Mud Blood 3 Novels & Stories

Scraped clean inside. I felt dirty. A bone-deep contamination that no amount of scrubbing would ever remove. I reached out blindly in the dark, my hand trembling, searching the freezing mud until my fingers brushed against thick wool. Mace's coat. I dragged it toward me, burying my face in it, desperate for his scent. But it was tainted now. It smelled of the cellar mud, and underneath that, the overwhelming, copper-and-musk stench of Michael’s violence that now coated my skin and filled my body.

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.

The words repeat, each syllable a hammer strike against my skull, piercing through my ears until they are a deafening, inescapable whisper. The scene shifts again, faster now. I am on a battlefield. The earth under my knees is not dirt—it is mud, thick and soaked with a dark, coppery blood. The stench of iron and decay is overwhelming. And there is a body in front of me, a man in ruined, blood-caked armor.

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.

He turned to see Max who clearly had some pained expressions. "Enzo"! Stephen signaled Max and he stormed out pulling Max along him. Zee and Saint looked at each other and turned to their food. "Wh… What happened to Max". Callum stuttered. "Nothing. He can't bear the sight of blood. Here the blood is stopped. Go wash it before the lunch gets cold. Saint, call Max and Enzo". Callum nodded and left for the ensuite washroom to wash his thumb.

An outright war. Mud flying everywhere, everywhere hitting, fighting, defending. Screams, chaos rising into the air. No one willing to call it quits. "Don't you dare!" Eliot attacked one of the guys that threw mud at me. Sending to him and entire pile directly on his face. The guy spitting helplessly, spreading out the mud with his hands. "Oh my God, that's disgusting." I said, Eliot agreeing with me. Pulling me away right then. Our bodies heavy with mud, but that turning around only landed us more hits from the others.

"They were warm..." Mable crouched in front of me like she was about to scold a child who tried to lick a pole frozen in the dead of winter. "And contaminated." "Yeah, with mud." "Mud." she repeated, unimpressed. "And blood. and gods know what else that was out there. Now. Feet." Heat crawled up my neck. "They are fine." Mable snorted. "Child, if they were fine, you wouldn't be flinching every time the air touches them."

I think I might need to get my head check because Vampire was not real. It was a myth, an urban legend. But the eyes of Isabella was black as charcoal when I can see that she was looking at my throat. I gripped my throat before I was standing up again and I was looking at the streets that she was taking. I shook my head before I was looking around and made my way to the car before I was sliding inside as I was looking at the road. It was dark and I don’t think that I ever felt alone like this before.

I spit the head to the ground, looking around for the next challenger. As if they’ve been waiting for all three of us to shift, the vamps launch themselves from the trees in a massive wave. What the fuck is this? There’s got to be over a hundred of them! The three of us are snarling ferocious blurs of snapping teeth and slashing claws, cutting through the filthy vamp ranks like flames through dry grass. The soft bed of pine needles underfoot is littered and becomes treacherous footing with stinking, mangled carcasses and still they come.

Dino’s POV Madrid is burning. There is no other way to say so. The city appears to be the same on the outside, the streets are bright, the crowds appear to be carefree, but below all is on fire. My phones keep ringing. Safe houses are broken. Supply lines are cut. There were three attacks within the same hour, and none of them could be considered a coincidence. This is not chaos. This is a message. Marco says, They struck the port again. "Same pattern as before."