Bloodborne Saw Cleaver Novels & Stories

With intestines dangling and blood dripping, she flew into the darkness. A few blocks away from the building a young gorgeous lady is waiting for her bus ride back home. She sat by the bench underneath a semi-parabolic dome listening to Spotify. Engrossed in what she is doing, the lady is unaware of the creature silently flying above her. Smelling the scent of fresh teenage blood, Sarah ejected her long pointed tongue that punctured the synthetic dome and hit her prey on her nape. She then commenced sucking her blood as the victim struggled to set herself free. This time the girl was ready. With a sharp hunting knife in hand, she slashed at the tongue which caused it to be disengaged from he

I continued, my voice a calm contrast to his ragged breathing, "she thought she was curing me by giving me a target. But all she did was refine my palate." I walked over to a small wooden table covered in a velvet cloth. I pulled the cloth away to reveal a set of silver instruments, tiny, serrated saws, hooked needles, and heavy, blunt hammers. Each one had been polished until it gleamed like a mirror. "See this?" I held up a thin, silver wire. "Wolfsbane-infused. It doesn't just cut, it burns. It prevents the wound from closing, so you feel every single nerve ending screaming for a mercy that will never come."

I told them about the incident with the blade. As I pulled the blade to show them, my breath hitched. A sickening realization settled over me—the blade had begun to decay, its once-impenetrable metal now chipped where our blood had mingled. The sharp edge had dulled, the intricate engravings that once pulsed with power were now barely visible beneath the damaged metal. It was as if the weapon itself had been tainted, consumed by the impossibility of what had touched it.

Then, fear started to creep into my skin. “I did some research of my own and I found out that virgin or not, your blood is still as potent as it is. I may not know what happened why the dead Garlow didn’t live again after that stupid priest offered your blood to him, but I am willing to try my chances now.” He quickly drew out a Swiss army knife inside a drawer near the master bed, then presented it to me. I stared in horror as the blade mocked me with its sharpness. I didn’t take long to realize what he was actually planning. My heart lurched and my hands went clammy and stiff.

He looked like he was about to say something, but he was cut off when he started coughing violently. He spat out a mouthful of blackened blood. It made for a gruesome sight against the white carpet. Felix stared at the blood in disbelief before he jerked his head up to look at me. "Why?" I set my wine glass down and looked down at him from the tip of my nose. "I'm just fulfilling my responsibility as a mother." Felix's eyes widened when he finally registered my words. The wolfsbane worked quickly, especially since Felix had been caught completely off-guard. It didn't take long before he crumpled to the ground.

I remembered Shelby’s voice, sharp and unwavering. “You’ll need discipline, Doc. If you don’t clean your tools, you won’t stay in control.” His words echoed in my mind as I ran the rag along the serrated edges, ensuring every trace of carnage was scrubbed away. Then there was the small, cruel-looking saw. It had seen recent work—sharp, relentless, unyielding—and I felt a flicker of respect for its ruthless efficiency. I cleaned it with a meticulous patience, knowing that without discipline, it could turn against me.

Not the simple hunting knives of Lunaris, but sleek, black guns, glinting menacingly in the dim light filtering from the hallway. Knives of all shapes and sizes, some with serrated edges that make my stomach churn. And then, a chainsaw, its metal teeth looking sharp and deadly. My gaze drifts to another shelf, and I freeze. Jars. Glass jars filled with… something. My heart pounds in my chest as I take a tentative step closer. Eyeballs. That’s what they look like. Pale, lifeless orbs staring blankly into the void. And smaller jars filled with what appear to be… fingers.

That night the clinic lamp burned long after the camp had gone quiet. He sat at the desk. No chart before him. No blank report form. From the deepest drawer he retrieved the black metal box, pried open the lid, and from beneath the cufflink drew out something else. A scalpel. Silver handle, the serpent crest engraved along its length. The same serpent coiled on the cufflink. The blade was thin as a sliver of ice, gleaming cold white under the lamp. He ran his thumb along the spine. It did not catch his skin. It was too sharp to catch. A truly sharp blade does not scrape. It parts. You feel nothing until you see the blood.

I shakily open the box . I wipe off the blood on my hands with a towel and take the object out . " What am I supposed to do with a simple dagger ? " I mutter as I turn it around in my hand . It was sleek and sharp ; it looked as if it could cut through even bone . The handle was made out of wood though whereas the dagger itself was silver . That's the only thing that was present in it . It was empty . I search around and tap on it here and there , wondering if there's a loose side that unhinges . I top the bottom and try to pry it open .

They keep arguing in voices carrying, “How can I trust you to keep her away forever, Zayne might find her again, but not if she’s dead her scent will die with her” “How to get to that knife without dragging attention to me, I inch sideways, using my knees until the knife is between both knees, I lean slightly, my fingers patting blindly on the blankets until my fingers meet the hard handle of the blade. I keep my face calm, my eyes on them as I turn it in my hand holding the blade upwards and begin to saw through the roap. Going as slow as I can so I don’t nick myself with the poisoned blade, they will scent the blood or worse I might pass out again.