Bloodborne Executioner Set Novels & Stories

Burned meat and blood are so old that they don’t belong to anything natural. There is only one thing it can be. A name whispered in the Pit’s dark corners when the guards thought we were too broken to listen. Bloodborne Hounds. Bred in the dark and stitched together from dead wolves and dead men. Made for one purpose: to tear the right out of anything too stupid to run.

The language seared itself into my skin—not painfully, but like it belonged there. And then I heard it. A voice. Not hers. Not mine. Not the fractured version of me. Something else. Something older. “We were not meant to be opened. But you carry the blood of the fireborn, and the will of the void.” My knees buckled. Max caught me. “What is it?” he asked. I looked at him, shaken. “There’s something deeper. Beneath this chamber. Beneath all of this.” “And what is it?” I looked at the glyphs. And then I said: “A prison.”

My dad lifted the corners of his mouth, nodding approvingly. "They're all yours," Trav said and turned to ascend the steps. Torture had definitely never been his thing. But it was definitely my dad's and my thing. Sara had already maimed them quite a bit. The ones on the table were missing their fingers and toes, currently laying in a puddle of their dried blood. The ones on the wall were missing their eyeballs and noses. The whole room stunk of blood and burnt flesh and hair. "What do you think, Tyce? Where should we start?" He clasped his hand on my shoulder. "After all, you're alpha now." He gave me a fatherly wink.

"Keep it steady!" I regained my footing between the bags, aimed, then took another two shots. One hit his upper arm, the other his shoulder, but he kept coming, unfazed by the gushing holes. I shifted my weight onto my other foot and grinned. I might not have stopped him, but the Thornblood dipped bullets had punctured him, binding shade and host to the same satisfying fate. I fired one last time, hitting him strait between his soulless eyes.

he scowled, “You should know that, you foolish little man.” Shen was fully aware that the stake in the heart driven by anyone but someone from my bloodline wouldn’t have a lasting effect, but if I could get to him before Jambeau came back to life, I could finish the job. Moving toward Seth, he positioned himself for the next vampire attack. “Come now. Do you really think I wish to partake in such a barbaric display as what I just witnessed?” Seth cooed as he once again inspected his fingernails. “No, I think we’ll just wait here for my friend to arise.”

The moment that I laid my eyes on her, I already knew that Victoria Stephens is mine. “ Technically, he killed me first,” Lourde said in between his laugh. I howled knowing he’s stepping towards Victoria but the bound in my body made no mercy against my attempt to stop him. “ Come on. I thought Erebus are supposed to be feisty and wise like how my father describes them. What happened, heiress? You failed to see how he’s useless? He’s not an alpha. Heck. He’ll never be.” “ Shut up!” I shouted. “ I’m a fucking alpha. You failed to realize I’m the executioner, now? And technically speaking, you’re a ghost, Lourde. You’re dead.”

Immediately, the knife slipped from left to right across Greg’s collar. Logan released the victim’s head, stepped back a few feet while Greg lingered on his knees. The executioner then discharged two rounds in the back of Greg’s skull. Logan repeated the same brutal tactics to Bob careful not to injure the lower parts of his body. Their dead carcasses distributed over the carpet. Large bloodstained disparate in areas.

Elena stumbled back, instinctively summoning her power as silver light flared around her body. From the shadows, something massive stepped forward. Not a wolf. Not a man. Its form twisted between both — towering, horned, wrapped in black mist that pulsed like a living heartbeat. Crimson runes burned across its skin, carved deep into flesh that looked more shadow than bone. The rogues in the camp began shouting. Weapons were drawn. Fear spread like wildfire. Zephyr’s hand closed around Elena’s wrist. “That’s not a Council assassin,” he muttered. “That’s a Moonbound Executioner.”

"In the courtyard. Public viewing. Dawn timing." "Lord Mordaunt wants spectacle," the hunter agrees. "Make sure it's visible from street level. He wants word to spread." Spectacle. That's what Mordaunt deals in. Fear through theater. Power through demonstration. I coordinate the setup. Wooden platform. Silver restraints. UV lighting. Everything needed for vampire-style execution. It makes me sick. At midnight, Mordaunt arrives. "Status?" he asks. "Everything's ready. Hunters positioned. Execution site prepared. Either Brennan comes and we capture him, or he doesn't and we execute the dhampir at dawn."

I walked to the window and stood there looking out at the grey mountain light. "What are the Executioners," I asked. "Not the title. What are they actually." "They are the Council's answer to a question that was supposed to be permanently resolved," Mara said. "Four individuals, always four, selected and trained specifically for one purpose. They carry blades forged with a compound that disrupts the Veyrith energy core on contact. One cut and the power goes dark. No projection, no regeneration, no presence. Just a body." She paused. "Then they finish it."