Origins of Blood Chapter 4: Chapter 3: Rot Blut

Read chapter 4 of Origins of Blood by Bloody_Potato on NovelPedia.

Elliot’s POV—Red Blood “Blut für Blut.” My mouth twists at the sensation of bullets piercing my body. I stumble backward, fall over the dead creature behind me, and glance down. My hands are blue. No, they run red. I fire, gasping for air, and squeeze through something slimy behind me. My vision flickers, and once again, I rise but fold like an accordion in the hands of a virtuoso. My stomach rips apart, or bullets eat their way through—I can’t tell anymore. However, the monster, too, lies on the ground, air leaving its cobalt lips, just as its sinister smile does. Pow! Another shot, right into my left leg. I cry it all out. “Kommt!” Its eyes gleam blue but darken at the sight of the hole in (what seems to be) its friend’s forehead. “Sonat!” Boiling blood leaves me. The world grows pastel—the edges of my vision darken. Yet amid all misery, my eyes remain bound to my soul; the foreign tongue shouts at me. “Sonat ist tot!” Its pupilless eyes shed fountains; then, it shoves its revolver into my throat. “Boss, Blut für Blut!” “Sonat?” says another, puzzled; it jumps through the broken window and faces the dead sailor. In an instant, the door from the entrance of my house is ripped from its hinges. Less than a quarter of a ragged breath, and it slips two inches above my nose— My eyes snap open as if I’ve been electrocuted with a thousand volts. My gaze follows the door—rushing at what seems to be over a hundred miles per hour—which causes my brother to tumble downstairs. It takes two burning breaths for Ren’s leg to be shot, and five agonizing seconds—too long for me not to shed tears—before one of the blue sailors pins him to the ground. “You bastards!” I manage, half spitting, half gasping. “Blut für Blut,” says the one who kicked the door—a wide grin stretches beyond its cheekbones. Red blood pours from its mouth—neither eyes nor teeth, and all deeper than endless seas—just a pale, thin, but tall creature dressed in a burgundy suit. No , blood like the rest, the sun just reflects it differently. I curse and cry as it stomps its spider-like leg, crushing my knee. “Name?” I try to spit in its face. In vain. Once more, it stomps, this time into my stomach, however. I groan and retch, but nothing comes up. “Bist’ schon scharf auf Ketten?” I gasp nonstop. Everything blurs. “Schwein!” In my peripheral, the sailors (three or four in total) nod and repeat the word in unison; some grin sinisterly, others with wrath. Then the faceless being leans over, cuts its own palm—with whatever I miss—and speaks anew. “Blut für Blut.” Green blood gradually spirals onto my lips, and a moment later—as it presses its slender fingers into my nostrils—blood drowns my mouth. I drink it like something sacred. Almost bite my own tongue off. Suffocate even. As the faceless creature releases me and pours more of its fluids over my body, I cough, turning to face Ren, who (like me) trembles all over. I scream. No. I can’t; only blood leaves my throat. “Blut für Blut.” Warmth washes over me, a numbness blended with fire beneath my skin. It prickles like a serpent’s skin molting. But I look to Ren, to my light—to the only thing that doesn’t hurt. No, it does hurt. Don’t take him from me! Blood leaves my mouth. “R—R—Ren!” They drag him away … tear him from me. But before I hear him shout anything, something strikes my neck, and everything darkens … grows darker still.