Novel & Cerita Gremory Bloodstained

The orb in Selmor’s hands glowed and Grendal attacked, before Selmor had even the opportunity to use his last resort. The bear snarled and growled as he ripped Selmor’s chest apart with his impressive paws and claws. Blood gushed from the wounds and cries of pain could be heard along with the gurgling of blood constricting his trachea as it smothered them out. The orb fell from his hands onto the grass, and rolled before stopping to a halt next to Marya’s head. The once clear orb had been covered in the spilled blood. This was the moment to attack.

Gremory chuckled weakly. "Did he speak to you casually?” Asher questioned. "Of course. My energy is locked and I guess he's a weak wolf.” "You know he's a wolf?” Annatoria asked Gremory, her voice low. “What's that?" Annatoria asked again, her eyebrows curving. She noticed a shiny, fire-red scar that looked like a wristbead on his wrist. Gremory hid his hand under his shirt all the while but, when he got too comfortable, he let his hand out.

“That's true. Now let's get you rinsed.” I'm offering to wash his knuckles off the proof of fight, there is a big old baby behind his tough form and he revealed it today. I turned on the tap, he let me pull his hands to the running water. The water mixed with the blood on his hands was a stain on the white porcelain sink. The more water touched his knuckles, the clearer the water became. The blood stains was gone, I looked at his knuckles where the blood had gathered the most, “No cut?” I asked, avoiding glancing at him.

My body trembled violently, my fingers twitching as if they still felt the warmth of what I had done. The scent of blood was thick, pungent, and metallic, clinging to my skin like a curse I could never wash away. I forced myself to look down. My hands. They were covered in it. Crimson painted every ridge, every trembling knuckle, smeared up my arms, streaked across my bare skin in jagged, grotesque strokes. It dripped from my fingers onto the floor, forming tiny pools that reflected the flickering torchlight. What have I done?

The chamber erupts before I can take another breath. Shouts collide with growls. Wolves shift mid-stride, bones cracking, claws scraping marble. Steel flashes as guards reach for blades—some bearing Riven’s crest, others Damien’s. The air thickens with the metallic scent of blood and the electric snap of rising magic. Damien still stands at the center of it all, the embers of the Blood Flames’ mark burning across his skin like a serpent made of fire. His eyes glint with triumph, not shame.

They could also sense the lingering presence of a vampire in the room. "There's something wrong with this room." Alex whispered to Victoria. "I know. This is no ordinary murder. This is the work of a vampire." Victoria whispered back. "Do you think so too?" asked Alex in surprise. "Hmm... something like that. Look at these bloody sheets. That's not human blood. It's vampire blood." Victoria said softly as she pointed to the sheets on the bed. Alex looked at the sheet carefully. He noticed that the colour of the blood was darker and thicker than human blood. He also saw black spots around the blood.

We were joined soon by Anthonier and Hilra who also appeared surprised at the sight. But while Xialara tried to check for a pulse in her neck and base of her thumb. Something else caught my eye. The ruby colored gem at the hilt of the sword was now a clear diamond. No sign of red. I picked it up by its blade and examined it under the moonlight to check for any cracks or possible leakages. There were none. The red color had just vanished. My blood was gone.

She opens a drawer and she takes out a small knife, which is the kind of knife I recognize from my research, ceremonial but functional, and she looks at me. "The grimoire is blood-locked," she says. "The Moreau family has kept it that way for four generations. It opens to the blood of the practitioner or the blood of the subject." "You don't have Chase's blood," I say. "I took a sample the night I examined his hand," she says. "After the garden party. When he didn't feel the cuts." I sit with that. She touches the blade to her fingertip. A drop of blood falls on the cover of the grimoire.

The Heart of the Curse The gala hall stood before them like a wounded beast, its shattered doors hanging limply, revealing a cavernous interior bathed in a pulsing crimson glow. Shadows twisted across the cracked cobblestones of Wolfcrest Avenue, alive with menace. Aria clutched Rollan closer, his small body warm against her chest, his tiny fingers gripping her tunic. His wide eyes mirrored the eerie light, innocent yet burdened by the mark that pulsed faintly on his skin. Beside her, Caden’s presence was a steady anchor—his sword drawn, his wolf senses sharpened, his breath misting in the cold, ash-laden air. The stench of decay hung heavy, laced with a darker note: Victor’s essence, fester

Adrian When we reached the old Phi Umbra house in Cainebrielle, the sight that greeted us was carnage wrapped in fire and silver. Blood streaked the grass, blackened with wolf and Dhampir alike. Carson and his men held their ground, but the wolves were pinned beneath a relentless hail of gunfire. The Strigoi’s Dhampirs were well-armed, their weapons gleaming with silver tips that sang with each discharge. They outnumbered the wolves ten to one, a tide of shadows pushing forward without hesitation.