Every Cloak Rolled In Blood Novels & Stories

Wiping my mouth with my hand, I don’t even bother being disgusted with the blood that was on my mouth. His scent didn’t disappear, it was still as strong as ever. Wind touches my skin and I notice my lack of clothing. Shivering lightly, I pull on a discarded black cloak from some of the men that was currently lying down. I’m sure they wouldn’t mind. Corpses don’t really have a use for such pieces of clothing. Wrapping it tightly around me, I try to ignore the sticky bits that were drenched in blood. Tried to ignore the scent that was flooding my all too sensitive nose. The closer I get, the scent got stronger. Yohan was still lying down, his chest lifting up and down slowly, like he was just

He didn't even raise his arms to shield himself. He merely shifted his massive frame slightly to the side, evading my dagger's fatal strike to his neck. But to my shock, he allowed my shadow claws to rip through his leather chest plate without making any attempt to parry. *Rip!* The fabric of his cloak and the thick leather of his chest plate tore apart instantly under my mystical claws. Three deep, wide horizontal gashes formed across his firm, muscular chest. Fresh, dark red blood sprayed massively, splattering over the mahogany desk and soaking the white shirt beneath his cloak until it turned a deep crimson.

Rossa smiled faintly and nodded. The clothes of the mother and daughter were already soaked with blood on the back. Dark red stains had seeped into the fabric. Yet no one in the room felt any pity. Their gazes were cold. As if the suffering of the two women was nothing unusual. As soon as they passed through the large hall, two servants quietly caught Rossa and Livia, holding them so they would not fall. “Take them to the room,” one of the servants said in a low voice.

The young man stepped aside. Small wooden cribs filled the room. Blankets still lay folded neatly inside them. Tiny toys were scattered across the floor. The room was empty. No bodies. No children. A Warden's cloak lay near the rear doorway, pinned to the floor by a broken ashwood stake. Atreus knelt beside it. The cloak was soaked with blood. Whoever had worn it had made one final stand. Long enough for someone else to escape with the children. His eyes closed briefly.

"This robe? It’s a target. It’s loud. It’s soft. In this box, soft gets you killed." He reached into one of the crates and tossed a bundle of dark, scratchy wool at my feet. "Put that on. Cover your head. From this moment until we touch soil, you are a ghost." I stared at the rough, peasant-style cloak. "I am not wearing…" "Then freeze," he said simply, turning his back on me to check on the children.

Inside, the tower was empty. Or so it appeared. Broken furniture lay scattered across the floor, and part of the roof had collapsed years ago. Rainwater dripped steadily through the opening above, creating small pools on the cracked stone floor. Scarlett released a slow breath. Then something caught her eye. Near the far wall. A familiar cloak. Torn. Covered in blood. The Black Fang Alpha crossed the room in three hurried strides. He dropped to one knee beside it. Scarlett watched his face as he examined the cloak.

But the moment she ran into the blizzard, the mate bond inside me had withered, leaving a hollow, rotting void in my chest that made it difficult to breathe. ​My fingers brushed against something buried in the snowdrift. ​I dug frantically. It was fabric. Dark, heavy wool. ​I pulled it free, my heart stopping in my chest. It was the cloak she had been wearing. It was shredded, soaked through with frozen, dark blood. Huge, feral claw marks tore through the fabric—the undeniable signature of the monstrous, starving Corrupted that roamed the deep woods. ​"No," I whispered, clutching the frozen, bloody wool to my chest. "No, Goddess, please. Punish me. Take my eyes, take my title. Just let her b

Letting my hand go, Leo cautiously moved closer to it, and I followed. My heart pounded in my ears at the horrific sight. The cloaked figure was lying in a pool of blood, his hood had slipped back, revealing a gory, distorted face. A wave of nausea washed over me as more blood seeped from under the corpse, melting the snow flurries as they hit the ground.

A whisper hissed in Alice’s mind: The ritual’s now, weapon. A note fell from her backpack, unnoticed until now: Break or burn, weapon. The rally decides. The crescent moon symbol glared, and the lights dimmed, the crowd’s cheers slowing to a drone. Alice’s hands glowed brighter, heat surging, and she froze, the ritual’s pull tightening. She bolted for the exit, Kane’s voice calling, Liam’s plea echoing, Mira’s whisper lingering, Rhea’s taunt biting, Elara’s touch fading. The cult’s plan was a noose, and she was its knot.

Blood is spilled on the once pure ground, coloring it scarlet. I know this dream. I had seen this so many times. The only difference is that it is real and not a dream anymore and I can see this brutality with my own bare eyes. And can smell the hard scent of blood in the air which makes me gagged. Sea of people wearing the black and blue cloaks are mercilessly snatching the soul out of their opponents not carrying whose life it is. Their pupils are black as their magic is. Another blood-curdling scream boomed out, this time it's from the sky. Where creatures with big white wings are fighting against black wings. They have their bodies wrapped in metal armors and their horrific swords in the