Fake Knife With Blood Novels & Stories

I asked myself as I pondered over the tools. “Please.” She cried out. Okay. I have tortured her long enough. It will be quick. I picked up my favorite tool for such occasions. The blade glistened in the light as I lifted it off the table. I turned back to the now wailing whore and charged her with the machete. Her screams didn’t last long as I chopped her head off in three chops. The blood-covered me and everything near us. I smiled as her lifeless body hung there with her blood pooling at my feet. I took some of her blood and rubbed it over my face. Fuck that feels better. I said to myself. I then turned back to the table and grabbed my knife and carved my mark in her.

Fresh scars crisscross his bare torso, a testament to the brutality he's endured. He seems to be unconscious, unaware of my presence as I enter his personal hell. I take my time, savoring the moment as I leisurely stroll to the side of the room where a tray of instruments awaits. My fingers brush over them gently, almost lovingly, a stark contrast to their gruesome purpose. The tools are an array of nightmares made metal - serrated blades, cruel hooks, and devices whose functions will give the bravest of men nightmares. Dried blood coats their surfaces, a grim reminder of their recent use. I sigh, a mix of regret and anticipation in my voice.

If I could describe it, her blood feels like it is cold and wet, but like sludge, because when I insert my knife in, it kind of sits there stuck before I am able to pull it out. I think the worst part is the sound it makes when my knife slides back out. A sucking noise like when you stick your finger in slime and pull it back out but way worse because it makes me cringe and want to run. That sickening sound follows me after I turn around and leave when I realize that I am not hurting her at all. The wounds I just inflicted, are already healed.

He knelt beside the altar, drew a ceremonial claw from his sash—an old blade honed from moon-granite, passed down through our line—and pressed his hand to the stone. He sliced his palm with a smooth, practiced motion. Blood welled immediately, dark and thick.

It is the smell of blood … of death … I grab the nearest makeshift weapon that I can find, which happens to be a baseball bat that is resting against the wall. As I move further into the house, I sight a kitchen knife that has been discarded on the floor and drop the baseball bat in favor of that. There are small drops of blood close to and on the knife, but I don’t bother myself with that.

Jarek argued making a grab for my arm but missing as I yanked it out of range. Slipping my hand down to my pockets my hand found my pocketknife. I pulled it out and flipped it open close enough to be able to draw blood for either of them regardless of if one held my baby. This wouldn’t be my first time drawing blood nor the last. "Size isn't always a factor. Knowing where to make you bleed out the fastest with the smallest of cuts has always been better knowledge for myself.” I seethed at them begging of them to screw up and get closer. “Or how to make the bleeding take hours but the pain be so excruciating that you will beg for me to finish you off.”

There are bigger things at stake Xanthanius, you’ve seen women before. “Put the necklace under your clothing” I said and her hand fumbled a bit before successfully obeying the instruction. With how terrified she looked, I’m very certain she had no idea what the blade could do. Or I could judge after I have shown her the replica. Walking towards where she stood, not missing how she instinctively took a step back as I approached, I showed her the pseudo-knife I held. “This is what it looks like. Take note of the red gem in the handle. That’s the major difference between it and every other blade”

In my life, I had always restrained myself, no matter how angry I was. I staunchly believed that inflicting pain on others was an unforgivable act. Yet, in a moment that felt both eternal and fleeting, I found myself betraying my own principles. For the first time, I plunged a short, 20 cm military knife into Scarlet's abdomen. The blade slid effortlessly, fully embedding itself, as blood began to seep, staining her naked skin and the white bed sheet beneath.

Then, fear started to creep into my skin. “I did some research of my own and I found out that virgin or not, your blood is still as potent as it is. I may not know what happened why the dead Garlow didn’t live again after that stupid priest offered your blood to him, but I am willing to try my chances now.” He quickly drew out a Swiss army knife inside a drawer near the master bed, then presented it to me. I stared in horror as the blade mocked me with its sharpness. I didn’t take long to realize what he was actually planning. My heart lurched and my hands went clammy and stiff.

How many times had this happened before? “Thankfully, Kaiya felt it before it did any damage.” General Lorant looks at me and notes the knife in my hands. “Your knife is disintegrating.” I shift my attention to it at the same time that the blade cracks and falls to the ground. “You’re not hurt in any way?” General Lorant asks. “I don’t think so. I need to change my clothes though.” I point at the bright green blood and realize that it already seeped through my clothes, leaving a hole in them.