Gacha Blood Novels & Stories

Her hand was still shaking. "I suspected correctly," she grinned even more. "Your life is protected but I managed to get in," she laughed softly as if she was happy that she was able to see what was in my life. "Young Lady, your true form won't come out because it's protected. I found a lock in your blood and it needs to be broken. Your true form is having a hard time coming out because of this and it needs to be unlocked because otherwise, you'll die easily," she came to me. "You have the kind of blood that is rare among us all," she whispered.

Gwanhoya lifts her from the ground, “You see I do need something from you! But it does not mean that you have to be alive for me to have it.” Removes her hand from her cheek, holds her stuff with both and drives it into Mukura. She places her hand on her shoulder. “The only thing I want from you is your blood. So, I better get to work and get as much as I can before there is no more left in you.” She smiles closing her eyes, “Looks like someone decided to wake up after all! Took you long enough! Grab me something like a container or a container so that I can fill her blood in it!”

“He only herds them. He cannot fully control them. But if he finds the formula inside that archive… your uncle could do anything.” A chill instantly crawls down my spine. “We cannot let Uncle Garson open that room, Dorian,” I say. “Relax. He won’t be able to do it. Not without you, Maeve. Because only Sacred Blood can open that door.” “What is Sacred Blood?” Alaric asks while looking between Dorian and me. “Oh, you didn’t know, Sword Bearer? Your Maeve carries silver blood known as Sacred Blood. She is the only remaining key left in this world.”

Ironic. The thought dragged a dry, humorless laugh from my throat. It echoed in the sterile silence of my office, a place that smelled of lemon polish and an underlying decay. My vision was now swimming on the edge of a crimson haze, each blink more laborious than the last. My hands trembled uncontrollably, and I curled them into fists, nails digging into my palms—useless pain that did nothing to steady me. Then it hit me: Bloodmatch. The name pressed against my consciousness like a shadow that refused to lift, a curse and a promise all at once—dangerous, illicit, irresistibly seductive.

For ten years, I was Vincent's blood bag and his sharpest blade. I offered my rare blood to sustain his ancient power. I offered my loyalty to secure his throne as the Vampire Lord of this territory. I thought my devotion might earn me the eternal embrace of the turning. Instead, I received the announcement of his marriage to Lilith. A princess from a powerful European vampire clan. He said it was a necessary alliance. He said my blood was still precious. But when the sanctified silver tearing through the car,he used my body as a shield, to ensure his bride remained unblemished. That's when I knew. I was never his lover. I was just a consumable resource, a blood bag to be used and discarded.

I said weakly. Scarlett hesitated, then glared. "Fine. But don't try any tricks. Or you'll be tasting more beast blood until you're insane." Shaking, I took out my phone and dialed my cousin Chloe's number. "Chloe..." I tried to keep my voice steady. "I need you to bring three vials of Elder's Blood to The Crimson Curtain. Immediately." Chloe's surprised voice came from the other end. "Mora? You sound..." "And a million in cash," I cut in. "As fast as you can."

Exactly as seen earlier in the castle. The sword. “What does that one do?” I asked, pointing to it. “It drinks blood. For anyone it kills, their blood is stored in the blade. You would try to always have a clothing between you and the hilt” That did not sound more beneficial than fairy dust. “So how useful would it be to protect me?” With only a smile, “very” Time to close the deal. “I have one silver coin” playing with the coins against my fingers. “Make it three and we have a deal”

“It’s about the child of prophecy.” A chill seeps into my bones, and my fists clench at my sides. The silence in the room seems to thicken. “What about it?” “The child of prophecy is a male,” Gaza replies. “Born of royal blood, and can be identified by the colour of his hair.” My neck tilts. “Hair colour? What’s the colour?” He straightens, eyes burning a strange orange colour before returning to its normal amber. “White.” A sharp inhale sounds.

To the new leader of the blood-born, Malakai was the ultimate prize—a never-ending, self-replenishing blood bag of pure sustenance. The entity pulled back, its jagged jaw smeared with Malakai's bright, vibrant crimson blood. The monster let out a low, vibrating hum of sheer satisfaction. With a casual, effortless tug, it hauled Malakai's limp, paralyzed body out of the mud by his ruined silk collar, dragging him backward toward the edge of the cliff like a piece of slaughtered meat.

A poem dedicated to “blood and water” by Osuagwu Alexander. MY SIN What actually led me here What have I done Could I have saved him Was I scared or stupid Am writing to free my guilt But reading this script Literally pricks my conscience All I did was watch But I feel my ignorance was a sin And it haunts me daily I’ve always been wary But this blame was mine It was halp past nine On that cold dark night A scene pictographed in me My eyes met him afar