Cock Fighting Blades Mga Nobela at Kwento

The moment the doors slid open, I darted like a flash to the nearest weapon rack mounted on the stone wall and snatched down a heavy steel nunchaku. The steel rods gleamed wickedly in the dim light, the chain between them clinking together as I twirled the weapon around my wrists with practiced, effortless ease. Kayhan’s eyes narrowed to slits. He reached for the rack himself, pulling down two ryyk blades. The short scythes gleamed in his hands, their curved edges promising blood as he balanced his weight. “Let’s see what you’ve got, Kayhan,” I taunted, my delight twisted and sinister.

Dominic hammered his fists into Jarek’s chest, but Jarek’s skin was hard as tempered steel. It was a brutal, ugly fight. There was no grace, no supernatural agility. It was the sound of skin bruising and bone cracking against stone. "Dominic, get away from him!" I shouted, scrambling to my feet. I saw the way Jarek’s arm was shifting—the flesh literally receding to reveal a long, serrated blade made of cold, surgical carbon. Dominic didn't see it. He was too focused on the kill. "Dominic, look out!"

A gash of red slid down his cheek as I smirked and lunged again. A short blow to his ribs that he blocked easily. But it left an opening on his left. Step. Round house kick his jaw. Jump from his own blade, narrowly missing his lethal blow. Finally a much bigger opening came into view. Both his hands were on the blade. Wrong fighting style, genius.

I said, jabbing my blade into his abdominals. Muscle and ligaments tore. Ribs cracked as I carved into him. Precise, quick, deep cuts. The blade was hand crafted to suit my purposes. Just in case my past came knocking. He was so caught off guard by my revelation he couldn't rally in time to stop me ripping into him. Muscle memory took over. Ghost Blade went to work. Lance's blood splattered between us. His knife aimed blindly at my body while he choked on the blood pouring out of his mouth. Face marred in pain, but he refused to cry out.

"We're not separating. That's exactly what they want." "What they want is you," I countered, my voice dropping lower. "Alive and preferably docile. Me? I'm just a loose end that needs tying up." I unsheathed my main blade, fourteen inches of blackened steel that had seen me through more fights than I cared to remember. The weight felt right in my hand, an extension of my arm. With my other hand, I checked the smaller blades strapped to my belt and boot. Not much against what was coming, but they'd have to do.

He raised his two hands up, showing some form of surrender, but I knew better, I wasn't stupid to take his lack of weapon for his surrender or weakness. He cocked his head sideways grinning like an idiot which I know he isn't. “What will you do dear Lora. Fillet me like salmon.” “I'm serious” “So am I.” He gave me a cocky smile that twisted my stomach. And continued. “That knife is Henckels. Eight inch chef’s knife. Sharp enough to cut through bone if you knew what you were doing.” He took one more step closer and my breath hitched, it felt like I was slowly closing the lid to my own coffin.

I jump kick into his back and he goes flying face first into the grass. He gets up and runs at me again, trying to grab me, I get under his arms and hook his ankle. I shove my shoulder into his chest and he falls to his back. He groans. Blades trying hard not to laugh. He’s almost crying. We’ve drawn a crowd. He swings at me again with left and right hooks. Huffing out breaths, but I’m too fast. I grab his arm and throw him over my shoulder. “Ok.” He groans. “You made your point.”

Two blades gleamed in the low light. Shit.

"You think you're fit to lead the Bratva? You're just as weak as your father." The venom in his voice pushed me over the edge. "You done?" Fuck talking. We were past that. Both of us drew knives – nasty pieces of work, serrated, designed to not just kill but mangle. My blade curved with the presence of a fucking machete. Pull this baby out, and it'd drag your guts with it. Our knives met with a grating clash of metal on metal. Sparks flew, mirroring the ferocious energy between us. He lunged, aiming straight for my heart. I sidestepped and swung, my blade singing as it sliced through the air and cleanly severed three of Viktor' fingers.

The twin blade glittered beautifully in the light. Rick was a ticking time bomb and it was best to be prepared. I lifted the crescent shaped blades up and inspected them. Their edges looked really sharp and they were light in my hands. I wasn't joking about wanting to peel off his flesh strip by strip but that could wait, at least until he makes his move. Silver is really pretty.