Mud And Blood 3 Novels & Stories

“No cheating.” I open them, and instantly wish I were dead. Vienna’s wide, bloodshot blue eyes go completely still, staring straight up at the balcony—straight at *me*. Rambo lets out a harsh neigh and slows to a trot, as if sensing its work is finished. Within seconds, the agonizing screams die into absolute silence. The thrashing stops. The three other women lay motionless, dragged through their own blood. My heart hammers like a dying bird against my ribs. Four corpses lie lined in the red dirt below. Their eyes stare into nothingness. Their necks are mangled, their skin torn, bruised, and caked in filthy mud.

Moreover, there were some elasticity. To put it in words, it was like stepping on a large pool of sticky snot. Caspian lowered his head. He narrowed his eyes. Cracks appeared on the muddy ground beneath his feet. The crack was dark red. A strong smell of blood gushed out at the same time. "Blood..." Caspian murmured. He looked up. At this moment, he had a vague feeling. The so-called mud ground was just a floating dust on the top. Beneath the dust was a sea of blood.

Yet, even the bravest warriors falter in the face of overwhelming odds. The ground becomes slick with blood, turning the earth into a morass of mud and gore. Bodies litter the battlefield, silent witnesses to the carnage that unfolds. Yet still, the battle rages on, each side refusing to yield an inch in this epic struggle for victory and honour. I could see Mad dog’s silhouette from the snow. He was holding a bloody knife. Derrick was on the ground. He was bleeding. Approaching where he laid were some vampires. Their fangs blared out, waiting to feast on his blood. Anger took a hold of me. I can't describe what happened to my body. I could feel something loosen up in my stomach. My insides

The platform dropped out from under him, plunging him, the heavy block, and the two men behind him straight into the waist-deep, freezing mud. "Look at them," Reagan murmured, shaking her head. "Stephen terrified them so badly they can't even hold their focus to see the path." On the screen, the Claw Mountain warriors began shouting over each other, violently thrashing through the thick suction of the mud as they were forced to slog all the way back to the starting bank to retrieve new blocks, losing precious, irrecoverable minutes while the Frost cousins steadily cleared the pit and began spelling their password on the opposite side.

A harsh word, and a kick to the face comes next. I wake up to water dripping on my forehead, I wipe it off with my hand and get up, then I realize that my hand smelled odd, like iron and salt. My hand was covered in blood. I look up at the canopy and see Pal’lacon’s body nailed to the ceiling. I look around and find other soldier’s dead. Varkii’ body lies on the ground with a pilum protruding from his belly. Frederick’s neck had been cut, ear to ear. I see a dozen more bodies of other Legionnaires and soldiers with their faces contorted forever frozen in a moment of pain. I draw my sword and prepare to face down whoever had caused this mayhem. I see a person standing under the rain, his clot

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.

The battlefield was painted in blood and shadow. The air tasted of iron and despair, thick with the smoke of burning timber and the acrid stench of supernatural flame. Rain had begun to fall not the gentle rain of mourning, but a harsh deluge that turned dust to mud and made the stones slick with a mixture of water and blood that pooled in every crack and crevice.

We have to fight them back as long as we possibly can… which, I fear, isn’t much longer. I fight. That is all I know how to do. I swing and block and press forward, my sword a blur in my hands, my muscles screaming with every movement. My boots slide in the blood-slicked mud. My shoulder throbs from a blade I didn’t deflect fast enough. My lungs burn with smoke. Still, I do not stop.

CHAPTER THIRTY-THREE: BLOOD IN THE DIRT (Liam’s POV) I turned from Elena and shifted mid-run, clothes tearing away as fur broke through skin and my paws pounded the dirt with fury. Mason and Caleb were already ahead, leading the warriors through the trees, but the moment I burst out of the woods, the stench of blood and rogues slammed into me like a wall, and there was no time to think, only to fight.

I hadn't hurt anyone, but why had I to see such inhumane images in the third year after my death? I floated down and looked at the tiny baby. This was the first time I saw that child. I didn't cry when I was killed by Vivian. I didn't cry when I watched Winston dissect me with his own hands. But now, my tears were falling without stopping. This child already had hands and feet. If I hadn't been killed by Vivian, this child would have been over two years old by now.