Black Butler Dagger Novels & Stories

I shook my head, "Sorry, my dear, but I can't take that risk. You know too much, and I am obliged t bring you back with me. Now come on, let's go." was struck by a sudden shift in the atmosphere. The air around us grew tense, as if the very fabric of reality had warped, and I could feel my heart racing as my fingers brushed against her arm. And then, without warning, she lashed out at me with a dagger. The blade glinted in the dim light, catching my eye as I gasped for air. I could feel the cool metal pressing against my skin, and I knew with a sickening certainty that she meant to harm me. The dagger was a thing of beauty, despite the danger it posed. The hilt was made of blackened bone, et

He approached it. "It belongs to my mother," Ansel replied, his voice heavy with melancholy. He delicately lifted the dagger, cradling it in his hands. I wanted to ask more questions concerning the weapon but I hesitated. I could sense the depth of emotions attached to the dagger. "Can I hold it?" I asked politely. "Of course." He handed the dagger to me. The steel handle was adorned with intricate designs. The blade was silver and razor-sharp with an engraving. I couldn't hide but marvel at the dagger's beauty.

Her black hair stuck to her face and was entwined with the vine that covered her mouth, still, I could see those freckles, the ones that made me ache to touch her in a way I shouldn’t. “Leneve!” I shouted with concern seeing her hung and strung like she was. My feet automatically moved to carry me towards her, so I could free her. “Wait!” Oliver grasped my shoulders, yanking me back. “The dagger.” He turned me to look at the other side of the chamber. Lo and behold there sat a damn dagger. Silver and glistening with a stream of white light shining upon it. The handle was crafted with swirls and the pummel contained a molded cutout where a jewel would maybe sit or had once sat.

"What is this?" Alexander stepped closer, leaning down until his lips were just an inch away from her ear, his breath warm against her skin. "I got a gift for you," Alexander whispered. Victoria’s fingers untied the silver ribbon. She popped the lid open to find a heavy, polished silver dagger sitting on black velvet. The pommel was encrusted with a single uncut black diamond. "Custom steel," Alexander murmured, watching her thumb trace the blade's edge. "Forged specifically for close-quarters balance. I figured if someone is pissing you off, you should have something that does not dull."

A ghost who couldn’t protect what was his, either. “A thug?” I mused, the word a soft, dangerous thing. I reached inside my jacket, and the elders flinched as one, expecting a gun. Instead, I slowly pulled out a small, ornate dagger. The blade was a sinister, oily black. “A thug doesn’t survive twenty-three assassination attempts. A thug doesn’t keep trophies.”

“How about we find her first before I answer any of your questions" Erebus let out a small sigh. "You want precision?” He said. "It requires blood.” He extended his left hand without hesitation and brought out a black dagger from his pants, revealing his pale skin before slashing it. The dark blood welled before he let it drop a few times to the ground. Erebus knelt before the fire place, the ash wasn't warm enough to convince them that they had been here recently but the most important thing was that there was still ash.

In her short years, she knew firsthand that Lycans were scheming snakes that would do anything to get what they want. He had an ulterior motive for trying to help her; she just hadn't figured out what it was yet, but frankly, she couldn't care less if truly he could help her escape with Beau. "Fine," she muttered, and his lips curved in a restrained smile. From the inner pocket of his coat, he pulled out a dagger; the hilt was jagged, made with some sort of strange black material that was neither metal nor stone. Holding it out to her, the silver blade glinted in the dim light. It had some sort of ancient text she didn't recognise carved into it, but it was hauntingly beautiful.

His presence was enough. Lysander stood behind me, the dark dagger in his hand, its blade pulsing with pale blue light, awake after its long sleep. The dagger had been dark since the mountain, since the first shadow fell, but now it blazed again, as if it knew that this battle was the one it had been waiting for.

I took in a sharp breath of air. "Got her" Black yelled, then his finger tightened against the trigger as his eyes locked on mine. I let the dagger fly, aiming for his hand on the gun. The dagger hit its mark, and a rush of bullets sprayed in my direction. I got hit three more times since the weakness spreading through my veins dulled my reflexes.

Dante crouched slowly in front of Damon, his voice low and calm, like a father speaking to a child. "I changed my mind," he murmured. He stood upright, stretching his neck lazily before nodding at one of the guards. “Hold him still.” Two men seized Damon’s arms and shoved him back down, strapping him to the steel chair bolted to the floor. “What are you doing?” Damon asked, voice cracking. “I said I’d do it… I said I’d—” Dante pulled out a thick black blade from his belt—a bone knife, carved from the rib of a man long dead. Its jagged edge was laced with rust and something far worse—something that reeked of old blood and ancient pain.