Bloodshot Dc Novels & Stories

I just… stared at her. For a long time, with my mouth wide open. Not blinking. Not breathing right. Trying to make sense of the words that had just fallen out of her mouth like they were not meant to crush my whole life in one blow. “So you’re telling me,” I said slowly, saying each word like it might burn me if I rushed, “that I…... I’m half vampire?” “Yes,” the councilor said in that calm, serene voice of hers, like she was explaining the weather forecast. “A dhampir to be precise.”

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

He screamed, shaking me off and clutching his stump helplessly, 'She bit off my arm, for fucks sake, she bit off my fucking arm.' He dropped to the floor, blood spouting from the stump like a fountain as he bled out, and I turned to face the remaining two men, ready to end them as well. As Eclipse crouched, I could feel the drug beginning to affect me, and she took a millisecond too long to react. It was all they needed. I heard the soft whistle of the dart as it sped past my ears and embedded itself into my shoulder, making me stagger backwards.

Anna commanded. The shopkeeper stepped forward, the ritual knife gleaming. As the blade sank into Killian’s side, a guttural scream tore from his throat even in his unconscious state. Anna clamped her mouth over his to stifle the sound, her fangs nicking his lip as she began the agonizing process of the Bloodletting.

The ceiling shots were intentional — not panic, not desperation, a tactical choice to stop movement without casualties in a room full of civilians. And there's something strapped to her other thigh that is not a gun. The chaos resolves. Cian has two men on the ground. Ronan has the third. Marco's people have the service entrance man zip-tied before he can blink twice. The room is breathing again in that shell-shocked way that comes after something violent and brief — the specific silence of I’ve hundred people who are all realizing at the same moment that what they just witnessed was real. Seraphina lowers the gun. Smoothly. Like she's been holding guns in

My mother screamed—the correct reaction. “What the fuck?” Sara, my sister, gasped as she walked into the room and squatted next to our father. A large puddle of blood had formed by his face, seeping out from his mouth and nostrils. She pulled a dart out of his arm and smelled it. “Wolfsbane,” she said. “How ironic,” I responded. “What?” She looked at me, confusion on her face. “Well, it was his idea to use wolfsbane darts in battle. It’s pretty ironic that that’s how he dies in the end, eh?”

It sizzled, rejecting the offering like spit on a hot spider. "Damn it!" Vida screamed, sweeping a stack of crystals off the table. They shattered on the floor. "It won't take the blood! It's locked!" "Then unlock it," Daxon growled from the fireplace. He was leaning against the mantle, nursing a tumbler of bourbon that he was refilling for the third time in an hour. His shirt was unbuttoned at the top, revealing the angry red scar of the blood rune on his chest. He looked like a man holding onto sanity by his fingernails.

Blood had soaked through Spider’s shirt, dark and frightening, dripping steadily onto the polished floor. Sarah stood a few steps away, her chest rising and falling rapidly. She had seen danger before. She had dealt with threats, betrayal, and war in boardrooms. But this—this was different. This was raw and physical and terrifyingly close. “Let me see,” Scorpion said quietly, already tugging at Spider’s shirt. Spider hissed sharply as the fabric was pulled away. Sarah’s breath caught in her throat. The blood was still pumping, seeping around the entry wound where the bullet had lodged itself inside his shoulder. It was ugly. Violent. Real in a way nothing else had been.

But as Lucas turned to finish the creature, a second Blight-Walker fired a dart from a blowgun hidden in its sleeve. "LUCAS, WATCH OUT!" Audrey screamed. The dart struck Lucas in the shoulder. It wasn't silver, and it wasn't iron. It was a needle made of pure, solidified Sleeper’s Root. The effect was instantaneous. Lucas’s massive form stumbled. The silver-white light in his fur flickered and died. He let out a pained whimper, shifting back into his human form as he fell to his knees, clutching his shoulder. Violet veins began to crawl up his neck.

"Don't you dare close your eyes, Dante! Look at me! Look at me right now!" Bianca’s scream tore through the church, competing with the hydraulic hiss of Sofia’s metallic joints. Dante slumped against the altar, his chest heaving, his left shoulder a jagged ruin of shredded muscle and exposed bone. The air smelled of burnt hair and the copper stench of a slaughterhouse. Blood—too much blood—pulsed out of the stump where his arm had been, staining the blue nutrient gel on the floor a muddy, bruised purple.