The Bloody Painter Novels & Stories

Where do I really wanna go? “Ah!” My eyes widened with shock as I felt the sudden pain of the cold metal slashing through my stomach. Still recovering from the shock of being stabbed from the back, I felt another one, and another one, after another one. Totally wrecked, my frail body touched the ground, facing the sky full of bloody hues. “Why…” my lips quivered with tears as I felt my soul shattered with the physical pain, agony, and betrayal. My sight is turning blurry but I still can clearly see the devious faces of Arturo and Dominic gazing upon me. “Why…” with my last breath, I still want them to tell me the truth.

PROLOGUE The chaos was just starting to worsen. The SODAIR kingdom, led by the Human King, King Gaber was getting endless challenges from the Viper King, King Morton from BESHADONNA kingdom. These two kings have been fighting a battle that their forefathers fought. Trying to survive, no one dared to negotiate since it only meant surrender. The viper kingdom is known to take humans captive to their territory. They are so cunning and clever, with the use of their belladonna flowers, they tend to take humans astray, promising Utopia but then giving them endless pain and suffering from slavery.

Three of his fingernails had been ripped off; the rest were packed with blood and dirt. A gust of wind hurled snow through the front door. When he didn’t stir even from that, she lifted the broom a few inches and pushed the door closed behind him. “Who are you?” She didn’t expect an answer, and he didn’t give any, just lay where he’d fallen—skin and muscles and dirt and blood. No, he shouldn’t be painted, she thought then. He was a completed work of art already—a human canvas painted with violence. Some people equated art with beauty. She knew, better than most, that wasn’t always true.

Red and black. It shouldn’t startle me, but it did. Cause some of them were lewdly drawn. If you have no idea about Ralph Romano–consider yourself lucky among a limited amount of people, cause Ralph Romano’s disaster. A living alive spawn of satan–no–the devil himself. He paint with blood and conveys screams in his paintings, he was a world-renowned artist respected by many as well as feared. Including me. I hated him.

Rain turned to look at the man next to her who still maintained a calm expression on his face. Most of the blood that spurted out of Pietro’s hand landed on his face and his suit yet he looked so calm…he had a gun in his hand. He killed the man. Rain wasn’t sure what compelled her to move her body, she got up… she looked at him in horror. He didn’t look like he just took a life, he looked like—a demon—no, Lucifer himself. She took unconscious steps backwards. She couldn’t stay here, she couldn’t stand the sight of blood, she couldn’t stand the sight of…him.

And what is happening in there town? They don't understand at all, and why this horrible act is happening in their town? All of them stood there stretching there head in confusion; trying to figure out why people are dying, and who is responsible for this terrible action, from that day forward they called it BLOODY DAY! To me, this is a big mystery that can't never be solved. ( This Story continued) ATTENTION READERS: This book have different series book 2-9

Shades of red, brown and black diademed the canvas, yet not getting mixed together, as if they harboured misogyny. The form became more vivid as the lifeless colours brought life in the painting. And then, like a gentle stroke of a fine paintbrush on the canvas, an obnoxiously metallic smell of blood wafted in my nostrils. Blood! The colours swirled and turned into something more vivid. I could see the form clearly now. I scrunched up my nose as the smell of fresh blood became more intense, almost unbearable. I walked to the figure through the blur and hollow, my instinct telling me to stop.

I touched it again in different places, and it still felt like a regular painting. “Are you kidding me?” Frustratedly, I hit the painting with my fists and scraped my knuckles from the corner. Some of my blood splashed on the painting. I grabbed a cloth to clean it when I noticed it had disappeared. My blood was nowhere to be seen. I looked down at the cut on my hand and back at the painting. “Blood Magic,” I whispered as I touched the painting with my bloody hand. “Come on, grimoire. Come to me.”

They would draw you in and made you feel you were falling down a bottomless well. He opened his mouth, let his canines grow out and bit hard into my palm drawing blood. The pain shot through my body and broke our eye contact. I screamed and took back my hand. I did not havr time to dwell on the pain. I ran to the door and started painting the blue hue around it with my blood. I watched the colour buzz and fade away wherever it came in contact with my blood. I had covered more than half of the door in blood when the bleeding stoped. I looked bacl at Luciano who had been starring at me quietly all this time.

>> The uninterested expression on the painter face infuriates the other, who continues strick the heel on the floor. " Think about it Duke Thomas Eavl , I would be waiting for your answer." The stricken sounds of heels, faded in the environment . The painter took of his thick eye glasses, reveling those pair of sad grey eyes,His messy blonde hair was tied in a bun and white tips. His hand suddenly trace on his beautiful painting of a smiling brown hair female, tears hitting the ground. " I can't, I can't wait any bit longer." The view slowly pass the squat and crying Painter, towards the beautiful view of the blue skies and birds on the air.