Even Heroes Have The Right To Bleed Novels & Stories

That this flight wasn’t some nightmare too vivid to be real. This wound was real. Dreams didn’t put holes through a person’s thigh. She let her head fall back against the tree and stared up at the canopy. November’s stripped branches carved jagged silhouettes against a sky suspended between black and blue—the exact shade of someone caught at a crossroads. Her consciousness had started going cotton. Light, fraying at the edges—textbook blood loss, recalled from a first aid class she’d spent critiquing the city’s ambulance GPS routing. But enough logic remained to tell her one thing: stop moving.

The worst thing; no one from heaven descended to aid them this time. After a decade of hopelessness and complete surrender, Heroes rose from various origins—holding on to their own intentions. They, who dared to scream in the middle of the conjurers' blissful singing, dared to steal the scripture from the wicked creatures who were granted the power to overwrite their destinies — concluded themselves victorious thereon.

I watched him as he walked out of my penthouse with determination and urgency in his steps and knew that he was going to make everything go smoothly as he usually does. I rest back against the couch I was seated on, closed my eyes, and smiled. If she thinks that she could just escape my clutches like that, then she’s got to think twice about that. But then the next minute, a frown replaced the smile on my face, as my thought drifted to the dangers that she was about to face soon. From past histories, the previous Blue Bloods weren’t able to overcome all the challenges they faced from the moment they were discovered before they were eventually killed.

He was too swift, to a point that they would be crippled and lying in a pool of their own blood before they could even blink! Even with Forrest's offer of a promising reward, none of them dared to take their chances, not when they were standing in pools of their comrades' blood, surrounded by pieces of their comrades' mutilated limbs. At this point, they could not even tell who the blood stains on their bodies belonged to, but Liam, on the other hand, was unscathed. Apart from some streaks of blood on his face and hands, there was not a single scratch on any visible surface of his body.

“Some kind of chosen one?” Mark’s voice was grim. “You’re the last of your kind. And the key to opening the gate.” Elara stood up. “No. This is crazy. This is—this isn’t real. I go to school. I take algebra. I’m not a—” “The moon bled red,” Evelyn said gently. Elara stopped. She looked out through the broken stained glass. The sky still shimmered with crimson clouds. The moon hung low and heavy, watching her like an eye.

I shouted to Rhea. "Working on it." She cut through three mercenaries. Brutal. Efficient. Carved a path toward Kael. I followed. We moved together. Back to back. Cutting through the fighters between us and the man who started this. Reached him. Kael. Standing alone now. His mercenaries dead or fled. Just him and his blade and his hatred. "This is over" I said. "Surrender. Face justice. Or die here." "Justice? There is no justice in your new world. Just wolves pretending they are equal. Just contamination spreading. Just everything I fought to prevent."

"So in this life, without me fighting those thousands of fights, his territory was never coming back. You chose him, and you chose the Blood Debt that came with him." I stepped back. "I didn't steal your fate. You grabbed my suffering." Ivy slumped on the stretcher. Her lips moved but no sound came out. Tears mixed with dried blood ran down her swollen cheeks, dripping onto her shredded clothes. Diane stood beside her. Her hand was still on Ivy's shoulder, but she'd gone rigid. Color drained from her face as her gaze moved from Ivy to my arm—the dense web of claw marks stark under the light, line after line.

It turned out that people like them eventually meet someone worse. I lowered the brim of my cap and turned to leave, not wanting to be recognized. However, fate has a twisted sense of humor. My leather shoe stepped on a dry leaf. Crunch. Brian's head snapped up. Our eyes met. His eyes went wide. Like he had seen a ghost. Or a savior. "Bro?!" That single shout drew everyone's attention. My dad looked up, too, a flicker of light in his eyes. "Chester… Chester!"

“The story just changed. No more games. Now, we run.” They fled down the back stairs, leaving the ambush, the clue, and the last pretense behind. The war was no longer silent. It was bleeding, and it was in the open. And the only thing clearer than the danger ahead was the terrifying, undeniable truth: they were in it together.

Yet so familiar that it shattered the wall I had been holding up. “Hello? Harriet.” The moment I heard my brother’s voice, tears poured down my face. “Bro…” I managed only a single word before my voice broke. When I carried the burden of three lives on my shoulders, I did not cry. When I was diagnosed with leukemia, I did not cry. When I discovered I had been deceived, I did not cry. Even when the last drop of blood left my body, I did not cry. Now… Now I could hear my brother’s voice.