Fake Knife With Blood Novels & Stories

The confidence I needed to know I could do this. I gripped the knife within my shaking hand. Tighter than before. “I am sorry. I was scared.” I lie to Blake, as I move to look at him, and with a sudden and swift movement of my arm I slash his neck deeply with the knife I had earlier stolen from the kitchens. One used to prepare the meat. One sharp enough to slice easily through flesh and bone. And it had done exactly that.

he handed me a larger ax-like weapon before sending me a small smile. Pushing the lady's head down, I take the knife out of the side of her neck and place it gently on the table next to her before repositioning my body, lifting the weapon up over my head I swing down roughly causing a squelching sound as it embeds into her skin cracking small bits of bone.

Xavier nodded at him and took those knives. Dylan started to run and kill with two knives in his two hands, he was running forward and killing wolves with both of his hands. Those knives were silver knives, Skylar gave those to his four officials if they could not fight long because of tiredness. But she didn't give one to Dylan because Dylan was the True Blood. Dylan never thought that one day he would need those too.

he cried. Blood! A slight blood splash could be seen on his shirt. “ What's going on? ” they asked in horror as they looked at the edge of the hallway. The blonde-haired Kira walks out from the stairs with her both knives dangling in her hands “ HI, I'm Killer! Pleased to meet you! ” She says with a jovial look on her face, blood dripping from the tip of the knives she showcased. They froze. They were so shocked at what they were seeing that they could hear their hearts pounding within their ribcages. The blood stain had to be hers, was she alright?

Kill them" They shoved the knife into my hand, its cold, unforgiving weight settled into my little trembling fingers. Tears blurred my vision, but I felt their eyes on me- waiting, daring me to hesitate. I looked down at the knife, the blade gleaming, and felt a sick, twisting sensation in my stomach. My body was shaking, but the grip on my shoulder was firm, urging me forward. As my hand moved, as the blade found its mark again and again, a quiet scream built inside me, swelling with each tear shed.

I felt like that blade fell not to kill the enemy but to stab my throat, taking my life. The faint scent of blood wafts through the air, and my fingers are as stiff as wax. I slowly let go of the knife and opened my eyes. The scene I should have seen should have been the knife stuck in Vincent's neck and the blood flowing everywhere. But no, the knife I stabbed aggressively only grazed the side of Vincnet's face; the blade was pinned to the mattress.

He had stepped into a different story and discovered he didn’t know any of the lines. Vince peeled back the cloth. The tray gleamed: a bone saw; a heavy cleaver; a belt of tourniquets; gauze; a small bottle of clear liquid that wasn’t water; a long straight blade wrapped in oiled paper, the kind of tool that had opinions about daylight.

With the sound, the sharp blade is drawn out of its sheath, and in the deep forest with the wind bursts, it is shining with the cold blaze. Then, Mary Kinson rolled up the cuff of her right hand completely, and then took a Swiss knife and ripped it down at the joint, without blinking her eyelashes, and her movements were neat. There was a stabbing pain in the concern, and then warm blood slipped down the wrist. She pointed her palm towards the grass, and the bright red blood glowed with light. When it dripped on the grass leaves, it was absorbed instantly like magic.

“This is fucking insane, what were you doing with this?” My attention moved to Ralph who was holding a small knife—the blade he usually carries. I guess it was a type of sculpturing blade or something. But what had my eyes widening was the few red drops clinging to the metal. It wouldn’t take any genius to recognise it as blood. It shouldn’t be a surprise, but I couldn’t help but be both surprised and scared.

Armed with his knife, he charged forward. “Bam!” He swung his arm back and pushed his knife handle onto the chest of his assailant. Knocked back, the Viper’s Den member coughed out blood. The member landed on the floor, dying from the internal injury. Siberian swept his knife across another’s throat. As another member bled out, Siberian carried on his massacre.