Novel & Cerita Bloody Knife Drawing

Lucinda stretched her claws and pointed its tip to her chest. She pushed firmly and the blade stabbed her skin. The dark blood poured in the wound and mixed with Sara's body leaving a black mark. 'Again!' She took out the saber and dipped it in the cask and then she stabbed her chest again. As she repeated the process, a figure began to appear on her body. Lucinda took two hours to complete the drawing and when it was over it covered her entire right chest area and a half of her shoulder, as for the pain she felt during the process, it didn't even make her tremble.

The kind of knife you keep hidden, not to use, but just to know it’s there. I set it aside. Underneath, there's a paper. A torn sheet. Crumpled in the corner. I opened it carefully. It was a child’s drawing. Crude, jagged lines in black crayon. A gun, pointed toward a faceless figure. Over the barrel, scribbled in red: NO! STOP! The words were shaky. Pressed too hard. The crayon had torn the page in places. I didn’t breathe for a long second.

I had no trouble drawing my Glock-22, cocking it and crouching down next to the human trash pile. [Romani] "Do you know who I am?" I asked quietly. Slowly, I gathered their attention. [Romani] "No, but you are a dead man," the punk seethed. Nodding, I flipped out my neat little A****n blade, scooped out his right eye then cut him down his cheek to his chin in one smooth slash. He started to scream. I punched him with my knife hand in the throat to curtail that annoyance.

An unread text from an unknown number. I blinked, trying to force my vision into focus. I swiped the screen. It was an image. High resolution, stark, and utterly silent. In the center of the frame was a man lying on a bed. He was pale, his eyes wide and milky, staring at a ceiling he would never see again. His chest was a ruin of crimson, a deep, jagged crater of blood that had soaked through his white undershirt and turned the sheets into a sodden, dark map. Buried deep in the center of that mess, right through the sternum, was a tactical knife—its black hilt protruding like a tombstone.

My mind echoed the mantra, urging me onward. Without hesitation, I marked his other cheek with a deep, jagged gash. The knife danced across his arms, leaving behind long, grievous wounds that bled profusely. Blood painted the scene in macabre hues as I moved to his chest, carving so deeply that his bones came into view. His body grew limp, incapable of resistance, as he bled out, his head hanging in a grotesque display of defeat. The onslaught had taken its toll, and I could sense his fading consciousness.

With a swift motion, I produced a single-bladed hunting knife and grasped it by the blade. My eyes locked onto Marina's, and with a precise throw, I embedded the knife deep into her forehead. The blade bit into the throne behind her, pinning her in place. The sudden violence of the act was a release, a declaration of my refusal to be controlled. I stood there, watching with a mix of fascination and detachment as the blood streamed down Marina's face, a crimson rivulet that seemed to underscore my momentary triumph. A snicker escaped my lips, a twisted expression of satisfaction at the precision of my throw. But deep down, I knew it was a fleeting victory. Marina would be back, resurrected an

I clarified. “Y-Yes...” He looked up groaning. “So you allow me to do this!” I slit his neck deep using a penknife I carry with me all the time. My eyes widened in satisfaction. It has been a while since I splashed my hand with blood instead of c*m. Drenching myself with blood was better than with c*m but the after-work was time-consuming. I would rather have multiple rounds of sex than waste my time cleaning the blood and getting rid of the body.

I panicked more when I saw blood coming out of Ryder's neck. I looked around to kill the beast. I quickly grabbed the knife to my right and lunged at the beast stabbing the knife at his back. I pushed the knife deeper to its back then the beast let go of Ryder signaling me to twist the knife. The beast fell sideways bleeding lifeless. I ran to Ryder's side checking his pulse. His pulse is almost faint.

I whip around to see where it's from, and a scream gets stuck in my throat when I see that Benjamin just drew a knife from his coat. He lifts it into the air, holding it by the tip of the blade, then he throws. The knife spins midair, and as though in slow motion, it burrows itself deep into Hyperion's back. The sound of the blade piercing through his flesh would forever be embedded in my mind. The wet squelch, the firm hit. The splatter of blood that comes with it in the blink of an eye. It's right into the left side of his back, squarely hitting something vital.

I loved it. It took me not more than fourty seconds to get both of them to the ground. With my knife, I stabbed the other multiple times in the chest and drew a thick line in his head. He died painfully. The other díckhead with a bullet in his hand was trying to crawl away. I slowed down and stabbed him in the leg first, before drawing a fine line on his back. Damn! It looked so good, I could do this all day. I ended it with a hard stab to his head and grunted as I pulled my knife out of his hard skull. Bunghole.