“This stuff is yellow.”
It was night. Our heroes had broken into a blood bank, to explore that avenue of making blood happen.
“It's the cryo-depleted plasmatic component of human blood,” rasped Lucien Thorne. “The process is known as plasmapheresis. When the cryoprecipitate is centrifugated out, this remains.”
“What has Science wrought? I am actually angry about this.”
“It's used to treat a rare but deadly disease. The Silent Killer.” Thorne's face hardened. “Thrombotic thrombocytopenic purpura.”
“I guess that's very nice for you people. But why did they waste the red part? That's my favourite part!”
“They didn't,” Lucien Thorne rasped. “Human sanguinary cryoprecipitate is a crucial supplement for people with low levels of fibrinogen. In fact, human blood is a precursor to a number of life-saving pharmaceuticals. Rh(D) Immunoglobulin-VF prevents haemolytic disease in the newborns of Rh-negative mothers. Intramuscular immunoglobulin is used in vaccines for measles, poliomyelitis and hepatitis A. Albumin is needed by people who suffer from shock caused by bloodloss. Intravenous Immunoglobulin IVIg treats certain primary immune deficiency disorders. Antithrombin concentrate helps to prevent bloodclotting during surgery or childbirth. Finally, there's Factor IX concentrate. It's for treating people with the inherited bleeding condition haemophilia B.”
“Wow, you guys are really into this stuff, like you can't live without it,” mused Blood Tits. I know it's not my place as the author to tell you this, but she was secretly impressed.
Blood Tits was a well-written and fully-realised female character. “I dunno. We'll do what you want.”
“Cheesesteaks,” rasped Lucien Thorne. They seemed like the sort of thing that people who enjoy things would enjoy.
“I don't want cheesesteaks,” Blood Tits deftly ratiocinated.
Lucien Thorne was a driven man; a man on a quest. “Bánh mì.”
“No,” Blood Tits explained.
“Bagels.”
“Those are the stupidest sandwich! There's a hole in them! They should put the inventor of bagels in some sort of camp.”
Lucien Thorne enlarged upon the history of bagels.
“Well I guess that's me, huh? Always the asshole,” said Blood Tits.
Anyway, that's my story. I hope you enjoyed it. Here's a list of other things that are a sandwich: hot dogs, layer cakes, French onion soup.
“Don't make me call him,” she cried.
“Call who?” the captain shouted back, which is a weird thing to do in a firefight, but it's also weird to have a firefight against a scary blood lady who uses magic throwing blades.
“Just back down, assblouse. You don't wanna know.”
He hesitated briefly, then spat out, “It's a bluff, boys! Take her down!”
And she called. She called in a song of currents and waves, to the creak of forgotten ruins and wrecks, to the carillon of secrets washed over by the sands of oblivion. It resounded through the water column: dark, darker, black. Down, down, down.
The ocean floor so vast. Lightless, beyond breath, where particulates had for geological ages lain undisturbed, in check by an alien pressure.
They billowed and clouded now, madly so, and the plume could eclipse nations. From the soundless abyss it rose. Greater than the mind can encompass. It breached from a churning vortex where sea battled air. Greater than the sky. Pitched against an enemy sun, there rose the Loch Ness Monster of Cock and Ball Torture.
“I'm the Loch Ness Monster of Cock and Ball Torture!”, said the Loch Ness Monster of Cock and Ball Torture. “Ah-hyuck!”
“Hi the Loch Ness Monster of Cock and Ball Torture,” said Blood Tits.
They have burned books before. Blood Tits is the one so hot, it'll catch fire on its own. A face-melting barrage of extreme porn and ultraviolence that’ll catapult Humanity to new echelons of self-comprehension and heal a broken world. The only summary that can do it justice is summary execution. Recipes inside.
Beneath boiling skies of red, Lucien Thorne at last obtained a clear view of his adversary. She radiated infernal majesty. Blood covered every part of her body, dripping from her moist funbags and ham-hams.
Every part but her eyes, where in the white there glowed the red irises of an albino rabbit.
She smiled.
Cruora. In a world askance to ours, she rules an empire of gore. Reading Robert W. Chambers’ 1895 work The King in Yellow inspired her to create her own stage show:
Her costume in this stage-bloodsoaked sexxxtravanganza is that she wears nothing but blood. In the interests of modesty, however, it is a lot of blood.
There's also Lucien Thorne. A man so driven, he owns a leather trenchcoat with a swallowtail cutout that lets you see his ass, but is too poor to buy a shirt. He is a drawing brought to life by the death wish of a child. His quest? To end the world's pain.
They make out and kill God.
"A landmark work of novelistic ambition."The Journal of Important Literature
"The next Homestuck." News City News
Get the first 8,377-word installment from your ebook purveyor of choice that isn't Amazon. I know people don't want to pay for things on the Internet, but it's, like, four bucks. My fave is the famously reader- and author-friendly Smashwords.
The logo's a link, you just click it, easy pie.
If you have another ebook vendor other that fucking Amazon that you like better, it might also be up on that. If you don't want to pay, you can even see if your local library's ebook-lending portal has it.
Fight by my side in the human wave attack on Heaven.
I am. Soren Saxil. Renegade novelist. Sentenced to glory. The crowd roars. The crowd soars; floodlights heat, and the sky feels close enough to touch.
“Aw shit goddammit,” Cruora explained. “Oh shitbanging nope,” she elaborated.
From uncaring skies of grey it came. Forth fell the tears of Heaven.
“I need to have blood on me or I'm naked! This is obscene!” This writer assures you that this is not a sex thing.
A stranger said, “cover your shame, girl!”
“Literally fuck you,” Blood Tits replied. She could harvest the person’s blood right there, but then they’d just go to Heaven like all the other sanctimonious control freaks.