Hidden Wrist Blade Novels & Stories

I start walking back into the direction of the trees until I lost sight of the grass path and Penny and Wade. “Kil!” Penny shouts. I can’t see her and I can’t hear her well. I sit down beside a tree and reach for my phone inside my hoodie pocket. I grab it and open the back. I grab a razor blade and look at it. I feel nothing. I press it into my wrist until it bleeds, I can’t feel it I just see blood. I pull it towards me then I do the other wrist. Still it feels numb. Then I put it to my neck and drag it across, blood follows. I just sit and wait. I can hear Penny and Wade shouting me but I can’t answer. I close my eyes and waited.

Watson and the man whose wrist Liam was broken crashed onto the ground together, and at the same time, Watson's knife sank right into the flesh of his subordinate's trunk, and blood spurted out of the wound. "Ahh!" the man let out a shriek of agony and stumbled to his feet, his entire body shaking like a leaf. He was clutching his broken wrist with one hand, and as he stood up, the hilt of the knife stuck out from his flesh, glinting menacingly and even shaking along with his body.

I hissed in pain as the metallic stench of my own blood mingled with his, the blade having sliced through both my leather arm brace and the skin. I cursed under my breath and finished the rogue off swiftly. The knife clattered to the ground beside his now-limp hand, revealing a strangely beautiful silver hilt with a ruby embedded in it. Oddly ornate for a rogue—likely stolen. I took the knife and slipped it into the sheath at my hip.

Faster than the blink of an eye, he unsheathed a blade from its scabbard that was latched around his wrist and hidden beneath the long sleeves of his shirt. Then the thin but shiny silver dagger was swiftly swung at me just as Willa aimed the gun at Lewis and warned him threateningly, “Surrender, Lewis.” I managed to evade enough to avoid getting my face slashed, but the blade still managed to nick my earlobe. “Fuck,” I cursed loudly as the small cut burned more painfully than normal, all thanks to the silver material of the blade. Just then, another voice resounded, catching everyone’s attention. “No, Cal! Come back!”

I stared at my gray reflection and looked back at the mark; it would take five minutes if that. But as my eyelids dropped, I shook my head and looked down at my arm and pushed my finger against the top of the blade. It was as sharp as the scalpel in the hospital. My heart rushed as I looked at my wrist, "I don't want this life anymore." I softly cried out. "I can't- I can't do this anymore., I whispered.

Just me, silence, and a truth I couldn’t outrun. The blade was where I’d left it. Carefully hidden beneath a false floor tile and shrouded with cloth enchanted to dampen aura bleed. It wasn’t a standard weapon. This one had been gifted to me after the hybrid trials. Blood-forged. Custom-coded to react to the specific fingerprint of my aura signature. One of the only things that still felt real when the rest of my memories seemed to come and go like smoke.

I didn’t even breathe before the man pulled something from inside his jacket that looked like a blade, sharp enough that the weak chandelier glow caught the edge and threw it straight at me. “No!” Caleb shouted. Everything slowed. The scream ripped from Lucy. Derek’s body lunging forward. Adrian’s hand was crushing tighter around my waist, like he could shield me with his own bones. But the blade was already slashing toward me. Straight at the scar hidden under my glove. I couldn’t move and couldn’t scream. I couldn’t even do anything but stare as the silver edge came closer. And then… It didn’t hit. My wrist, my cursed, burning wrist, exploded in light.

BLADE 2. He forced his tongue into my mouth and pinned my two hands roughly on the bed. He doesn't allow me move. I wiggled my body but he ended up hitting my boobs with his palm. The pain sent the wrong sensation down my pussy. It throbbed shamelessly. He stopped kissing me and before I knew it, I landed a slap on his cheek which I regret doing. His demeanor changed instantly. I presume it didn't sit well with him.

she said. He adjusted her grip from beside her — not from behind, not surrounding, but lateral, which kept her sightlines clear and her instinct to flinch from activating. He moved her index finger a centimeter along the grip and repositioned her thumb and the difference in the blade's balance was immediate. "Oh," she said, before she could stop it. "Yes," he said. He stepped back to his original position. "The weight distributes through the grip, not the wrist. When you hold it from the wrist you're fighting the blade instead of directing it."

He had to consider who he was fighting for. The thoughts that were spinning through his mind suddenly came to a grinding halt. Without saying a word, Alex reached his right arm over his shoulder. The sword sheathed on his back was not like a normal blade. He crafted it himself with precise ingenuity. On the hilt of the sword, a small handle stuck outward from the side. Alex grabbed hold of the handle and pulled the sword from his back. The blade itself was rather short, only a little over fifteen inches in length. Attached from the bottom end of the hilt was a series of firm, leather straps, which Alex quickly fitted along his arm just above his elbow. Alex had been taught from day one that