The Butcher Of Blaviken Novels & Stories

I leaned against the wall with my hand rubbing my chin, deeply analyzing the situation. “Sons of bitches took half of our silver.” Blayne retorted. This place was one of his favorite. He was a bloodthirsty head warrior that loved to punish people for their wrong doings. His rage called for blood. The first cameras had been frozen. The records demonstrated that the rooms had no movements where no one went in and no one came out. The strange thing about that was Blayne himself visited the bunker twice in the week and the camera never showed him entering or leaving.

" he yelled. The two subordinates then threw the man they were carrying onto the ground before the two mastiffs, which howled in delight before pouncing on their new prey. Loud screams of agony were heard. The guests lowered their heads, their faces as pale as a sheet, as they couldn't stop shaking in their seats, not daring even to peek at the scene that was before them. It was simply too cruel for Benedict to feed a living person to his dogs! Benedict wasn't human. He was the Devil himself! "That's Blade!" Christine suddenly said with a gasp as her jaws fell open, and her heart began pounding hard against her ribcage. The man currently being mauled to death by Benedict's mastiffs was none

When you whiteness the oxygen leave their lungs and realize there's no turning back is when all the blitz, fear, excitement, glory, and gore rushes through your body all at once creating an amazing feeling. Having someone else's blood on my hands is the best stress reliever out there. Right after I fuck someone, I make them feel like a dirty used up whore before I watch them take their last breath. And the greatest thing about it is, the cops will never find me or my crew, were anonymous. 3hours later. I sat outside Merlina's house back in California contemplating on what I should do. I came here with a plan on how I was gonna kill Mrs. Kathy but something just wouldn't let me go through wit

I remembered the look in the crow’s dead eye. ‎ ‎Survival. ‎ ‎I drew the blade. ‎ ‎It wasn't graceful. I scrambled across the seat, crying out as I lunged at him. I aimed for the gap in his armor, right between the tribal tattoos on his chest. ‎ ‎"Die!" I screamed. ‎ ‎The Butcher didn't even look up. ‎ ‎His reflexes were faster than thought. His hand snapped up, intercepting the blow just inches from his heart. ‎ ‎He didn't grab my wrist. He grabbed the blade.

a trader he worked in an abbatore and sell meat to meat lovers, he was the biggest boy in the trade, he was popular for the business and many were his customers, few days after he returned from the party, people had he was back at business and had came to patronise him, he had many staffs that worked with him and had a big knife he used in making deferent sizes of meats, so that people can purchase according to their financial strength, by one morning he could not locate where his favorite knife was and had searched everywhere for it but could not see it, and when the cue was getting longer he asked his workers to get him any sharp knife that he may help with the cutting, his boy brought a

I exclaimed. “What, you never witnessed that back at Grey Wolf?” He looked at me, smiling. “I did, but I never did it myself,” I replied. “And to be honest, never thought I’d witness it again.” “It goes great with my favorite Russian phrase.” Blake had a glint in his eyes. He turned to the other poor bastard, who was convulsing uncontrollably in fear. As Blake’s warriors struggled to hold him down, a puddle formed on the floor from him pissing himself. Blake just as swiftly sliced his dick off and yelled, “Hui tebé v rot!” as he did the same thing again, shoving it into his companion’s mouth.

It’s an irritatingly calming sequence to watch a man perform, which is why I’m refusing to watch him. "How about reindeer?" he asks, without turning. "No." "Reindeer with juniper. There is a recipe in the drawer." "Why are there recipes in the drawer? Are they assuming everyone who stays here are too incompetent to know how to cook?" "Because Swedes are organized people." "I don’t want reindeer." "What do you want?" "Anything that’s not reindeer." "There is venison sausage." "That’s reindeer, Kir." "It is venison." "Reindeer is venison. Bambi was venison. It’s all venison until proven otherwise, ergo it’s all reindeer."