Bloody Painter X The Puppeteer Novels & Stories

The blood stopped in place for a moment, and then with a crash, it completely scattered, scattering everywhere. A strong smell of blood spread around. Caspian turned around and looked at the spot where the puppet had just landed. The puppet was already standing in the pit. Its clothes looked a little dirty, and the mask on its face cracked. The puppet stood still. It was unknown if it was the death of a male cultivator made it suddenly lose the order or something else, it became a little helpless. A moment later, its long fingers reached out again. The dark blue light on its fingertips flickered, revealing a chilling chill that pierced straight into people’s heart.

Noah promised, then left the penthouse with Tyler behind him. "We are ready boss." the bodyguard informed, bowing as he waited for the next line of instructions from his master. The boss was still standing and observing a gruesome painting that he had worked on himself a few months ago with a smile on his face. The painting which depicted the death of a whole family at the hands of a little boy laid in a thick frame, decorating the dark wall. "Lead the way." Ash Grey ordered and walked behind the bodyguard in a backward motion. When he reached the doorway, he finally tore his gaze away from the painting and started to hum a fast beat with his mouth as he walked.

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.

The blood was painted on the dirty blood-stained floor, fresh. " I'm such a brilliant artist. " He took his time staring at the dead body with a satisfied grin. When finally his eyes fell on the pale and silently crying doll. Her lips were blue even her nails, this freezing temperature was too much for the fragile like her but the thing was turning even white it was his presence. " Did you enjoy it, my love? " He asked me to come closer to her and sit on the floor with his legs folded comfortably. She kept her mouth shut but her eyes were hollow, feeling him near.

I narrowed my eyes and rubbed the bridge of my nose. “Begin,” I said and he got to the job, picking a screwdriver and taunting his victim. Fresh curses filled the place. Apathetic, I continued mixing fresh paint on the already dry paint on the palette. I stretched out my hand and brushed my fingers over the soft brushes before picking one and dipping it into the brown paint. “The dark rose clan knows I'm here. If …” Stefan trailed off as the screwdriver was shoved into his thigh. His mouth opened up and a sound from the pit of his stomach came out.

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.’

"It’s a parasite. It takes your desires and turns them into a tomb." ​Laura didn’t respond immediately. She was watching a mirror that displayed something far more terrifying than a quiet life. It showed the Architects—not as the cold, god-like beings they had fought, but as frantic, withered creatures, fleeing a collapsing reality eons ago. She saw their desperation, their need for a vessel, and their cold, calculated decision to weave their essence into the bloodlines of men. ​"Dave," she whispered, her voice trembling. "Your existence… it wasn't a random occurrence.

Empty like a shell. I felt like my inside was being ripped out. They weren't nice. They weren't playing mean. They were simply being a monster. They didn't think twice to let me fall off the edge. They didn't help me when I screamed to be saved. They didn't give me the one thing I wanted, mercy. I only wanted mercy. He began by my heart. Slowly and painfully he ripped it out. His hands were claws with sharp nails growing on them. His eyes were insanely black. Not one spot you could see yourself in. They were like stone. Sharp. Hard. Cold. And Lifeless.

It looked like the steady spilling of blood, soaking into the ground and marking the earth with death. I took a long, uneasy breath in. A tug somewhere deep within my chest soothed the ache, and the next breath I drew came easier. A flash of cobalt smouldered alongside my pain, my fear, covering it and calming it until it no longer hurt; a bright black hole winking a blazing star out of existence. “Perhaps the other vamps cleared it up,” Paps said, leaning against the counter. “If they knew of Alice’s plans,” Dad hummed, taking a seat at the kitchen table. He turned to Harper, his dark eyes curious. “How, exactly, did you end up with her?”