Bloody Knife Drawing Novels & Stories

I continue to bring the knife up to the side of his forehead and start slitting it more digging more deeper and I take the knife out after a moment and place it on the floor getting my index finger as well as my middle I bring it towards his forehead as he screams and cries as I ignore him and tilt his head a little more and bring my hand up to his head hopefully near where his brain is, as I open the slit more I count down to three in my head. 3 2 1 And I dig my hand into his head as his screams worsen and tears start rolling down his face as I laugh and dig my hand even more so into his head until I get round to a big blob of something and I smirk and wrap my fingers around it and push my

Since she had not found her wolf side yet, it was difficult for her human self to withstand the poison in Zayne's claws. Zayne reached for his drawers, pulling every one of them opened until he found the awfully sharp silver knife. The only one which could cut through him without him healing up in a split second. He picked the silver knife, rushed over to Lorietta's side, raised his palm over her lips and stabbed the knife into his palm. His blood dripped out of his palm and he dropped the knife, using his other hand to spread Loiretta's lips and feed her with his blood.

Snatching up the knife from where it lay discarded on the floor, I drove it deep into his shoulder with a brutal force that shattered the stillness. The blood that stained my hands was a badge of honor, a testament to my power. His anguished cry reverberated through the room, his widened eyes a reflection of the agony that coursed through him as I continued to strike again and again. In a swift and merciless motion, I raised the knife high above my head before plunging it into his eyes with a sickening crunch. A guttural scream tore from his lips, the twisted dance of pain and terror etched across his features as I twisted the blade within his socket, wrenching free his eyeball.

Blood begins to fall from their mouths and from where the bones had punctured out of their flesh causing me to smirk before pulling their bodies the other way. Causing limbs and organs to be splattered all across the pavement. Letting out a content sigh knowing that the blood suckers are dead I look back at the one I placed on the ground. I flip his body over before taking the knife plastered on the inside of my thigh and dragging it a few inches in from the septum to the groin. Some blood splatters across my face but I stay focused while humming a little song. Setting the knife down I smile for a moment before my eyebrows furrow and I look at the mans face no smile adorning his features.

I hadn't been in it before, and I glanced around the dark gray, dreary room full of every weapon imaginable and gasped at the large painting on the wall of a female with her eyes scratched out and throwing knives stuck in her face. “Hmmm, still carrying a little anger about your past, Eh?” I asked him while I gestured at the riddled portrait. Shrugging he growled sourly without saying anything and headed to a trunk on the floor. “Choose a knife from the wall over there, Leora,” he huffed as he started grabbing piles of folded clothes. Examining the collection I bit my lip and reached for a Fairbairn Sykes knife with a wrapped black leather hilt.

All this power, all this reputation, and Danny was taken right under my nose. I could feel my eyes welling up in tears, hot and heavy, burning to get out. But I took it in. I forced them back down. Crying wasn't going to bring him back. I reached into the wardrobe and picked up the pocket knife I kept in the top drawer. I flipped the blade open, the metal catching the dim light of the room. I didn't hesitate. I pressed the edge into my skin and sliced it through my palm, deep and slow. I didn't even flinch. I just watched my blood drip heavily onto the wooden table surface, thick and dark.

Jamie moved in front of me. "Put the knife down, Adrian." "Why? I'm just holding it. Not threatening anyone." Adrian examined the blade. "It's from your kitchen. I took it while you were on the phone. Wanted to see if you'd notice." "We noticed. Now put it down." "No." Adrian's smile widened. "I want to show you something first." He pressed the blade to his own palm. Drew it across slowly. Blood welled up.

“I wouldn’t do that unless there was absolutely no other choice, and even then it would take a lot to convince me to send you away like that. I’m always on your side, Moana.” I slowly looked up at Edrick, who looked down at me with nothing but love in his eyes. It was comforting to know that he wasn’t going to send me away, but at the same time, I was still scared of myself. As the memories of my drawings slowly floated back into my groggy mind, I felt more and more guilty and afraid by the horrible images that I drew when I was unconscious. While many of the images were just violent nonsense, depicting things like blood and gore, the one picture that really stuck in my mind was the picture

Forms blurred dance—draw, cut, sheath—bodies colliding controlled violence, each brush electric foreplay. Shoji rattled suddenly, splintering shadow-intrusion. Five figures burst ink-black—board rebels, faces twisted vendetta, tanto knives glinting malice under dojo lanterns. Leader snarled Japanese filth, blade arcing Kenji's throat. Time fractured slow-mo: his bokken snapped block, but flanking wolves lunged my blindside.

"You have to stay with me, okay? Don't you dare leave me." His eyes are barely open, his lips parting to whisper something, but no sound comes out. My fingers tremble as I unfold the small penknife. The metallic glint of the blade catches the dim alley light. I'd rather bleed a little than let him die. I press the blade to my palm and draw in a sharp breath. Then I slice my flesh. It stings. God, it hurts. But the instant I begin to bleed, I bring my palm to his lips. Slowly, he parts them, sucking lightly.