Bloody Knife Drawing Novels & Stories

I pressed the tip of the knife into his sternum. “I don’t like getting my hands dirty. Blood doesn’t go well with any of my clothes. But sometimes…” I dragged the knife down his torso. Blood welled and snaked down his body like thin rivulets of red. “Someone pisses me off enough that I make an exception.” I paused at the soft flesh of his belly, then rammed the blade in so hard he would’ve collapsed had he not been strung up. An inhuman scream ripped from his throat, followed by a second scream when I yanked the knife out.

"He’s clueless. Can a pampered bloodline pet like you actually draw real blood when the pack war breaks out?" "Watch me," I growl. I tear my double-curved hunting blades from their back scabbards, the silver steel humming as I execute a blindingly fast three-point kata right in front of them. The air slices open, the precision of my strokes whistling through the empty weapons hall. I move with raw, deadly intent, my body fluid, every strike aimed at lethal arterial points.

It hung dangerously over the edge, perfectly within Lila's sister's reach and seemed to almost begging to be grabbed by the blade, judging from the light that glinted off of it, adding some sort of mystical quality of charm and allure to the thing that could end lives without nary a care. There was a deep scratch mark, gouging out the tables edge on the path towards the knife, with the beginning point of the indent looking the deepest of it all, the line gradually becoming shallower and shallower until it was invisible, and leading to where the knife had dropped. A few drops of dark red blood sat at the side, and looking even closer, Lila could see a thin coating of crimson liquid that lined

The hand holding the knife slowly lifted it from the man's stomach, the thick knife was dyed completely red from blood, the sounds of blood rapidly coming out of the man could be held in the silent room, sounding so much like the sound a small Creek makes in the middle of the woods. Yoshiki who was holding the knife slowly moved it towards the man's throat and slowly moved to the very middle of the man's throat, as the man whimpered in pain, and from the slowly approaching knife, the knife was placed on area right above the place throat meets the chest and it sank in slowly. The knife was put in one-third of the way and left there.

I glanced at him, noticing his eyes were shut, and took advantage of his distraction. Slowly, I reached behind him and grasped the handle of the knife with one hand. I drew it out with a quick, deliberate motion and plunged it into his chest. Blood sprayed across my face, hot and sticky. He reacted swiftly, wrenching the knife from my grip with desperate effort, his breath coming in labored gasps. As he swung the knife back at me, his movements were fierce but unsteady, his strength faltering. I struggled to keep my balance, feeling my legs quiver under the strain.

When I reached the dresser, I hesitated only a second before pulling the drawer open wider. There it was. The dagger. The dagger was carved from very rare patterns and woods, I wouldn't expect anything else from a Lycan King. But when my eyes landed on its blade my. stomach dropped. The blade had streaks of dried and darkened blood. It was old, but still unmistakable. A tremor ran through my hand as I reached into the drawer, fingers brushing something soft under it. It was a cloth… folded but still stained, with the same blood.

His eyes twinkle with anticipation. With all my strength, I pull my arms out and plunge the knife deep into my chest with a dull thud. The pain takes a moment to catch up to me; the blood pouring out around the blade as Marc reaches forward and pulls it out, mesmerized by the blood. It always has been his gross obsession. he glides his thin pale fingers over the crimson liquid and smears it over his forehead. Then he places the blade on the windowsill.

I continued, the bitterness seeping into my voice, "I'm dreadfully inept at practicing it." I noticed the signs of fear reflecting in his eyes, a sight that strangely satisfied my intentions. Making my way to the table, I finally settled on a choice—a black, short knife, perfectly suited for piercing and stabbing. Returning to the man, I found Anthony positioned before him, not aiming for his heart but instead staking his hands, eliciting a pained cry from the restrained figure.

His gaze alone was intimidating, yet I couldn’t look away. "Yes," I answered softly, and he smiled. "Good," he said, then started to walk away. I watched him go, but before he was completely out of sight, he faced me and said, "Take this." He threw something at me and I caught it with ease. I looked at my hands to find the bloody knife he had used to slaughter my attackers. There was a golden snake engraved on the black handle and I could not help but trace the delicate design. I looked back at him when he said, "You will need that more than I will."

"Then plunge the knife to my heart, Kira." I squeezed my eyes closed and took a deep breath as I positioned the pointed blade properly to his chest. I puffed a breath once again before thrusting the knife into his heart. My eyes widened when the knife turned red like the blood filled its blade. He held my hand and helped me pull the blade out of his body. He then dripped the blood from the knife onto the champagne glass. My jaw dropped, getting amused. His wound then was slowly healing. I blinked multiple times while staring at his chest with blood.