Romans & histoires Blood Sweat And Terrors

Blood clings to his hands like paint. And I know him. Even as he stares at my mother’s body in horror. Even as he turns and runs into the trees like the devil is on his heels. Even as the world blurs and twists— I know that face. *** I wake up gasping. My throat burns. My body’s soaked in sweat. My fists are clenched so tight my nails have broken skin. But I don’t scream. I don’t cry. I just sit there, breathing hard, staring at the fabric of my tent like it might vanish into trees and shadows again.

Soaking through the sheet beneath me. Even before I see it, some animal part of my brain knows what it is. I pull my hand back and the moonlight through the window turns it black. But I know. I know it’s red. Know it’s blood. Know that the wetness spreading beneath me is too much, far too much. The scream that tears from my throat doesn’t sound like my voice. It’s raw and primal and filled with a terror I’ve never experienced before. The sound of everything ending.

My body trembled violently, my fingers twitching as if they still felt the warmth of what I had done. The scent of blood was thick, pungent, and metallic, clinging to my skin like a curse I could never wash away. I forced myself to look down. My hands. They were covered in it. Crimson painted every ridge, every trembling knuckle, smeared up my arms, streaked across my bare skin in jagged, grotesque strokes. It dripped from my fingers onto the floor, forming tiny pools that reflected the flickering torchlight. What have I done?

Sweat gathered along her brow, dripping down her temples, cold against the heat crawling beneath her skin. Her entire body trembled, sweat beading along her brow as she struggled to catch her breath, her heart pounding hard and fast, panic clawing at the edges of her mind. It had been a mistake to come here, slipping beyond the borders, every step she had taken tonight had been reckless, driven by panic and foolish desperation, and now she was cornered by her own body’s betrayal.

The world then fades to black. End of Dream* I jolt awake with a piercing scream, my chest heaving, a thick sheen of sweat coating my skin. My entire body trembles, cold with fear and grief, my heart racing like it's about to burst from my ribs.

He begins to tremble, sweat sliding down his temples. "Dude, what are you doing?" He asks, his voice trembling. My vision turns a bright red but I begin to see things more clearly, like the veins under the skin of his neck. The blood in his veins seems to be calling out for me. So, I pin him to the wall, not sensing or seeing anything but my thirst for blood.

“Something’s… happening… it’s wrong… so wrong…” I saw the exact moment he saw it. The dawning horror, the denial crashing against brutal reality. My own gaze followed his, down to the silver silk stretched taut over my lap. A dark, wet stain. Small. Vivid. Horrifying. Crimson. The color of life bleeding out onto moonlight fabric. It bloomed before our eyes, spreading with chilling, undeniable speed. A silent, internal scream ripped through me. “No. No. No.”

Her palm was touching a hot, sticky liquid. She immediately knew what it was. Althea groaned as she felt her blood rapidly draining from her face. It was as if all of her blood was draining out from her body via the hole that was dug into her body. Large beads of sweat started to form on her forehead and slid down on her face. Her body was breaking into a cold sweat. She looked down and watched the horrifying sight of her palm and dress being soaked with red liquid. Her aquamarine eyes lost its focus on the sight of blood and her eyelashes trembled.

Each step felt heavy, her heart pounding, then she blacked out. As the first rays of dawn began to creep through the curtains, Eve jolted awake, her heart pounding erratically in her chest. Her body was drenched in cold sweat, clinging to her like a second skin. Confusion and disorientation consumed her as she tried to piece together the remnants of the horrifying encounter that had shaken her to her core.

She yelled Painfully, she vomits, regurgitating more blood than bile, bloody chunks of god-knows-what are also mixed into the blood she just threw up, when she's released a large enough quantity to form as not-very-small puddle on the floor, she collapses, twitching and spasm-ing. Some of the chunks she regurgitated start to convulse, turning into vapor, they start to amalgamate and condenses into what was left of the lykan agent she was fighting. He was now a horrible mass of deformed flesh and bones, contorted in an excruciating display of agony and suffering. An eye on his cheek turned and focused on Terror and a mangled arm reached out as if asking for help. The grotesque thing before hi