Romans & histoires Pockets Of Blood Under Skin

The little guy was in shock and even on the brink of tears. His knee was bent at an unnatural angle, the skin there was already swelling and darkening. Crimson blood trickled from the deep scrape. But what sent a jolt of terror gushing through me was the way his shinbone jutted awkwardly beneath the skin, showing it was clearly broken.

That was even worse than any external wound. She seemed to have broken a bit of skin on my body because I can see blood trickling down my side. On a second look, the blood seem to come from her. Her knuckles were bloody and I can’t imagine how her blood got on me enough to be running down my body. Except I also broke skin, that’s not possible.

And then, the breathing begins. Low. Ragged. Hungry. They crawl forward, one by one, clawing their way out of the dark like maggots from a carcass. Eyes milky white. Skin grey, shredded, pulsing with runes stitched into their flesh. A she-wolf with a jaw unhinged like a snake. A man with limbs too long, bent the wrong way. Something with no skin at all, muscles pulsing, oozing black ichor that sizzles where it drips.

His entire being was radiating darkness and decay. I watched as he violently pushed a woman away. His face contorted uncontrollably with anger. I frowned slightly. Clearly, it was not just his demeanor that had changed. However, none of it compared to the shock of looking at someone who had my face. At first glance, it was terrifying. Upon closer inspection, though, the resemblance was not perfect. Perhaps the plastic surgery had gone too far. Her features were swollen and unnaturally smooth, and even the heavy makeup could not hide the fine scars at the corners of her eyes.

I’d seen bad infections on that bastard Knox, but never anything like this. The former General’s legs were a ghastly gray, mottled with purples and reds. A web of veins ran under inflamed skin, black spiderwebs climbing higher than his thighs. Round lesions had opened up. Likely the puncture sites where poultices of herbal medicine had been set. I guessed to blunt the kind of pain that had to be eating him alive. He watched my reaction, maybe expecting me to vomit like the last maid. "I..." I hesitated, a thousand thoughts slashing through my head at once.

SMACK! Red, swollen welts had erupted across my skin, each one throbbing with pain. My bones ached from the countless areas where they had puffed up, and I couldn't even begin to fathom how many bruises had formed. The sight of my body was a gruesome one, and I couldn't help but wonder if there was also a slight, unnoticed trickle of blood seeping out from my battered body.

Shе’ѕ wеаrіng аn armband of ѕоrtѕ tо hide thе dаmаgе, but it hаѕ ѕlірреd down аnd еxроѕеѕ еvеrу hоlе that’s been mаdе in hеr skin оvеr the lаѕt two weeks. Thеrе’ѕ a lumр rіght іn the crook оf hеr fоrеаrm. It’ѕ in the space whеrе a needle hаѕ made іt mark tоо оftеn. It’ѕ wееріng pus. Mу frіеnd isn’t just wаѕtеd, she’s sick.

Heat pooled below my stomach, my blood rushing beneath my skin. I cursed silently when I noticed the budge in my trouser. Fuck! No, please. Not now…

The skin, flesh, blood vessels, and bones could be seen through the cut, which was shocking. The smile froze on his face. "Puff!" After the slight sound, blood lines, which were as thin as threads, appeared on his exposed skin. It also densely covered every part of his body, including arms, shoulders, waist, legs, and head. Then, the most terrifying thing happened.

Because the hand that emerged from the sleeve was rotting. Not wounded. Not infected. But dead. The skin hung in thin, loose folds, grey-green and peeling, with long cracks that oozed black fluid. Black veins pulsed beneath the translucent flesh—no, not veins—tunnels. And inside them, something squirmed. Maggots. Or something like them. Moving slowly beneath the skin. Living under the flesh. I fought the wave of nausea that curled inside me, forcing my breath to steady. But my throat locked.