Mud Blood 3 Novels & Stories

The tent stood as a silent sentinel, guarding the grim scene within. Theo came after him, the wet ground squishing under his feet now stained by blood. The grass was wet at his feet, soaked through with the lifeblood of countless soldiers. He could feel the sticky warmth of the blood seeping into his boots, mingling with the mud. The air was thick with the stench of death, a suffocating miasma that seemed to cling to his very skin.

Have you ever fallen asleep in a car and woke up in a bed? It was quiet the far opposite in Trix's case, wherein she fell asleep on the smooth, visually clean table of a diner and woke up with a face full of mud. Heavy rain droplets beaten down on her body which was covered by a soaked cloak and the mud around her, splashing a lot of muck on her. She raised her head completely blinded by the mud. Raising her hands to her face and dragging her elbows through the mud she managed to clear her eyesight.

Due to the injuries I had sustained, my senses weren't as sharp as before, and the probability of me sensing them before they got too close for comfort was at its lowest. "Fuck!" I cursed as I fell to the ground, and landed in a pool of muddy water. "Just great! Now I'm not just covered in blood. I'm covered in mud too." Cleanliness was one thing I held dear to me, and if I was pissed about being covered in blood before, I was now livid.

someone shouted. However, the Emberfallen man, now a monster, was acting strangely. After killing someone from Mudstone, he stood stockstill. When he heard someone speak, he slowly raised his head, and his crimson-colored eyes swept over the Mudstone team. Finally, his gaze stopped on Adrian. He then opened his mouth and blood sprayed out of it.

Some were dried up like thousand-year-old mummies. There were also... some whose flesh was torn piece by piece off their body. Their blood drenched the ground. They no longer looked like one of the three great families of Sumeria. This was clearly a bloody hell of death and killing. Soon, Andrius went into the hall and saw Tiger and Bruce. “M-Mr. Moonshade. C-check on... on Old Master Timberland first...” When Tiger saw him, another mouthful of blood gushed out from the corner of his mouth before he passed out.

When we stepped out of the jeep, I immediately smelled it. The air was thick with the scent of damp earth and something fouler—rotting meat, maybe. Or death. Adrian gave a signal, and the warriors who followed in the other jeeps spread out, weapons ready, senses alert. The forest swallowed us whole, the ground squelching unnaturally under our boots. Too soft. Too wet. I glanced down and froze. The mud wasn’t brown. It was red. Adrian yanked me back just as my boot sank into what I now realized was a pool of half-dried blood skull. His arm wrapped around my waist, pulling me close. “Don’t look," he ordered.

Robert looks the best out of all three of them with just some mud covering him. I see the small limp in Archie's leg as he walks in along with a pretty big trail of blood dripping on his exposed stomach that's coming from a cut just next to his side. He holds his white t-shirt in his hand which's also covered in mud. I look up at his face to see his lip busted along with a small cut right above his eyebrow that's dripping with sweat and blood.

Blood splatters against the floor, merging into the pool with a soft slap. I laugh. It’s a low, broken gurgle—but it’s real. I spit blood onto the boot of the one closest through torn lips. “Missed a spot,” I rasp with a sinister chuckle. His fist slams across my face hard enough to make the world explode in white. My jaw shifts wrong. Blood fills my mouth like wine. Tears burn the edges of my vision, but I refuse to let them fall. “Still got a mouth on her,” one sneers. “Maybe it’s time for another cleansing.”

I say. "For what she expended." Maret chooses her words carefully. Sets them down like objects she is placing on a surface she isn't sure will hold them. "What she carries, what was revealed tonight, it isn't something we have a reference for. Not in living memory. The Moonblood hasn't manifested fully in generations." She pauses. "She used a significant portion of it in a very short time. The shift. The fight. And then what she did for you." She says that last part without inflection.

My eyes widen at the sight of broken chairs, books littered across the floor, a bookshelf toppled over—and then I hear something low rolling against the floorboards until it suddenly stops. I look down at my feet and see red liquid—blood—trying to push past my leg, blocking its flow. My heart now in my mouth, I trace the blood to its source, walking toward it. Now, I'm standing behind a malt-colored couch, and I nearly lose consciousness when I see Cas's mother, her jaw snapped open, one eyeball missing as she lays in a pool of her own blood.