Bloody Painter X The Puppeteer Novels & Stories

“They wrote the Blood Peace Treaty. Before the humans shattered it.” We kept walking. The deeper we went, the older the art became. Fire-dancers. Winged beings. Beast-men. Magic dripped from the walls, history bleeding like it was still alive. Then we reached it. The last painting. A man with obsidian eyes and raven-black hair. Beside him, a woman too stunning to look at. And between them, two boys. Twins. No older than seven. It’s Draven. I know him. Kelvin's dad.

On the third day, the dam broke. It started with a single slash of black paint across a pristine white canvas. It was an act of violence, a scream without sound. Then another, and another. He wasn't painting a picture; he was exorcising a demon. He used his hands, knives, rags, anything he could find. The colors were murky, violent: deep burgundy like old blood, sickly yellow like a bruise, charcoal black like a void.

I’ve found several stains of blood while seeing Papochka entering the home with a gun. There’s a rumour in the house that my Baboo used to paint with human blood. Even the sarcastic and fun-loving Papa Killian often loses his calm and beats the guards to pulp. Still, I’ve seen those people scroll past headlines soaked in blood and sip their coffee. Maybe we’ve all become too comfortable in our indifference, too fluent in detachment. Maybe monsters don’t hide under our beds anymore, they sit beside us, perfectly calm, chewing gum and asking what’s for dinner.

A low raspy laugh filled my ears adding horrific images to my paranoia. I quieted it was no use fighting the unknown. I had no choice but to hold on to Yulian’s promise; I would be okay. My breathing hitched, dampness brushed through my breast. The strong smell of paint covered my nostrils. Strokes were meticulously laid and I became a canvass of an obscure art. “She’s all done,” announced a man, I presumed the painter. He rounded me once more before patting my behind. “Yeah, she’s all good. What marvelous skin you have! A living porcelain doll!”

Wait that's a bad thing, they've actually just shown me their identities, they're not planning on letting us go. "Can you please shut that thing up?" Small robber dude shouts from the front, I look down at the baby I didn't know how, I wasn't a mother and that's who she wanted right now. I bounce her but it wasn't working again she didn't want me! Tall robber dude leans over to the front opening the glove box, while smacking the other dude up the head. "She's a baby idiot! Here don't worry it's clean" he says sitting back holding a pink dummy in his hand, I take it from him putting into her mouth which slowly makes her calm down.

I laugh. In one quick swoop I slice his throat and stab him over and over again. The anger, the rage! It is all being released from this. I stop. I walk back over to Xane. He was already dead but slicing his throat isn’t good enough. I grab him by his hair and carve a Chelsea Grin onto his face. “Since it was your p… plan to b…burn me you can’t… twin with m… me!” I splutter. I stand up. I walk away with no emotion to find a hiding place.

I touched it again in different places, and it still felt like a regular painting. “Are you kidding me?” Frustratedly, I hit the painting with my fists and scraped my knuckles from the corner. Some of my blood splashed on the painting. I grabbed a cloth to clean it when I noticed it had disappeared. My blood was nowhere to be seen. I looked down at the cut on my hand and back at the painting. “Blood Magic,” I whispered as I touched the painting with my bloody hand. “Come on, grimoire. Come to me.”

Hunter tore into the puppets, his awakened power surging through him, cutting them down with terrifying efficiency. I turned to the nearest enemy, blade in hand, rage burning through me. The battle erupted in full force. The chamber rang with the clash of steel, the roar of warriors, and the shrieks of Evelyn’s puppets as they lunged with eerie precision. Lennon’s sword gleamed in the torchlight as he cut through the nearest puppet, its body jerking unnaturally before collapsing. Lennon moved with brutal efficiency, his twin daggers slicing through enemies like a shadow weaving through the fray. Xavier and Ralph fought side by side, their coordinated strikes a testament to years of training

One man dropped and another went down after Sergio’s return fire snapped through the hallway like thunder. Sergio looked back at her dubiously. "How come you are so comfortable with a gun and shooting people?" he asked her. Rosy shook her head uncertainly. "I don't understand it myself. My body is just responding to a command on its own." she replied and Sergio smirked. "Surely now you believe the De Luca's blood runs through your view now." "Doesn't prove anything." she muttered focusing on gaze on the men exchanging gunfire. Blood pooled across polished floors. Priceless artworks were torn to shreds. Smoke drifted toward the high ceilings like a prayer gone unanswered.

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—