Novel & Cerita Bloody Painter X Puppeteer

Although it was painful to watch, her body could not move at all. Then, she heard the words that made her tears fall. "You need to make our puppet love you. That's it. After that, you can do whatever you want to do with her," Hunter said with a wide smile. "That's it? Alright, deal," Liev replied casually as if they were not talking about a person’s heart. After that, the scenario shown by the crystal disappeared. Why? Why is she hurting by what she saw? Why is it that even though she was already so used to pain and not new in being played like a total fool, what she saw is still hurting her!?

He had been one of the most wanted serial killers in history, which alone was a significant title, judging by the lengths he had gone. "I need the image fast, Malcolm. I need to find whoever had done this..." I said as Malcolm nodded, sketching the man's image further. I sat down as some minutes passed by, with my eyes glancing around the paintings, knowing they were made with the victims' blood and were still the bestsellers on the market, with the buyers craving such paintings. "I'm done." A voice jolted me back as I watched Malcolm approach my side. "He seems really great for my taste, but it's sad that i can't have him, or can I, Dominic?" Malcolm questioned. But this man, whoever he was

"He's not screaming yet his mouth is open but no sound comes out. His eyes are... empty and empty. The painter looked up, his face now downturned. "And the torturer, my lord? Should I include him?" "Yes. A tall man with dark hair going gray at the temples and he’s standing beside the rack. He's dressed well like a noble and his expression..." I turned to look at the painter, meeting his eyes. "Paint him looking satisfied, like he has accomplished something worthwhile.” The painter's hand had stilled, his face pale. "My lord, this is-“

Carolina knelt and offered the brush. “Yours if you want it,” she said. Penny dipped, chose purple, and drew a wide, wild arc over the wall. It was perfect. It turned into a mural, layer on layer, a record of every hand in the house. Eventually the other walls filled, wild with saltwater fish, stars, crows, broken crowns, weird animals, bright geometric shapes. Even after she scrubbed clean, the paint never left Xander’s hands. * On a half-melt day, with rumors of electricity returning to the grid fulltime, Xander took her on a walk. He claimed it was business, but the pack following them (Finch, Lyra, Morgan, and a tiny girl named Pip) proved it was a family thing.

I growled, the sound shook the glass of the chandeliers. The man’s face turned purple. Then he laughed a wet, gurgling sound. Blood spilled from the corners of his mouth, staining my fingers. Black veins crawled up his neck. And the bastard died smiling. I dropped the corpse. It hit the floor with a thud. Someone inside these walls had just declared war on the Luna. And I would paint the answers in their blood.

she said coldly, "I'll call the owner." I stood there, on the threshold of the room, my fingers anxiously wringing the shirt fabric. The silence was broken when the middle-aged man stepped out from behind the back door. There was a sharpness in his eyes, as if he could read the hesitation I held, even though his greeting was kept within the bounds of politeness. "Henry Brown," he said, introducing himself, then invited me to take the wooden chair provided. "Sebastian Allen," I replied with a voice I tried to ensure was stable. I sat down, looking straight at him. "I came because of that vacancy. However, I have to be frank—I don't have a formal diploma to show." Henry's gaze didn't waver in

“I told you, didn’t I? I will put an end to that problem of yours. I’m not toying you, Katherine. Let’s say, I want to play a game with you.” “What’s the difference, huh? You want to play with me, it’s all the same!” “Toying you is different from playing with you. Toying you means I’m just the one who’s receiving all the benefits, meanwhile, if I say playing with you, you can cooperate and have your fair share of benefits in our game.” “Well then, Mr. Supernatural, I don’t want to play a game with you.” “It’s Helion. My name is Helion.” “I don’t care about your name at all.”

Seeing his face made the hate in my chest, mingled with confusion grow like molten lava waiting to erupt. Father offered me a bowl and the scent was so wholesome it had my mouth watering and fangs I didn't know I had elongated shocking me. I couldn't stop myself from snatching the bowl from him and draining the red liquid. I gasped in shock, staring at the bowl I held with trembling hand, the remnant of the liquid smeared at the corner of my lips. It was blood. The blood of a human to be precise. I stared up at my father and the sorcerer who watched me skeptically. I was a monster.

To the best of Egbert's knowledge, Xavier's attainment methods could not have brought about that sort of change. "Haha, I see you're not entirely clueless, old man," Fannerly jeered with malice. In his eyes, Egbert was nothing more than a dead man walking. The battle at Thundlight marked the moment from when Fannerly started using the corpse puppet to destroy their targets. Even Eastplain's Gahrrs, whose lineage spanned millennia, saw their half-immortal taken down by the puppet before a proper defense could be mounted. "I'm battle you to the end!" Egbert gritted his teeth and roared as he felt the corpse puppet's vice-like grip constricting around him. At that moment, he knew that it would

And we slowly fell into a comfortable silence. We were silent for about the next two hours as he painted me and I looked at the various paintings that I could around the room. He focused on the canvas as his brows frowned adorably with concentration. This Xavier was so different from the one who had come to save me from the rouges and had broken a werewolf’s neck with his bare hands. So, was he a murderer, a savior, a painted, or a charitable man? There was so much I did not know about him.