Kickstarter Bloodstained Novels & Stories

Blood bloomed dark on the carpet, the copper tang filling the air. The stalker gurgled, eyes bulging, but Knox wasn't done. A silenced pistol appeared from his holster—two muffled pops, chest and head. The body jerked, then stilled, a pool spreading like ink. Silence crashed back, broken only by my sobs. Knox rose, covered in blood that wasn't his—splattered across his shirt, his face, his hands. He kicked the door shut with a thud, locking us in with the corpse. His eyes found mine, dark and possessive, not a flicker of remorse. "It's over," he said, stripping off the ruined shirt, revealing the scarred muscle beneath.

He tried again, coughing harder now. He pulled back, covered his mouth, looked at his hand… Blood. “What the fuck did you do?” he choked. I straightened. “Been in this game long enough to always have a backup plan.” “You little bitch…” he started, his voice strained as more blood gushed from his lips. “You thought I’d make it this easy?” I said, stepping forward. “You’re messing with Raven.” “I’ll destroy you…” he wheezed, his knees buckling. He tried to stand.

The smell and the feel of the humans' blood on her skin makes her vomit and she feels dizzy with dread. "Now it's your turn to receive your punishment," Kratos decrees as he approaches her. "N-no!" Bloodstain shakes her head frantically as she crawls across the floor, wanting to put as much distance between them as possible. Kratos just smiles still approaching, cornering his prey. "Don't beg, I won't feel mercy for you" Kratos grabs Bloodstain by the arm and leads her to one of the torture tools, making her knell on the floor. He puts a heavy and bloodied iron collar on her neck.

he asks as mist fills the interior of the catacombs. A cold fist of fear squeezes my stomach, but I manage to keep it hidden. Instead, I nod and turn to my father. “What about you?” I ask. He isn't fully restored yet, and I can still see patches of marbled blemishes. Darrick smiles at me. “I could probably use a little more blood.” “Luban,” I say to my brother, “check my pack. There should be some blood bags left.” My brother pulls two bags from my pack and hands one to Darrick while Asmodeus takes the other, eyeing the blood bag with interest. He turns it around, examining it closely. “This is clever. How do you get the blood inside?”

I bundled them in a corner and drenched them with lighter fluid before dropping a match on them. Next, I got the wipes from my survivor pack and cleaned up as best as I could. I could've showered at the victim's place since there was so much blood this time, but it didn't sit right with me. Turns out, it was a good call because no sooner had I left his place and was scaling the fence out back when I heard a car pull into his driveway. Someone had gotten a very nasty surprise. I threw the bloody wipes onto the blaze and grabbed some more, making sure to get it all off of me before redressing in another black on black outfit. I unfolded the old second-hand sleeping bag and the moth-eaten blank

So I grabbed my teddy bear and walked down the stairs. When I came into the kitchen, I didn't saw my daddy and my mommy standing there, arguing and fighting. I just saw my mommy laying on the floor in a puddle of blood. The red liquid was coming out of her belly and flooded around her. Her eyes were wide open and her brown hair had become red of her blood. I whispered her name and grabbed her hand as I knelt next to her. The tears were falling down my cheeks like a waterfall. Her blood was now on my white pajamas. My hands were painted with her blood as I tried to shake her awake.

By the simple fact that where this kind of light goes, the things that hide in darkness cannot stay hidden. I feel it working. I also feel the cost. It is not pain exactly. It is more like weight. Like every drop of the Moonblood I send into him is something I am drawing from a reserve that is not infinite, and I have already spent so much tonight — in the shift, in the fight, in the thirty seconds of absolute clarity it took to face Lysandra and end what she was. I don't stop. I keep sending it.

It bore the unmistakable mark of the Anti-Lycan Terrorist Group known as the Blood Moon, notorious for their attacks on lycans within werewolf territories. The video was a gruesome montage of violence, their actions narrated by a sinister voice promising more bloodshed and terror. My hands clenched into fists, and I felt a surge of anger and despair. The Blood Moon's message was clear: they had no intention of letting a single lycan live in peace within the Werewolf States.

Tears rolled down my cheeks, I was not only scared for myself that I had handed my heart over to this man, I was also scared for his people, I needed to know what inspired such hatred to murder his people. “You want to know the truth? I will tell you.” He strolled from the throne towards me, “The world I told that was built by me and my two friends, these people are the descendants. We made a blood covenant that whichever one of us dies first, our power should be given to the next who was alive to maintain the balance of the park for greater good. Their fathers saw us as a threat and opted to end our lives. For each one they killed, their powers were absorbed into my blood, the same blood I

Behind him, Seraphina Duskryn looked at me with eyes that were trying—and failing—to hide the panic. "Xender," Tristan growled, stepping into my personal space, his scent of musk and desperation hitting me hard. "The pack is in revolt. Garron Stormriven has cut the cord on our funding. We need capital, and you are the only one with the connections to secure it. If you help us now, the Blackmoor pack will guarantee your safety when the council comes for your head." I let out a low, cold laugh. "My head? You two are the ones whose ledgers are being audited by the elders. I have no connections to you, Tristan. And I certainly have no intention of saving a sinking ship."