Black Butler Dagger Novels & Stories

He wanted to snatch the clinging dagger. Jace tried to stop him. He ran to overtake Franco, but Franco was faster. Franco took the dagger and screamed as his hand touched the base, which was also made of black bone. The dagger clinked on the marble floor, and Franco slipped and fell. Jace pulled the rest of Franco's shirt up with one hand and grabbed the dagger with the other. The dagger made of black bones glowed brightly and was shrouded in black smoke that coiled intensely. The black smoke wrapped around Jace's arm, and it was as if the black bone dagger had fused and become part of his hand.

No other way. "Good luck to you." He tilts his head. "You'll need it." "Hey!" I call after him, but he's already gone. I open the package he gave me and inside is a small dagger made of black stone. There's a rough shape carved onto its handle, but I can't make out what it is. So he gave me a blunt dagger with a nonsense symbol. This thing is supposed to make a difference between life and death? Yeah, right. I can't even stab butter with this hunk of rock.

A beautiful handcrafted handle, perfectly polished and engraved with the pack's symbol and the family's last name in old English letters. The dagger's blade is made of pure silver. Mixed with white ash from an old ancient tree and dipped in Angel's blood. The perfect combination that will end the life of a primordial vampire. "I'm sure you took my advice and studied your stuff. You can not kill a primordial vampire with an ordinary silver dagger, a regular vampire perhaps...but it will not work on a primordial... just like the wolf bane will not work to kill a Primord wolf." He smiles at Blake and sighs.

It wasn’t from fear, but the blade itself! Suddenly, two daggers appeared in Black Hand’s hands. Each hand held a dagger. The hilts of the daggers were exquisitely engraved with the image of a beautiful rose, and the blades of both weapons were pitch black. The weapons looked like they had stolen the color of the night for themselves, and they filled all who saw them with a sense of dread that couldn’t be explained. “Beautiful daggers,” Mane expressed his admiration for the maker of the daggers when Black Hand revealed them to the world. Even he felt a sense of dread from those blades.

BLADE 2. He forced his tongue into my mouth and pinned my two hands roughly on the bed. He doesn't allow me move. I wiggled my body but he ended up hitting my boobs with his palm. The pain sent the wrong sensation down my pussy. It throbbed shamelessly. He stopped kissing me and before I knew it, I landed a slap on his cheek which I regret doing. His demeanor changed instantly. I presume it didn't sit well with him.

What they face was not the weak and helpless ant-like cultivator as they had expected but the wrath of the grim reaper in a black butler tuxedo wielding a rapier. “Sir, I’m afraid you’re in the wrong and at the wrong time. Might I suggest you evacuate out of here at once? Otherwise, I’ll need to forcefully remove you from this world.” The butler in the black tuxedo said toward the invaders in a British accent. The invaders look at each other before some of them rush at the Butler and get turned into thousands of slices of meat cubes as they fall to the ground that was littered with their blood, innards, and organs.

Even if we only catch one today, I’d need to be thoroughly sure that there were no more and I wasn’t positive I’d ever really be sure or trust my men again. Every hair on my body stood up and I knew something bad was coming so I whipped back to face him. I saw him reach into his coat and slip out a dagger. It was silver, and the hilt glimmered in response to the one small dim lamp in the corner. It was ancient, and probably handed down, and definitely spelled or poisoned by a greedy little witch’s family.

The silver-black haired picked up the black 1918 trench knife from the table and joggled it a bit. 'As promised, I won't waste your time. However, I want you to know before you die that your daughter is already dead.' The man's eyes widened, but before he could speak, the extra sharp blade was thrust into his throat. With a good amount of strength, the silver-black haired forcefully dragged the knife south, tearing the man's chest and stomach open.

In front of him, Elias knelt— but it wasn’t Elias, not truly. This version of him was clothed in something strange—elegant, ceremonial, stained dark at the edges with what could only be blood. His eyes—those damnable, unforgettable eyes—shone with something between defiance and heartbreak. Lucian tried to speak, but his throat burned. No sound came out. One of the cloaked figures stepped forward. A gnarled hand extended. In its palm—a dagger. Black metal. Ancient. Humming with a malicious life of its own.

Malice… she went frozen stiff, getting to see what was in his hands. “Where did you get that?!” She climbed down the bed when she remembered to move again. “Where did I get what?” he teased maliciously, seeing her shocked face. “That’s…” “Oh, this?” He held up the dagger. The black, slim, grip. Metallic pommel. And… “You seem like you’ve seen a ghost. This is just a ruined dagger, isn’t this?” He drawled. “Somebody must have thrown this into a stove. The blade is all blackened.”