Fake Knife With Blood Novels & Stories

The heavy knife in the burly man’s hands was cut open like it was tofu; the incision was hauntingly tidy. “How’s that possible?!” blurted the burly man. Fane took advantage of the situation and pulled his sword back, only to cut open the man’s head. There was a daunting fountain of blood from the dead man’s body, and the man rolled down the hill.

I hope so, especially that I don't have anything now but myself. After a few minutes when I thought I was okay, I went to the kitchen to cook. I took the knife and started slicing the onions. The knife sliced through the onion with far too much force. Maybe I pushed the handle a little too far. My index finger bled, staining the chopping board. The sting intensified as more blood drained from my brain, forcing me to take a step back. I heard that even a small amount of blood gushing out could make me sick. I look through the cabinets for the medical kit, but it appears that I hid it far too well.

I steeled myself and sat up, taking off my jacket and t-shirt which was soaked in blood. I realized that I don’t have my hockey stick with me. Damnit, if only I have enough time to reach the bag. But fortunately enough, I still have the belt Kaiser gave me. While brushing the kitchen knives—I added one more because having two knife makes me look like an assassin holding a pair of daggers—and also checking the nails placed in the holes of the belt, I glanced at my surrounding.

The guilt clawed at me, the pain in my hand spiking. Without a second thought, I reached for the drawer and pulled out ‘the’ knife, the cool steel glinting under the dim light. I knew the edge well and had felt it slice through my skin too many times to count. I lifted it, placing it in my hand, I drew it slowly down the length of my right forearm, watching blood rise in thin, scarlet lines.

His eyes were wide open, and his pupils dilated instantly. A man came in from outside. He was very tall. He was at least two meters tall. He was holding a sharp butcher knife dripping with blood, and there were several rusty steel nails stuck in his arms. There seemed to be black blood seeping out. It looked both bloody and terrifying!

Fighting throngs of them in human form is Thor's specialty. Before I abandon the car, I open the glove compartment and bring out the serrated edge karambit knife I took from Uncle Knox's workshop. The karambit is a perfect knife for silent killing. It can slice deep into flesh with ease and the curved and serrated edges on the silver blade make it a deadly and dangerous weapon that can hook and snag at sensitive organs like the intestine, making the person suffer a slow and painful death.

The thought of blood made me smile a lot and arrange the knife on the table from the largest to smallest. I look at the CCTV camera. Zeke might be watching; I should take his attention. I took one knife stand in the middle of the room to tear my own skin on the hand. Blood started dripping on the floor from my palm. The pain is making me feel alive and I can’t stop myself from laughing in enjoyment. I tore the shirt using that knife leaving the bra on. “Aren’t you coming back, Zeke?” I talked to the camera as if he can hear me licking the blood on the knife.

And not to mention how much blood I also lost. She said she couldn't kill me because of the mysterious man she was hiding. However, she is draining the life out of me. Since the first day, the knives she stabbed into my thighs have not been removed. I noticed that it was a Twisted Steel Scottish Dirk Knife. I read about it somewhere, but can't remember what its use is. As much as the witch fed me food and drink to regenerate the blood I had lost, I could not feel satisfied when I swallowed the meal. All I wanted to do was throw it all away because I felt sick to the core.

Probably some sort of knife. “You’ve got some explaining to do.” I said to break the silence. He then turned to me with his eyes looking unstable and lips twitching. I looked at his hands and saw knives on each one. The knives looked like karambit knives, a fixed and folding knife with curved blades often used for close quarter combat. Blood flowed on his arms as it dripped on the edge of his knives. He then grinned as he ran towards me and I immediately slid away to avoid him. As he passed by, I could smell a putrid smell, smell of decaying flesh and extremely rotted eggs.

Hu​man things. I‌ could do this. Make a sa⁠ndwich. Eat it. Go back upstairs. Simp⁠le. I found a kn‍ife in the drawer.⁠ Started slicing the bread. The blade slipped. ​ S⁠liced‌ right across my palm. Deep. Too deep. "Shit."‍ I dropped the‍ knife. Grabbed a towel. P‌ressed it against my‍ hand. Blood soake​d throug‌h im⁠media​tely. Too much⁠ blood​. Way​ too much.