Blood On Canvas Novels & Stories

Instead, he pulled out a stack of weathered, yellowing documents and a tarnished silver dog tag. The clatter of the metal tag hitting the mahogany desk sounded like a gunshot in the silent room. Robbin lunged forward, her breath hitching. She knew that tag. She had seen it hanging from her uncle’s neck a thousand times while he worked in the garage, a relic of a life he had lived before her. Jason Forest. Blood Type: O+. "Everyone out," Robbin commanded. Then, in a shaky whisper, she added, "Nora, please stay."

Meanwhile, Adrian came to my side, and looking at me with more questions, he picked me in his arms. «she needs a doctor, now,» he said and escorted me to the open room, Atlas’s room. I held on to him, it felt weird, he was angry, warm, and afraid, and fear radiate out of him. He placed me on the bed and I felt a bolt of pain in my left arm where the wound was healing, making me scream my heart out; I looked at my hand, seeing black veins covering the wound. «What is that?» asked Hunter. The pain was unbearable, but I knew what was this, black blood, I have been marked.

The urgency behind Orel voice and my skin prickling with danger was what made my eyes to open. The scene before me was a dreaded one, Orel was bleeding for one shoulder while fighting sluggishly as if he was poisoned. A couple of warriors whose clothing and armory were not ours were attacking Orel, I took the scene before me within a second as I grabbed my sword and rolled away from my sleeping position.

"The people that was with this man is now unconscious. I puffed some sleeping powder onto the air without them noticing. We must throw this corpse far away from here" I felt a numbing pain in my head so the grasp of my hand within the bloody dagger that I used had loosen and made it's way on the floor with a clank. Mother immediately supported my body while looking at my appearance gently. "Y-yve, your hair and eyes is changing again. Lady Molly what is happening?!"

"I don't like being watched while I paint. Go sit by the trash can." I quietly moved to sit by the trash can. The sun was far too bright for me today, and there was at least some shade by the trash can. A few moments later, Emily's maid came over with a bucket. Pinching her nose in disdain, she looked down at me—both literally and figuratively. "Hey, monster! Emily needs red paint for her drawing. The prettiest red is the color of blood, so extract a bucket of your blood for her." After that, she threw a rusty dagger in front of me.

nothing was paint splashed across the canvass and my brush scrubs leaving stains everywhere. My canvas was filled with red jargon, I had drew nothing in particular. I stood looking at it in frustration, I wanted to pull my hair out. What was I doing wrong? “Luella!” My mother screamed from inside, I knew something was wrong. I threw my brush and ran inside the in brisk steps. Now I was standing in the living room with blood dripping from my hands not paint anymore My parents laid on the floor holding hands in a pool of their blood I stood staring in shock, I didn’t know who to run to first

What is she doing! When he saw it, his blood went cold. The canvas started to bulge in the middle, the fragile outlines of the painting beginning to distort. "Non!" Pablo screamed, frozen in horror as he watched the priceless Da Vinci stretching. The woman was pushing her knee into the center of the canvas from behind! "Non!" Pablo wheeled and aimed his gun at her but instantly realized it was an empty threat. The canvas was only fabric, but it was utterly impenetrable - a seven-million-dollar piece of body armor.

I touched it again in different places, and it still felt like a regular painting. “Are you kidding me?” Frustratedly, I hit the painting with my fists and scraped my knuckles from the corner. Some of my blood splashed on the painting. I grabbed a cloth to clean it when I noticed it had disappeared. My blood was nowhere to be seen. I looked down at the cut on my hand and back at the painting. “Blood Magic,” I whispered as I touched the painting with my bloody hand. “Come on, grimoire. Come to me.”

On the third day, the dam broke. It started with a single slash of black paint across a pristine white canvas. It was an act of violence, a scream without sound. Then another, and another. He wasn't painting a picture; he was exorcising a demon. He used his hands, knives, rags, anything he could find. The colors were murky, violent: deep burgundy like old blood, sickly yellow like a bruise, charcoal black like a void.

Besides, I think they're too impatient to do things calmly. "What do you know about this wine called 'Blood of the Wise'?" Judging Orion's expression, there's no doubt, he's willing to tell him everything he wants to know. Ah. The scent of victory.