Bloodied Hands Adelaide Forrest Novels & Stories

No words. He brought it down into Derrick’s ribs. A crunch. A spray of blood. Another blow—shattering cartilage, snapping bone like twigs beneath a boot. Again. And again. Until the chest cavity yawned wide, a gory cradle of punishment. With one final breath, Adrian reached into the carnage, his hand disappearing inside Derrick’s chest. Blood surged over his forearm, warm and thick. Then, with a jerk, he closed his fist around something soft. Something final.

Frustration mounted as I moved deeper into the forest, my urgency growing with every second. After what felt like an eternity of searching, I found a small clearing where the forest floor was littered with trampled vegetation and broken branches. The remnants of a fierce battle were evident—claw marks gouged into tree trunks, patches of fur caught on the bark, and the unmistakable scent of blood lingering in the air. I recognized this as the place where Baird had fought the rogues. The ground was still damp with blood, and I shuddered at the thought of what he had endured.

I pushed myself up on my hands to find Adrian’s lap where my head had been resting. “Settle down, we’re not home yet.” His voice was low, somehow soothing. His hands were covered in blood. I stared at them. Flashes of my parents faces went through my mind. His hands had been covered in their blood from battle…and after he murdered them in front of me. I looked up at him, and winced as the pain came back to me. I looked down at myself. I was absolutely drenched in blood. My own. There was something balled up, pressed to my stomach.

He picked the dagger up and cut his right palm without any hesitation. Forrest wailed miserably as blood was spraying everywhere. He severed his right hand himself while everybody watched. Blood was gushing out of the part where his palm was cut off, and the severed palm fell to the ground, landing in a pool of blood. Forrest was as white as a sheet. He gritted his teeth, enduring the excruciating pain from having his palm severed as he looked at Liam. He forced himself to put on a smile and said, "M-Mr. Cole, is this enough?"

He could see nothing and felt like he was moving through jelly. Abednego finally came to a more open part of the woods. He had to stop due to sheer exhaustion, even though he didn’t feel safe. The only sound he could hear now was the light sound of rain hitting dead leaves and crickets chirping. Most of the rain was caught in the canopy above, forming a roof over Abednego's head. He was thankful for this slight reprieve. He didn’t want to look at his shoulder, but he felt he had no choice. It was covered in red, blood covering it completely and running in rivulets down his chest.

He failed to notice that the blood dripping from his fists was steadily flowing toward the statue. "Rather than questioning my identity, why don't you turn around and look at what's behind you," Adrian suggested, pointing his sword toward the statue. Clark suddenly felt a stinging sensation in his hands. Looking down, he was horrified to see that his hands had dried up just like the desiccated corpses under the statue. All the moisture in his hand had vanished, leaving only withered skin wrapped around jagged bones. He then felt a wave of nausea, despite these hands being his own.

The voices grew louder until they sounded like thunder crashing around me. Their eyes burned into me as they pointed at me. I looked down and saw blood all over my hands. No matter how hard I rubbed them together, it wouldn’t come off. More blood appeared. It dripped from my fingers. Ran down my arms and covered my clothes. I tried to scream, but my throat closed. Then suddenly, one of the dead men from the forest stepped close enough for me to see the hole in his throat where my claws had torn through him. Blood poured down his neck.

I whispered "It's alright, no one's going to hurt you ever again." She shook her head, her head in between her knees. "Y-you're just saying that to distract me, you're one of them." She said, I placed a hand on hers making her stiffen. "Does my touch feel like theirs?" I inquired, she slowly raised her head and I was met with a teary eyed 18 year old Adelaide. She shook her head, her terror-filled eyes fixed on the shadows surrounding us but never taking another step forward, her eyes moved back to me.

He smiled, the pain started to leave him as his knees got weak, he touched the blade, wrapping his hand around it and pulling it out of his chest. As the blade left his chest a river of blood began to flow out and he crashed to his knees. Mallory crashed to her knees, her hands going to her shoulders. “No. No. No. No.” Mallory begged as tears began to slip down her cheeks. A loud roar of an engine from the entrance of the courtyard. Headlights beaming out over the dark courtyard as Adam and the hunters began to unload out of cars. They were too late.

A deafening roar cut through the tense air as Rio stormed in, covered in blood and mud, eyes glowing like molten gold. He was on the first soldier before the man could raise his rifle, tearing out his throat in one swift motion. Gunfire erupted from the second man, but Rio moved like a phantom. Bullets whizzed past as his claws raked through the soldier’s chest, his heart crushed in Rio’s palm. The third soldier’s face twisted in terror. He fired blindly, but Adelaide was faster, pinning him against the wall. A single snap of her hands and his body went limp, falling in a heap to the floor.