, but for his — my uncle. Sometimes I think, why are we even born when at the end, we’d just all die? I always wonder why beautiful things tend to end tragically. Just like life. No matter how beautiful your journey was, you'd still end up taking that one, narrow path that leads to one destination. Death.

In the Smith’s basement, Cynthia was looking at the ceiling. Her breathing is shallow and labored. She is drenched in her own blood which dried up at this point. Its been twenty four hours since Bryan hit her on her head, since then, no one came to check on her. She was dumped among the empty boxes like trash. She knows that she will not live long. She lost too much blood for her to survive. She couldn't even feel the throbbing in her head anymore. Its as if her body is slowly shutting down, preparing for her departure to the afterlife.

"What caused her death?" Craig’s voice dropped, hesitant. "Can we speak privately with the Alpha?" My stomach twisted. "What does the Alpha have to do with my mother’s death?" Still, I followed him into an empty office, my heart pounding in my ears. Craig began, his face pale. "She died from bleeding… she bled through every pore on her skin." I froze. I remembered the blood under my feet, the streaks across her face without a single wound to explain them. My fists tightened until my knuckles ached. "How did this happen?"