Gambar Pisau Ada Darahnya Novels & Stories

He snorted softly. She opened one eye. He’d rolled his sleeves up, hands cupped in the current. When he lifted them, the water ran pink for a breath before clearing—someone else’s blood rinsed off his skin. He watched it go with a tightness around his mouth. “Whose?” she asked quietly. He shrugged one shoulder. “A mix. One of them got close with a knife. I got closer.” She watched the last smear of red vanish downstream, swallowed by the chatter and the darkening trees.

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.

I spat out. The illusion of Aziz flickered. Pisces’ control faltered. In that heartbeat, I raised my blade. With one powerful strike, fueled by everything I had left, I cleaved Pisces in half. Her scream vibrated through the water as her long body split apart, crimson light pouring from the wound.

Blood pooled below him as he tried to save himself in a futile attempt. Grayson drew his hand back, but grunted as a knife was thrown, piercing the right side of his mid abdomen. Grayson knew immediately it wasn't just any knife, nor was it clean. He felt the burn of silver, and a foreign substance coursing through his body at an alarming rate. He looked up and saw the Commander drawing his hand back with another knife that never left his hand. Xavier tackled him and ripped his head off before he ever had a chance to throw the second blade.

Before long, one of Lisa's personal maids came strutting over with an empty bucket, pinching her nose and looking me up and down with disdain. "Hey, monster! Miss Lisa said she's short of the purest red pigment for her nail art. She thinks the most beautiful red is the color of fresh blood! She wants you to 'donate' a bucket of blood for her use." With a clatter, a rusty dagger with dark red stains was thrown at my feet. "Use this to cut! Hurry up!" I looked at the filthy dagger and weakly said, "It's... rusty... it'll cause infection..."

A small cry of pain instantly followed. Arius backed away in midair, his eyes now wide as pain washed over him. He was just staring at the sword, now gleaming red in the white light of the moon. Crimson was dripping from it, his blood now part of the wicked blade. The smell was starting to get to him, making him feel sick to his stomach. He didn't even want to look at his arm, already knowing that it was bleeding. He could feel it trickling down from his shoulder to his fingers.

My vision flickered and spots of black clouded my sight, but I did not know why. It could not be grief, could it? That would be too humiliating. 'Lana Branch, you really misjudged him, didn't you?'

Is it the blood that's all over him or the content he just puked out of his mouth. Takeshi looks at his hands and clothes coated red with the blood of the boy. Some splashed upon his face as one of the drops rolls down right upon from his left eye. "Such a disgusting impure blood and oh here it is" Takeshi picks up the small mean that he just cut off. Nothing but the scream of the boy echoed around now soken by its own blood all over eyes closed shut. A smug form over his face how perfectly it has been cut by the teeth of its own turning his eyes at the boy.

His eyes twinkle with anticipation. With all my strength, I pull my arms out and plunge the knife deep into my chest with a dull thud. The pain takes a moment to catch up to me; the blood pouring out around the blade as Marc reaches forward and pulls it out, mesmerized by the blood. It always has been his gross obsession. he glides his thin pale fingers over the crimson liquid and smears it over his forehead. Then he places the blade on the windowsill.

The blade buried itself deeply, as blood began to flow, a vivid crimson that marred her skin and the pristine sheets beneath her. Her muffled screams, stifled by the gag, filled the room, a stark, haunting reminder of the violence unfolding. Her hands and feet, bound to the bed, struggled in vain. The sight was gruesome – the flow of blood, the stark contrast against her pale skin, a vivid portrayal of the grim act I had been coerced into committing.