Red Bump Filled With Blood Novels & Stories

But that wasn't what made her stomach twist with fear. Around the edges of that gold, bleeding in like ink in water, was red. Dark red, the color of fresh blood. It wasn't much yet, just thin lines creeping inward, but it was there. And it was growing. "Oh no," Autumn mouthed, the words barely a whisper. Her eyes went wide as the realization hit her like a physical blow.

With a determined silence, the burly man sliced his palm, causing a gush of blood to spill forth. The sudden gory spectacle left the onlookers stunned. Though he winced slightly, he persisted, allowing drops of blood to splatter onto the floor. As the crimson droplets met the ground, intricate patterns began to materialize, casting an eerie red glow. "By God..." gasped the astonished witnesses.

His bushy brows and tightly sealed mouth seem to repeat to me, Cauterize, restore blood. It doesn't come out in a stream this time. Dense blue sprinkling leave my fingertips, they settle briskly on the stump and disappear as they land. I'm tempted to look at Saelyna's work, but I recall Veesa's sharp voice, and focus. Slowly, ever so slowly, the crunching of flesh and bone reports progress, until the wound is completely covered in a smooth curve and I can't see any more blood. I don't stop though. The iden comes in a flow now, as I order it to restore blood flow. Color returns to the arm, and gradually to his face.

Scarlet stands there with a sinister grin on her face. Then I see red. A rage so crimson that an unspeakable rush of adrenaline overtakes my whole body. Then it is replaced by this indescribable need for blood that I have never felt. As everyone stands there with their mouths gaped in horror, I crouch and spring towards Reddy. With my good hand, I pull her head and crush her face into my knee. Even when I hear the crunch of her nose breaking, I do not relent. Instead, I get up and stomp on that furry hand of hers till her screams stop. I know that it is badly broken.

But then, a violent cough tore through me. Warm liquid filled my mouth. I brought my hand up and saw red. Blood. My knees nearly buckled at the sight. I steadied myself against the wall, something burned along my wrist. When I looked down on my wrist, the sight nearly made me black out from fear. A thin black mark had appeared beneath my skin, like ink spreading through veins. The Mark of the Cursed.

This wetness is called tears! And I am…crying! Raising my hand to wipe away the annoying wetness, I stop midway, for I notice something under my nails, something red that makes me disgusted. Blood? but why is there blood under my nails?! I look at the doctor, begging her for answers but I see she is busy, she has a…syringe in her hand, and she is injecting it in this thin transparent tube, I follow the tube and I see that it is attached to my hand!

I walk slowly across the room, my bare feet sinking slightly into the soft carpet. I hug my arms around myself without realizing it, my fingers brushing over my wrists again and again like I am checking something. I keep scratching my right wrist without thinking, the skin itching in a way that feels deep. It is not the kind of itch you can ignore. It demands attention. I stop walking. My eyes drop to my wrist. And I freeze. The skin around it is red. Not just irritated red, but darker, angry-looking, like something underneath it is alive. My breath catches in my throat as I turn my arm slowly, inspecting it from different angles. The redness circles my wrist almost perfectly.

Startled by a sudden bump in the road, I accidentally jerked my head forward and bumped it hard right against the cold glass of the car window. Big mistake. The impact sent a white-hot shockwave straight through my injured arm, making me hiss loudly as I instinctively clutched at my shoulder with a sharp gasp. Peeking under the makeshift cloth bandage, my stomach churned. The skin around the bite was no longer just red—it had shifted into a sickening, bruised color of gray and purple, heavily caked in dried, crusty blood and badly swollen to twice its normal size. An infection was setting in, fast, and my body felt hot and feverish.

After that, she stepped forward before she walked in front of the crowd of people as she observed their faces carefully, one at a time. About ten minutes later, Xyla smiled before she replied, “Based on the horizontal stripes on his forehead, I’m certain that Uncle Moore has high blood pressure. He’s usually on a light diet because he cannot eat too much meat and fish.” As soon as she was done speaking, the middle-aged man from the Moore family exclaimed, “You’re really a genius, Miss Xyla! I do have high blood pressure.” After that, Xyla pointed at Reuben before she said, “The area below your brows are red and your eyes are cloudy. You have a pulmonary infection and you’ve just recovered re

He didn't bother pushing them up. I crouched down and took hold of Cain's right hand. From palm to back, the entire hand had turned a mottled grayish-green. Beneath the translucent skin, necrotic blood vessels stood out with terrible clarity, like a frozen river system trapped under ice. I laced my fingers through his. The puncture wound rubbed directly against the webbing between my thumb and forefinger. The ragged edge of the needle hole ground against my lifeline. The pressure wasn't heavy. It still hurt.