Grim Tales Bleedman Novels & Stories

He kept washing, as if he was trying to erase something. The smell of blood hit Griffin. He turned his head. The man beside Griffin was pale as chalk, hands shaking as he rinsed his sleeve. He rolled the fabric up, and a deep bite mark showed on his forearm. The teeth marks sunk so deep you could see bone. Under the running water, blood kept pouring out, brighter and thicker by the second. The metallic smell filled the air. Dark veins began crawling across his arm. Griffin frowned. Something was wrong. Griffin slowly lifted his head…and locked eyes with the man.

The heat around him woke him up, he was drenched in his sweat from fear and of course, heat. Dordin wasn't in a good state of mind, he didn't have time to figure things out because Generosasis had just released fire on her sister, the smell of burning flesh filled the air, this time, the people already knew things were about to get ugly and that was when they got scared. Really scared." Mrs Grassroots paused, sipping the bottle of water in her left hand.

“Then, what the fuck? Something is fucking wrong with this.” Grimm sighed and took a seat on my chair. I leaned on the bed, a little wozzy from the blood I gave up once more. “You’re weak.” Grimm told me. “I gave him some of my blood and venom.” I told him. “How much blood are you giving him a day?” “About only two pints.” “I’ll be back.”

Emma muttered. Grimkeeper was a sight to behold. He had cuts all over his face, his clothes were torn. He was missing his right arm and a swirl of thick liquid were dripping out of the wound. "This ends now." Grimkeeper said.

Graham plunged his claws into its ribs, twisting. Liam, though bloodied, lunged one final time for its exposed throat. This time, his fangs sank deep. The beast choked. Lucas used all his strength to drag it down. Graham shoved both claws deeper, piercing its heart. And finally the beast went still. A long, guttural breath left it. The eyes dimmed. The monstrous body crumpled to the blood-soaked earth. Silence. Then Graham exhaled. “It’s over.” Lucas staggered back into his human form, panting and bleeding.

“Cain.” He looked at me, “Yeah?” I pointed at his side. “You’re bleeding.” He frowned and looked down. Only then did he notice the blood soaking through his shirt near his stomach. “Shit,” Grim exclaimed from across the room.

Alicia rushed forward with bloodshot eyes and grabbed hold of me, her voice ragged with panic. "Ronnie! It's me, your sister! Look carefully—it's us!" But I couldn't hear anything. I only stubbornly clawed at the edge of the windowsill. "Enough!" Unable to bear it anymore, Alicia forced me back onto the bed with all her strength. The force was so violent that my thin shirt ripped apart with a sharp, tearing sound. And just like that, my scar-covered body was exposed before everyone. The air froze instantly. Everyone stood rooted in place, as though even breathing had stopped.

The man’s scream was cut short as his head rolled to the floor, thudding heavily before landing sideways, his lifeless eyes still frozen in terror. Blood sprayed across the concrete, warm and thick, pooling beneath the chair. Liam stood still, watching the blood flow like river on the floor. His face showed no emotion, only satisfaction, as though he had simply crossed another task off his list. He raised the bloodstained knife, admiring its dark gleam, then let it vanish into thin air, dissolving like smoke. Caleb, who stood silently at the doorway, bowed his head. He had long grown used to scenes like this, yet the cold efficiency with which Liam killed always sent shivers down his spine.

Cain stood in the doorway. His black combat uniform was drenched in blood. The chest area was half-dried, but the sleeves were still dripping, rivulets running down the seams of his tactical gloves and dripping onto the floor. His collar was ripped open to the sternum, exposing a blade wound that slashed diagonally from his left shoulder to his right ribs. Flesh peeled back, the edges a vivid, glistening red like a freshly cracked pomegranate. In the deepest section, you could see the muscle fascia underneath. His face was also covered in blood, unwashed, sprayed from his left cheekbone all the way down to his jaw. The blood had dried into a dark crimson crust, making his ice-blue eyes look

Black blood sprayed, sizzling against the rug. Pelin cried out but pulled the blade free and struck again. And again. Each strike made the thing weaker, its body collapsing, melting into shadow. By the fourth stab, its form unraveled, boiling. The hissing cries turned to a low gurgle before it melted into a puddle of tar at my feet. I sat back hard, panting, my body drenched in sweat. The room fell into silence except for Pelin’s ragged breaths. She stared at the blade in her hand, still trembling, black ichor dripping from its edge.