Novel & Cerita Slayer World Painted Blood

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 groom mounting the bride on a throne of corpses. My hand moved faster than my mind. I dipped the brush deeper, harder, tearing at the canvas like I was cutting flesh. I mixed the reds and blacks until they bled together, thick and viscous. The eyes I painted stared back, wide and lifeless. The flowers were rotting. The sky dripped gore. A massacre. And I smiled. They wanted a masterpiece? I’d give them one they’d never forget.

One man dropped and another went down after Sergio’s return fire snapped through the hallway like thunder. Sergio looked back at her dubiously. "How come you are so comfortable with a gun and shooting people?" he asked her. Rosy shook her head uncertainly. "I don't understand it myself. My body is just responding to a command on its own." she replied and Sergio smirked. "Surely now you believe the De Luca's blood runs through your view now." "Doesn't prove anything." she muttered focusing on gaze on the men exchanging gunfire. Blood pooled across polished floors. Priceless artworks were torn to shreds. Smoke drifted toward the high ceilings like a prayer gone unanswered.

The world at dawn was silent, as if the earth itself held its breath. The sacred battleground stretched wide and ancient, a plain of stone carved by time and war. Smooth slate stretched for miles, its surface darkened by centuries of blood spilled in honor and vengeance. Pillars rose like broken teeth, cracked obelisks etched with runes from the first Alphas. Mist curled across the ground, glowing faintly in the light of the blood-red moon that had not set, its lingering omen staining everything crimson.

My footsteps echoed through the hallway like war drums. Each step a threat. Each breath a promise. My hands were stained. Still damp. Still warm. Blood had dried beneath my fingernails—rogue blood. The walls back there were painted in it. My boots made squelching sounds when I walked out of their den, coated in organs and screams. I hadn’t fought. I had slaughtered. They thought they could hide. I hunted. They thought they could beg. I silenced.

The leader of the slayers stood out from the rest, his movements a blur as he relentlessly pursued the king's men. Ah, he was the most different! His sword sliced through the air with deadly rigor, leaving a trail of bloodied bodies in its wake. The blade itself was a gruesome sight, stained with blood from hilt to tip, with droplets dripping ominously from its edge. The leader's hand, too, was drenched in the crimson liquid, a witness to the bloodshed he had unleashed. The chaos caused by the slayers continued unabated, with men desperately scrambling to save their lives.

At first, it’s nothing—just shadows in the red. But then? Eyes. Teeth. Mouths locked in silent screams. I smile—wide. The dry skin on my lips splits and bleeds, but I don’t stop. It’s beautiful—my own personal gallery in red and black hues. The blood isn’t just blood anymore. It breathes. It listens. And now, it talks—not in sound, but meaning. Rage. Hunger. Power. Old power. Forgotten. Waiting. I don’t just bleed—I conjure. The figures in the pool whisper without mouths, and the more I hurt, the clearer they become. My blood isn’t just leaking. It’s listening.

A few suggested it was the end of all things, apocalypse written in blood across the sky. I stood at the edge of the sanctuary garden. The wind lashed through my hair like claws every howl of the storm. The same storm that once lived inside me, that had raged through my soul and poisoned everything it touched, was now painting the world in its color. Crimson. Blood-red. The color of guilt made manifest. And they came, as I had known they would. As they had to.

I bare my bloodstained teeth in the dark, waiting for the clash that will either save us both, or shatter the world. ​

Tommy walked over to Iris and pulled her hand slowly toward the table. He then took out a knife and suddenly slashed her index finger. The movement was so fast that Iris herself didn't have time to wince in pain. "Only the blood of Hunters can kill demons. And you are a Hunter, Iris. You are destined to possess that blood to exterminate demons." Eva said while collecting Iris's blood drop into a stainless steel container. Iris winced in pain as Tommy deliberately pressed hard against the incision on her index finger to force the blood to stop flowing out. Then he wrapped the incision with a cloth and gave her a lemon.