Gratuitous Violence Novels & Stories

Vishton asked as he ate the ramen he bought again even though we had just finished eating. Zhu just nodded. “We are all greedy in our own ways. In this world, we have only two choices. It could be violence. . . or peace. ” He took a deep breath and then gazed at the sky. "But we chose violence even though we can remain peaceful and quiet because all of us are fools. We thought that everything will end when we fight while shedding blood or life."

"But I will never allow you to touch my food. And I do not like cheaters so stay away from girls and especially Anna. Also do not make me angry by acting possessive boyfriend." "These are a lot of things." Sylvester scratched his head and glanced at her. "And I am not against violence." Gia again told him who raised his brow questioning her sanity. "I will never hit you Gia. Why would I hit you?" He tried to tell her. He was against violence and people should never hit or abuse their partners but this thing was common among wolves. They lose control when they are angry. "I ... w a s... t a l k i n g... a b o u t .. m e."

But fighting until one of us stops breathing. Because that's all that's left. Violence. Blood. Death. Brothers destroying each other.

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.

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.