Bloody Painter X Puppeteer Novels & Stories

She released her four warrior puppets and ordered them to kill all the killers while pritect the old man . Half hour later two of her warrior puppets comes back . They left the old man after all the killers ran away. An hour later two more comes back and tell her that had killed all the forty killers. They had tied five that still alive and put all the dead bodies Infront the Inn. No one escaped. " Good .... go and replenish your energy ." An Ruo puts them into her space and listen carefully to the chaos downstairs. They are still shock to see the two men in black disappeared through the walls and the shock added when they see the five tied up killers and all the dead bodies.

To maintain the 'souls' of those puppets. "Groom, it's your turn to present your offering." The puppet suddenly leaned in close to my ear. Its icy breath brushed against my skin, making me jump. "If you're going to talk, keep your distance!" I shot it an annoyed look, took the two cups of blood, and prepared to hand them to the two bloated puppets at the front. Then suddenly, a chill shot up my spine. Wait… That puppet just now… It looked a lot like Derrick! Out of the corner of my eye, I scanned the entire hall. Something was wrong. Very wrong.

In his grip, the bloody scrap of fabric from the bedroom upstairs was held tightly—the solitary proof that his wife had been trapped here. His thumb slowly traced the edge of the cloth, which was still slightly damp. He had seen oceans of blood on the battlefield, but it was this tiny stain that shook his soul to its very core. The Monster of the North fell silent for a fleeting moment, before etching a lethal vow deep within his heart: ‘Whoever made Roselyn bleed will regret ever drawing breath.’

I burst through the double doors into the main gallery space and come skidding to a halt. The white sheet that had covered my painting earlier now lies in a heap on the floor, revealing the artwork beneath. It depicts a circle of children holding hands, playing ring around the rosie. Werewolf pups swirl around their legs. All are smiling. All are happy. It was meant to be a statement. One of hope, of happiness, of peace. But now, that message is obliterated. Someone has thrown what looks like a bucket of blood over the canvas. Thick, crimson liquid drips down the children’s faces, pools in their outstretched hands, stains their clothes.

She had killed two men but they were still trying to rise, she had the sense to rip through their spines, making them immobile. I tore the one in front of me into two, if they weren’t real wolves then there was no need to hold back. The next one that came for me landed a cut at my back but I ripped his head clean off, his broken fingers still clutched at my hand. “These are puppets, is this necromancy?” Mara gasped, her chest heaving. And then as we killed off another set, my eyes noted the dealer coming out of the warehouse. There was something about him, and I didn’t think he was a dealer at all.

He wanted to darken the sun on his painting, giving it a richer tone. "Cerlance is a good boy, Philly." "We're all good boys, Ma. But talk to your son, alright? I heard he was having a threesome in his car." "Threesome?" she asked, clearly confused. He laughed even more at her innocent reaction. "Just G****e it, Ma." His gaze drifted from the painting and settled on the sea. A mermaid, huh? he thought. If such a thing existed, I’d take one home and—

His mouth opened up and a sound from the pit of his stomach came out. It's been a long time since I engaged in my hobby: painting. Painting the dying or the dead. I looked at his facial expression and began drawing lines on the canvas, my brush gliding across the plain canvas detailing all my mind's eye wanted to picture. “Fuck…you…” Stefan screamed when Hound twisted the weapon deeper as if scraping at his femur. His words died into a strangled howl. I cleaned my brush and dipped it into the maroon red and guided the brush against the canvas stealing glances at Stefan's state.

I liked them immediately. I was standing there, head tilted, trying to figure out what emotion the artist had been trying to strangle onto the canvas, when I felt it. That prickle on the back of my neck. I turned. And there he was. Leather jacket guy. He was standing near the doorway, half in shadow, arms crossed, watching the room like he was waiting for someone to do something stupid so he could end them. Same sharp jaw, same messy dark hair, same eyes that seemed to cut straight through people.

Among the guests, a few silver-haired elders had studied my work for a long time. Those members of the Elder Council had smiled with refined courtesy and told me they admired my clean compositions and distinctive style. They asked if I'd be interested in undertaking a commission to repaint the Council's official portraits. The Elder Council was the supreme governing body of vampire society---and this was the highest-level commission a painter could receive. I'd been stunned. My mind was already racing with ideas for composition and lighting. But before I could respond, Lucien's hand tightened on my shoulder. "I'm sorry---my wife and I have just married. She'll need to focus on starting a fam

Threatening words in red paint would also be scrawled across the walls. "Just you wait, you bitch! Death is coming for you!" At first, I just assumed it was just some kid playing a prank, but with how often this happened, I began to realize something was seriously wrong. A naughty child might toss trash and dead rats in front of my house, but it wasn't likely that they would mail me such terrifying parcels. This was clearly the act of someone gunning specifically for me. The constant harassment of the past few days infuriated me so much that I immediately went to the management and asked to see the surveillance footage. I wanted to see just who that irritating person was, and once I found ou