Slayer World Painted Blood Novels & Stories

This is a trap. Grrrrr... A low growl sounded from all directions. Dozens of pairs of glowing red eyes emerged from the darkness, surrounding them. Grave Hounds. Revira backed away slowly, hugging Ardan tightly. "Don’t be afraid, son." The largest Grave Hound stepped forward. It sniffed the air, its eyes fixed on Ardan. The faint scent of Moon Blood was highly tempting to it. "Go away!" Revira yelled. The Grave Hound leader roared, then leaped to attack.

The Blood-Rain was not a metaphor. It was a physical corruption, a heavy, metallic downpour that stained the world a deep, visceral crimson. As the ten thousand newly awakened Hallowed warriors marched out of the Silver Mines, the sky seemed to be hemorrhaging. Each drop that landed on the skin felt like a needle-prick of sorrow, a cold, cloying reminder of the lives Selene had sacrificed to fuel her ascension.

Am-Heh's eyes turned to the grey abomination, its mouth drooling viscous salvia as it stretched to reach whatever corpse lay near, feasting on rotting flesh and bone, its belly swelling all the more as it did so. "Amsakah 'ayuha alshaytan!" A chunk of meat fell from the gaping mouth, shattering like glass as it hit the floor. Its head rolled around, a low groan visibly rumbling in its throat. Brilliant onyx eyes scoured around before falling on the desired target. Slaver began to flow, tainted with blood as the scent of fresh meat. Babi was unable to react quickly enough, barely able to blink, before the long arm flew round and connected with his chest, sending him sprawling across the floor

Offia whispered and Nwife opened his eyes widely. "Why did he give them a cut with the sword before burying them alive?" Nwife asked. "They said he was able to control their Spirit once their blood touches the enchanted sword. Normally, anyone who dies through such barbaric means would seek revenge, but once their blood is on the sword, they would be his slave forever and would do whatever he asks them to do. They kill whoever he sends them to kill," Offia explained and fear gripped Nwife. "He so wicked and the gods must punish him."

We were already outnumbered, we didn’t need the added disadvantage. I stalked forward, wielding the blade like an extension of my arm as I cut into limbs and rip open the flesh of those who stand before me, not bothering to check the destruction I left in my wake. Blood splattered across my face and arms, making my skin sticky as the smell of copper stung my senses. My goal was to follow the pulsing bond that would take me to Avalon.

This was the blood of a kindly old man who grew tomatoes, and the sheer, wanton cruelty of it, the vivid, screaming red of it, made the world tilt on its axis. I felt the breakfast I hadn't yet eaten rise in my throat. Just because I had killed zombies, it didn't mean the sight of blood, real human blood spilled in atrocity, was getting any better to handle. If anything, it was getting worse. It was a reminder that the greatest monsters in this fallen world were not always the ones who moaned and shambled, but the ones who could still scream.

She chuckled, turning her head at me. “Promise me you won’t sell this, Red,” she laughed. I shook my head, my shoulders shaking as I laughed with her. “I will keep this. You didn’t tell me you have this kind of talent, but you got my lips wrong.” I raised my hand, my index finger pointing at the curve of the lips of her stick man drawing. Aya glanced at me and then nodded. “Paint again, Red,” she murmured. “I can’t. Since Scarlett died, I felt like I could not paint anymore,” I muttered sadly, glancing at the last piece I made, Scarlett and our twins.

It was an unnatural red, closer to a dark burgundy, almost like blood. Suddenly, a massive bolt of lightning crashed down from the heavens and struck Godslayer. Andrew slashed forward, crimson light surging like a river of blood as it crushed toward Guillermo. The latter's breath caught instantly, and sheer terror filled his eyes.

Damian proudly replied that the paintings were works of art by both himself and the deceased ancient vampire elders. He said that the paintings were a precious heritage for the ancient vampire clan. "Some of the paintings are my work. I painted them. It has been my hobby for a long time. I like to paint what I see and what I feel. And some are the masterpieces of the elders of the ancient vampire clan." Damian said proudly. "I just found out that you vampires really like to paint. And not only on the level of liking, it seems that you are also very good at painting. Look at every detail of these paintings, there is only one word for it, PERFECT." Alex said with a look full of admiration.

If you looked closely, you could see the faint outlines of the mansion’s floor plan woven into the briars. Blood: A violent, crimson abstract that captured the night of the gala and the biological war of the Trust. It was thick, textured, and moved like a living thing under the gallery lights. Sky: An open-concept masterpiece of blues, golds, and whites. It was the New Sanctuary. It was the moment Ethan called Zander “Dad.” It was the feeling of oxygen finally reaching lungs that had been drowning for years. “It’s haunting,” a critic whispered, not realizing I was standing behind him. “It’s as if she didn’t just paint it—she bled it.”