Bursting Forth Of Blood Novels & Stories

I’m crawling out with a trail of blood: their blood. They think I’ll crawl when I leave, but they’re wrong. I’ll drag myself out by the teeth, trailing their blood behind me. I’ll rise like a curse, wearing their blood like a crown. And maybe by then, my blood won’t just answer to me—it will devour for me. Let them keep carving. Every cut is a summoning.

Just there. And then—the howl. It split the sky. Sharp enough to make her bones ache. Not just one—all of them. The sound tore upward, slamming into the blood-red moon like a battle cry from the old gods. Her chest burned. She looked down—blood. Her blood. Pouring from her palms, splattering bright on the snow. No wounds. No pain. Just... blood, blooming like red flowers on white. The moon throbbed above, pulsing like it was alive.

Blood spills freely, thick and dark. I drop to my knees, spreading the blood across the runes on the floor. The scent fills the chamber — heavy, metallic, ancient. My voice comes out low, rough. “By the ties of blood, by the claim of fire, by the will of the Moon that saw our union — she is mine.” The runes ignite. Crimson light floods the room, swallowing the shadows. I feel the power surge, slamming into my chest. It hurts — gods, it hurts — but I keep going.

Valenfort was reborn, yet in its heart the song of blood had not ended. Above, the moon bled faint red once more. And on the wind, a whisper drifted from somewhere beyond: “As long as blood still flows, love has not yet ended.”

I exhale loudly and make to snap the book shut but the sharp end prick my finger. With a hiss under my breath, I press my finger tightly as tiny drops of blood trickles down. The blood drops on the page and like a mystery, words begin to form, unraveling themselves. I watch with shock, my heart pounding against my ribcage at the swirling letters that aren't there before. As soon as it starts, the strokes end. I glance warily at my finger which has healed instantly and with my pulse spiking, I read the words; ‘Rare is the blood born beneath the crimson gaze of the moon,

" Sanguis aeternus. Vita vetita. Resurge. " The ancient Latin rolled off her tongue, heavy and forbidden. Eternal blood. Forbidden life. Rise. She raised the cross. With a savage, jerky motion, she drove the sharp edge into the side of her neck. "NO!" Lucas screamed, lunging for her. Blood sprayed—hot, crimson, and copious. But it didn't hit the ground. It hovered in the air, sizzling, defying gravity. It turned black as it touched the oxygen, swirling around her like a living cloak.

And the color began to spread. It started at the blood—a thin line that widened, darkened, became a thread, then a rope, then a river of deep, rich crimson that flowed through the white like a crack in a glacier. It didn’t run downward or upward, but outward, in all directions, carving channels in the nothingness, filling the emptiness with veins of color that pulsed and throbbed with a rhythm that matched her heartbeat. *Thump-thump. Thump-thump. Thump-thump.*

Quinn Black blood oozed out of the kings’ necks and flowed over their sons’ hands, down their chests, and into the earth. The ground bubbled and boiled like a tar pit and stinking steam rose up in the air. The kings were so corrupted, that nature itself tried to reject their blood.

A violent tremor ripped through the void, turning the stagnant gray expanse into a roaring tempest of black dust and cracking glass. Sarah shrieked as her form flickered uncontrollably, the stolen energy venting out of her in blinding arcs of dark lightning. ​She did not die. Instead, the liberated blood of the ancient contract pooled on the buckling floor, boiling into a thick, crimson mist that spiraled upward.

Her knees buckled as warmth bloomed beneath her ribs. Blood. So much blood. The world tilted violently as she crumpled to the ground. Massimo’s voice tore through the haze, raw and agonized. “No!”