Gratuitous Violence Novels & Stories

Almost. "How dare you!" he shouted, spitting on the stone pavers. He waved his hand frantically at his men. "Get them! Take them down, now!" They rushed us. "Hard way it is," I muttered, feeling the familiar surge of adrenaline settle into something colder, something almost peaceful. There was a strange comfort in violence when the cause was righteous; it stripped away every doubt and left only purpose.

Damon Violence is never loud the way people expect it to be. There is no constant roar no endless shouting. No screaming that goes on and on without break. Just sharp bursts of sound metal on metal, breath torn from lungs, the wet crack of bone meeting force. The soft sound of bodies hitting the ground. Everything else narrows. Focused. Efficient. The kind of violence that comes from training and experience and the kind of clarity that only comes when your life is actually on the line.

They hadn’t expected the wrath of a man scorned to find them here, in this hidden heart of the city. I didn’t hesitate. Violence was immediate, precise, unflinching. One man lunged at me with a crowbar—I grabbed his wrist, twisted, and sent him crashing into a stack of crates. Another came at me from behind; I pivoted, elbow driving into his ribs, then a swift kick that sent him sprawling across the concrete. The sound of their impact echoed through the building, a symphony of pain and fear orchestrated by my hands.

“People like this don’t need reasons, they need openings.” Something cold slid down my spine. He continued, voice level and controlled in a way that somehow made it worse. “If it hadn’t been you, it would have been someone else standing in the way of whatever they wanted.” The room fell quiet and I just stared at him, suddenly struck by how casually he spoke about violence, not because he enjoyed it, but because he understood it too well. It made me wonder what sort of life had taught him that and it also made me wonder how many times he had been forced to clean up other people’s blood.

Beneath was a sleek black combat suit, snug and ready for action. Off went the heels, and from beneath the car, I drew an iron rod, prepped and waiting. The air cracked with gunfire. I dodged swiftly, a bullet grazing my ear. The first attacker lunged. I swung the rod and cracked his wrist, the snap of bone loud in the air. The second fired. I dove and charged, driving the rod deep into his gut. The third came at me from the side, but I caught his arm and flipped him over my shoulder.

Vishad was at a secret press conference with his two grandpas ( Vikash and Apurva). “ My vote is for a prank. But be careful with safety.” Vikash suggested after good thought. “ No… just beat him up so that he will never dare to touch you. And if your teacher will suspend you from Suruchi. She will handle the school.” Apurva expressed his thoughts. “No… Violence is not a good thing. Vishu my son. Don't beat him. Just prank and be careful with…” “ no… if anyone touches him with no reason then he has to counterfierd. Just go ahead and tighten that brat’s all screw.”