Bloodshot Comics Novels & Stories

"Never... never do that again. I felt your entire third-grade humiliation regarding a failed levitation spell. I didn't need to know about that." "Shut up," Thalen panted, rolling onto his back beside him, his chest heaving as he stared up at the vaulted ceiling of the dark, book-lined study. He raised a trembling hand, wiping a thin streak of nosebleed from his upper lip, though a wild, hysterical edge of triumph cracked his usual aristocratic coldness. "We got through. The blood-gate didn't incinerate us. It registered us as a single entity." "A single, deeply traumatized entity," Zeyric muttered, finally pushing himself up onto his elbows and looking around the dark, oppressive room.

The need to hold something. To keep the wolf from answering before his mind had finished thinking. "You should have told me," he said. "You should have sent her away the moment you felt her." Elias stepped closer. The smell of him — old books and something sour, something that had forgotten what it was to run — filled the space between them. "Two days until the full moon." "If you mark her, you bind this pack to that bloodline." "Everything your father broke open, you crack wider." "I know the mathematics."

the foundation’s assets through a series of offshore counters. Toby was in a sling, his arm set by a local doctor who didn’t ask questions. He sat on the deck, his eyes fixed on the water, his rifle across his lap. He was no longer just the protector. He was a man who knew that the war wasn’t over. It had just changed its frequency. I sat at my drafting table, the silver music box sitting in the centre. I didn’t wind it. I didn’t look at the tooth. I picked up a piece of charcoal and a fresh sheet of vellum. I didn’t draw a house. I drew a network.

Ink bled from the words I’d written, seeping into the ground, the shelves, the very air. I forced my hand up again. “LIMITED DAMAGE,” I scrawled, sloppier this time, across a torn piece of floorstone, my handwriting almost illegible with the shaking. The letters glowed and then shot off into the maze of shelves like runners carrying a message. Every hit my people took from that moment on—the drone that clipped Selene’s side, the ghost that slammed into Corvin’s head, the wolf that sank its teeth into Jax’s forearm—still hurt

Nibbling and grazing the golden neck. "Then.. Don’t. Now that I can’t, but if I could I would love to die in your arms" . Callum said, losing himself in Stephen’s arms. The moon was at its peak. Full Blue moon like Stephen eyes that had turned red. He placed his lips on the pulsing vein before barring his teeth. Callum felt a sting and then all he could feel was a frenzy, a euphoria. He now knew why Stephen felt excited offering him his blood.

A white wolf locked eyes on him, grabbed the jar in its jaws, and respectfully placed it in my hand. Another wolf bared its teeth and sank them into Noah's neck. It tossed him into the air and slammed him to the ground. Just as they opened their jaws to finish him off, I raised a hand. They stopped at once, crouched by my side with their heads lowered. Noah's eyes lit up. "May, I'll… be happy to die here. But you stopped them… Does this mean—" I yawned, then continued, "You're reading too much into it. I just didn't want them tainted by your filthy blood."

And pointed the weapon— Not at anyone. At herself. Bianca screamed. “NO—” But Emilia said, quietly, “This is how we build a better story. Not with blood. With an ending.” Then she pulled the trigger. --- The gunshot didn’t echo. The vault did not explode. But the carvings stopped moving. The walls stopped breathing. The pulse stopped humming. Silence came. Real this time. Lasting. Permanent. Jace fell back, dead weight. Bianca crumpled beside Emilia’s body.

Glass shattered, screams ripped through the air, and the scent of gunpowder choked the room. Chaos erupted like a dam bursting. People scrambled for cover, bodies colliding in a panicked stampede. My gaze darted around, searching for the source of the carnage. Seven figures, black silhouettes against the flashing lights, had infiltrated the club, their faces obscured by masks, their hands spitting fire.

It felt like my bones were boiling to the core. All I could make out was him drawing something around the circle, then he slit his wrist and poured his blood in a glass goblet. After that he began to chant something, shortly after which the drawing within the circle and outside began to shine. A cooler feeling began to seep and I felt a little bit better. Quincey then walked into the circle, helped me sit up a little and gave me the glass goblet which was filled to the brim with his blood. “Drink this.” I weakly grabbed the glass and began to drink it. After I was done, he took the glass from me and laid me back down.

The sound of gunfire was deafening, the smell of smoke and blood filling the air. But the werewolves just kept fighting, their bodies seemingly impervious to the bullets. They tore through the military and police, their claws and teeth ripping through armor and flesh. Trainor's face was pale with shock and fear as he realized that they were losing. The werewolves were too strong, too powerful. In a desperate bid to turn the tide, the military started throwing bombs. The explosions rocked the ground, sending flames and debris flying everywhere. The werewolves were finally starting to fall, their bodies burning and broken. But Megan just kept laughing, her eyes blazing with fury.