Gratuitous Violence Novels & Stories

The stillness that comes right before violence. He didn't move. He didn't have to. The stillness itself was threatening, like the moment before lightning strikes. I remembered the sound of the glass hitting the wall from earlier, the spray of shards catching the light, the blood on his hand as he'd stood there amid the destruction he'd caused without even flinching. The memory hit me like a physical blow — the casual violence of it, the way he'd destroyed something beautiful without a second thought. And the blood. His own blood, mixing with the water and glass, and he'd looked at it like it was nothing more than an inconvenience.

Tom quickly withdrew his hand. He didn't punch Dominic in the face. Tom let go of Dominic and sat down on the chair. His muscular body had worn out quite a bit. Tom's eyes were filled with sadness, his calm voice rang out, he said. "I won't hit you, even though it might put me in a better mood. If I hit you, I'll be like a bunch of thugs who only use violence to solve problems." Tom will never use violence to solve problems, except in special cases. Because Tom once taught Adonis not to use violence arbitrarily, because that proves he is very helpless. It was because Tom taught those things to Adonis, so he couldn't make this mistake.

The word is steady this time. I close my eyes. He waits. “I felt it too,” I whisper. His head snaps back toward me. “What?” “When you struck him. When he broke. I felt the surge.” “And?” “It thrilled me.” The admission tastes bitter. His expression shifts from defense to shock. “You?” “Yes.” “You hate violence.” “I do.” “Then why—” “Because it felt like justice,” I cut in. “Because it felt like we were no longer prey. Because for once, we were not begging.”

Denial this роwеrful is buіlt оvеr generations. Humanity’s аbіlіtу to normalize atrocious асtѕ under the label of buѕіnеѕѕ, аnd thеn hеаd home fоr dinner, ѕhосkѕ me. There’s something ѕо carelessly brutаl, killing for ѕаtіѕfасtіоn lіkе cats, kіllіng fоr fun аnd profit.

"Travis stop." Travis who had made to attack stopped at my words eyeing me incredulously. "You can't possibly mean to allow them to stay." I shook my head, "No, but violence won't solve anything." "Did that just come from you?" Travis asked looking at me like I had just grown a second head. "Shut up." I huffed. "In this instance it won't do any good. One enjoys the pain and the other would probably just switch to someone else entirely."

“You promised you’d not hurt them.” “We’ll, if the situation calls for it,” he said with an unapologetic shrug. “Right.” I took a breath and consciously relaxed my hands. “You speak the language of violence. And you expect me to understand you? Well, sorry to break it to you, but I do not enjoy other’s misery.” The corners of his mouth twitched as his dark eyes narrowed. “I’m sure that’s how I am, Rara. We can not change what runs in our veins, either it’s blood or violence.”

“A fucking animal sometimes.” He turns his wrist, twining those long, slender fingers with my rigid, clinging grip. “You do seem a wild animal, but only when cornered.” “Or only when dosed up?” I mutter. Then I shake my head. “That’s not where the fucked-up comes from.” “You live in a culture of self-righteous violence,” he notes, lifting my chin. “With a home life and a father that set an even worse precedent than your priest.”

With a flash of nervousness which they got from the attack, they disappeared Moreover, he looked at the dead coyote. Guilt and anger blazed through him. Dante has never been one to condone violence because when triggered, he loses his stability. Most times, he excessively reflects on his privilege but not to the point of causing another person's death. Ever since the incident with Freya that faithful night, he gave up on hurting the weak unless when attacked by one.

“It will carry an R rating and is not intended for children or the soft of heart.” Mason worried about the darkness within him that could produce such violence. He had started designing games as a way to deal with the violence of his past, a way to hit out at something without doing any real damage. He’d tried boxing and other more physical forms of stress relief, and they worked to an extent, but there was something inside him that drove him to want more. He didn’t think himself capable of actually killing a real human being, but he could do it time and again on screen and it helped to push back the cold fury that sometimes threatened to overtake him.

"I was beginning to worry that Vogel's conditioning had made you soft. But there it is—the Coleman instinct for violence when diplomacy fails." Griffin stared at his bleeding knuckles, horrified by what he'd done and more horrified by his father's reaction. The man—the thing—was enjoying this. Feeding on the violence. Using even Griffin's rebellion as validation of his twisted worldview. "You're insane," Eli whispered, moving to stand beside his brother. "I'm evolved," Michael corrected, dabbing at his split lip with a handkerchief. "Sanity is a constraint imposed by biological limitations. I've moved beyond such restrictions."