Romans & histoires Gratuitous Violence

before i complete my sentences he interferes "Shutup! just be quite i don't need a stuff like you who is in so much of violence" "You are rejected" I shocked listening his fucking decision

All this has opened my eyes and a lightbulb flickers on. Physical exertion in different forms to handle different emotions. Logical ones. Sex for stress, sexual cruelty for anger or pain. Violence for rage … it’s finally making sense. There’s logic to him even if it’s not normal male logic, there is a pattern which means there’s a way to live with him and work this out.

"Because of me and my fucked-up past. Because I brought violence into our lives and it followed me home. Which is exactly why I left that world behind me." "That's bullshit and you know it," Radimir says, his earlier mischief replaced by something harder. "You think this is your fault? You think Masha died because you deserved it?" "I think bloodshed breeds more bloodshed until it turns into an endless cycle." I stand up, needing distance from their questions, their certainty that violence can solve what violence created. "I think some doors should stay closed." "Pizdets." Melor's voice carries disbelief. "If I hadn't heard that with my own ears, I wouldn't believe you said it. This from the

Then, just as quickly, he tossed the man to the ground like he was nothing like he was bored of him. And then the kicking started. Each blow landed with a sickening crunch, bones snapping under the force of it, but Vincent? He looked like he was enjoying the sound. Even in the dim moonlight, I could see it. The twisted pleasure in his eyes. The way he thrived in this violence, how it seemed to breathe life into him. What kind of human being was he? My gaze flickered to his injured arm, and my stomach lurched. Blood dripped steadily from his wound, mixing with the other man’s on the ground, and yet he didn’t even flinch. Didn’t even acknowledge it.

“Please, I know you are the one who is going to torture him. You are known for that. I’ve read about you. You once cut off a man’s four fingers because he owed you four million.” “Well, I like to have fun with my job, one finger for every million. It has a nice symphony to it, doesn’t it?” He says in a thoughtful way, making me want to kill myself at how casually these men talk about violence. They need therapy. “Can you please answer-“

All characters, settings, and incidents are the product of the author's imagination. This work, LORD OF VIOLENCE by A. Gupta, is copyrighted and may not be copied, distributed, or reproduced in any form without the author's explicit permission. The book contains explicit scenes, including sexual content and violence, intended for mature audiences only. Reader discretion is advised. The author does not promote, endorse, or participate in any of the actions depicted in this work. This is purely a dark fictional story meant for entertainment purposes. ~A. Gupta _________________ Trigger Warnings:

He explained calmly. I sat there for a while letting his words soak in before a burst of confidence rushed through me. "Fuck you and your rules." I said in his face as I emphasized the word 'fuck' He clenched his jaw and his eyes flared with anger, but he took a deep breath before speaking. "You just got here so imma let this slide. But just know I don't do this often so do it again and I won't hesitate to slit your wrist." He said calmly as his hands rested on his temples.

"But?" "But you are still too squeamish. Too merciful. You view violence as a failure rather than a tool. That is the flaw that will destroy you. Violence isn't the enemy, Emilia. It is a language. Use it sparingly, use it effectively, but when you speak it, make sure everyone listens." I hated the way his words vibrated in my skull. I hated the fact that a dark, buried part of my mind was nodding along to his logic.

For a second, all of us paused as if to admire the violence. Tripping the hunter hadn't been enough. I needed an exit. I needed the kind of chaos that didn't leave a neat headline. I had a plan that involved less stabbing for the hunter type and more making them look foolish, because it was fun and because it hurt their pride. Pride is a toxin.

"It's not the first time this has happened." I turned to Damien, my patience wearing thin. "You satisfied running away and pitying yourself?" "S-sorry—" "Sorry sorry sorry, is that all you know how to fucking say?!" I snapped. "Fuck, why get me off that fat-jawed fuck in the first place?!" "Violence isn't the answer," Damien said quietly. I let out a sharp, bitter laugh. "You're so naive. Violence is the answer when you're getting randomly attacked. You know why they bully you two? It's not because they don't like you. It's because you're fucking easy—"