Bloody Cruel Psycho Novels & Stories

Feeling the gruesomeness he was emitting and smelling the foul smell of death, Kate was on high guard. “Who are you people? Why wiping my poor underlings?” this person sadly said, yet voice has no trace of worry. When he steps out of the light, his grotesque face shows up with full of stitches, and lips curved in a wide crafty grin. “I would love to play them on my own. After they achieved their goal to see our prey, but why you destroy my toys?” “This person is a psycho.”

He looked too calm, like the chaos he’d caused didn’t matter. He was tall. Clean-shaven. Cold. Older, but in that maddening, dangerous way. The kind that made your heart skip, both in fear and in admiration. He leaned forward slightly, resting his elbows on his knees. Then came the words, low and smug. "Pretty doll, if I wanted to kill you, you’d already be dead." That voice was deep and threatening. Oh my God. This man was a psycho. How could he talk about killing someone like it was entertainment, something he did when he was bored?

he spat venomously “if you want to kill me, go ahead, this slow psychological torture is driving me insane.” “Isn’t it ironic that you hate the very thing you did to me, the very thing you did to others like me. Now you can’t bear it and would rather be dead, you used your position as a psychiatrist to ruin the lives of people. You stab people in the back and slowly watch them bleed, you’d return acting like a savior. You don’t deserve an easy death; I’ll make sure your death is slow and psychologically painful.” With that, the blade slashed through his thigh, hitting his femoral artery, then the abductor revealed the fate of everything he held dear.

I gulped in a large amount of air when he loosened his grip, rolling off my body. “Now that wasn’t so hard right?” He quipped, rubbing my thigh. I backed away in fear, rubbing the red marks on my neck. They were right. Cristiano was a psychopath. A monster. He was declaring his ownership minutes back, and nearly choked me to death for seconds laters for rejecting his twisted possession. He was worst than those clingy girls I met. At least they didn’t try to kill me.

he cried out, tears trickling down his cheeks and snot coming out from his nose. Pedro tried to crawl away, “Hey, I’m sorry man, fuck! Jesus!” He glanced around at all the blood splattered on the tree barks, “I’m sorry man, I’ll go away from here, I won’t tell the family anything, I’ll get the girl...” He shook with fear as he stared into those feral eyes, blood dripping down his mouth and the chunk of flesh hanging from his fangs as he bared them at him. Ghost was far gone in his head, he didn’t hear anything, and all he could feel was his bloodlust, it clouded his vision, he didn’t have one rational thought as he stalked Pedro.

I had stumbled into a den of monsters, and I was the next victim to be sacrificed on their blood-stained altar. As we made our way through the throngs of people, I saw the faces of those who were about to be slaughtered. They were slaves, no longer useful to the Lycans, and they were going to be put down like animals. It was a chilling sight, one that made my blood run cold. But the Lycan was not content with just killing these poor souls. He had his sights set on me.

— Marga screams and I leave my mind. I look to the side and hold the waiter's head tightly, slamming him into my knee, when he staggers back, I rip a blade from his necklace and run to his back, where I pull his hair back and stab it into his neck. The man falls, three others notice the scene and discover me, he comes towards me and then I have no choice. I open the bag in a hurry, take the silver clawed glove and attach it to my right hand, I leave the bag aside and when they approach, I simply start to pass the blades on everyone, cutting off what I can of their faces, until manage to stick it in their necks and watch them fall.

He is a mass murderer, but he killed my mom and that isn't in anyway acceptable especially when she practically raised them. "Shut the fuck up Dylan you think you're the shit because you kill people? No, get the fuck out my face you dumb bitch. If you really fucking killed my mom, just know I'm gonna kill you." I screamed as I burst of confidence ran through me. He pulled his eyebrows together as he nodded his head taking in everything I said. But his pupils flared with anger causing me to become nervous and more cautious. In a matter of seconds I found myself in his grasp as he held a cloth to my face, forcing my to inhale the chemicals. I squirmed in his hold but eventually stopped when ev

“I’m the bi.tch who came from hell. So before you try sending me back, ask yourself – what if I’m the one who will make your life a miserable, painful, never-ending nightmare?” He was trembling with rage like a volcano moments before eruption. “You’re a psycho!” he spat but reigned in. “And you’re only just figuring that out?” I said with a wicked grin. “Cute.” In my mind, I imagined torturing him in creative ways – cutting his muscles clean off with a silver blade while he screamed. Of course, I’d never actually do it. But the thought of it gave me just the right energy to play this role to perfection. Somehow, people could feel it – even if they didn’t know what I was imagining. That energ

Everything, all of what he did to me and keeps doing, came crashing to the surface and I got pissed, really pissed. "F**k your rules, Killian! You're a psycho f**ker with the blackest heart, and you can't see past your nose to care about the feelings of others. You're like aids. You hide in the shadows and feed on the life force of your victims. You present a sweet face and it's all hot and steamy until your victim realised that you've f**ked them over and left them to die, while you search for someone else to kill."