Iron And Blood Game Novels & Stories

Quenten Yilmaz: Blood. Violence. Gut-wrenching, paralyzing screams. They follow me everywhere, including in my sleep. It’s like a reel of snippets flashing before my very eyes. Splatters of blood paint the walls. Screams of terror intertwine and become a single, continuous harmony of devastation that rings in my ears. Flashing balls of light ignite in the dark as illuminated bullets slice through the air, hitting everything in their path. Men drop to the ground swiftly, followed by a hush of silence.

A viper with venom left. “Why now?” he asked. “Why come to me after all these years, girl?” “I want the truth.” “And what will you do with it? Truth doesn’t raise the dead. It doesn’t save your soul.” “I don’t want salvation,” Amara said quietly. “I want names. And I want blood.” Milo’s eyes gleamed. “Then you’ll have to earn it.” The rules were simple: a game of deception, staged inside the old ruins beneath the Alhambra. If Amara survived the night, he would give her what she came for — everything Isabel never told her.

Because now? The game had shifted. With the docks under our control, the final strike was inevitable. Giancarlo wasn’t just losing power. He was losing Rome. And Leonardo and I were about to take it.

But it pulsed from my veins, from the mark on my thigh, from the base of my spine up through my chest. “Stand back,” I said. Kane didn’t move. “Ivy…” But the scream of wind cut him off. They came fast. Five of them. Cloaked in black, eyes red as dying embers, moving like water and smoke and death. Our warriors met them halfway, fangs and steel, fury and claws. But they weren’t strong enough. Not yet. One Bloodborne leapt through, landing in the center of the field where I stood. He snarled. His body shimmered with magic that felt like rotted earth and burnt bone.

Being two years older than me at sixteen, she’s had two years to weed out any facility who didn’t learn to look the other way. Struggling back to my feet, the weight from carrying all of her and her three friend’s bags making it more difficult, I worked to steady by breathing again. All I did was answer her question about why it was so difficult to get a hold of her favorite color of nail polish. Her perfectly manicured nails, freshly touched up just this morning before school started, was the reason I knew she wouldn’t be the one to personally hit me. “I was just explaining, ma’am,” I said in my smallest voice. “That we’ve been at war with the Bloodmoon Vampires and the rebel Werewolf Packs

Ryland The dawn breaks cold and brittle, the sky streaked with ash from the smoldering ruins of the elders’ fortress. You stand at the edge of the Bloodfang clearing, the dagger’s weight heavy on your hip, its silver flames dormant but pulsing like a second heartbeat. Around you, the pack moves in exhausted silence—warriors binding wounds, mothers hushing whimpers, children clutching charred toys salvaged from the rubble. The air tastes of iron and regret.

Besides, I think they're too impatient to do things calmly. "What do you know about this wine called 'Blood of the Wise'?" Judging Orion's expression, there's no doubt, he's willing to tell him everything he wants to know. Ah. The scent of victory.

Seizing the moment, I deliver a brutal knee to his family jewels. As his grip falters, I lunge for my fallen piece. Time slows to a crawl as I grasp the familiar grip, spin around, and pull the trigger. The deafening bang is followed by a spray of warm, sticky blood across my face. The sharp, tangy scent of metal fills my nostrils, sending a shiver of exhilaration down my spine.

It sloshed around until it filled to the top. Veronica removed the needle and the smell of her blood wafted up to me. I was still in my demon form! Shit! My bloodlust started to come out as my eyes instantly went to the spot where a drop of blood seeped out over her fair skin. My throat started to burn and itch as it began to crave for blood. I gulped and forced my eyes to look away. After the second vial was full, it felt like pure torture. Veronica bandaged up Arisa, stopping the bleeding but it was too late. The smell of blood filled the room.

Blood and Water is a story that points to a civil war in West Africa, Nigeria and the hovering hunger for survival by two teenage boys. Hope you enjoy. Completed version with no coins for now. Make sure you drop your reviews... *** Rumours of a War A proverb says that when it rains everyday, there is a bound of sorrow within the rain. Maybe we were not that rich but we were happy or we claimed to be. The only problem was that I was no longer in school. I think I liked it that way, school stress was so hard especially now that I was in the junior secondary.