Flamberge Kirby Novels & Stories

Kiran took it and retrieved a lighter from the storage compartment. He ignited the lighter and used the flame to heat the scalpel until it glowed red. He then said, "Give me your foot." Avery didn't know what he was up to. She instinctively extended her foot toward him. Kiran put away the lighter and positioned the flaming scalpel in the gap of the crab's pincer. Then, he grabbed the crab's shell with his other hand. Soon, the pincer slightly loosened. Kiran quickly slid the scalpel further into the gap and quickly twisted it.

He smiled while they screamed and thrashed in agony, a glint in his eyes. Blake didn’t give up and continued the torture for hours while the few warriors that joined us kept running out to bring coffee and food. If torture were an art, Blake was an exceptionally creative artist. I had never even thought to imagine all the different ways a body could be disfigured. And as if he was a professor, Blake patiently lectured us on the benefits of each knife he was using. He showed off his clip point—good for quick, deep puncture and withdrawal. Then his drop point—good for skinning. Finally, his needlepoint—perfect for thrusting. All things I'd have been perfectly content never knowing.

Now, only power spoke. Gloria knelt first, laying a talon-shaped blade across her knees. Its hilt was carved from bone that pulsed faintly in the darkness, like a heartbeat echoing through the ground. The air grew colder around her, coiling like serpents, and her lips moved without sound. The frost crawling along her skin wasn’t entirely natural; it was the blade calling to her, the spirits whispering their obedience.

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.

His robe fluttered about, carrying an enormous silver divine halberd on his back. Her long hair was fluttering, and her eyes were like lightning. He had an extraordinary charm. One could tell from the blush on those pretty faces of some female disciples. Behind him, Zephyr Khan saw Vert Murray and the others. "Brother..." Amber and the others were pleasantly surprised to see their senior brother of their main peak, which made their original aggravation dissipate at once.. As for Zephyr Khan, he looked at the man with the silver halberd on his back.

Blight, Ryker’s Gamma, steps forward with a grin on his face. He’s dressed in all black like me, with blackout tattoos covering his neck and arms. Short cropped blonde hair, grey eyes, tall but muscular; I’ve heard tales about this Gamma that rival my own. He has a penchant for killing humans in the most gruesome ways, and his favorite weapon is a JagdKommando knife; the deadliest of blades as it has three edges that spiral together like a corkscrew into a sharp tip. No doctor can sew up a wound left by this knife.

Shame this was evening happening to me. Unfortunatly, Damon moved to stand beside Ethan. “These are Twisted Blade push daggers. A tri-edge blade that spirals. Also known as a cyclone blade. They insure maximum damage with little effort. When used correctly, it will increase our killing effectiveness by 10%. Your opposite will bleed out before their wolf will be able to heal them.”

Like when you check to see if someone who ruined your life is still breathing. And he was. Oh boy, he was. Standing there in his signature crisp shirt with his sleeves rolled just above the elbow—because of course he had to show off those brooding forearms like they were part of the curriculum. His hair looked like he’d lost a fight with sleep and won anyway. And his face… well. Still sinfully unreadable. Sharp jaw. Quiet fury. Those glacier-blue eyes that looked like they could undress your soul and bury it under literary metaphors.

The person stuttered, "M-Mr. Zalmer… are you saying D-Dr. Zal—Winifred—is your daughter?" Serena ignored the crowd and moved the cursor to play the surveillance footage. In it, I wore a white laboratory coat and wore a surgical mask as I meticulously worked on an experiment. Everything seemed normal. Just then, the glass beaker before me caught on fire without warning. Flames soon shot to the sky as a thick plume of smoke came from the beaker. Upon seeing that, Raiden pointed at the screen and exclaimed, "There! Winifred, you must've done something wrong. Don't worry, though. I can endure your punishment on your behalf!"

Liam. The door swung open, and Liam filled the frame, a cascade of dark curls framing a grin that could melt glaciers. His eyes, the colour of a stormy sea, crinkled at the corners, alight with mischief and a warmth that seemed to bypass all her carefully constructed defenses. He was taller now, broader, the boyish angles of his youth smoothed into a more potent, masculine line. He carried a worn duffel bag slung over one shoulder, a testament to his perpetually on-the-go lifestyle."Mitchell!" His voice, a low rumble that vibrated deep in her chest, was laced with genuine delight. He swept her into a hug, a strong, confident embrace that felt both familiar and thrillingly new. The scent of s