Inanimate Insanity Knife Novels & Stories

When Sane woke up first in the morning, his initial reaction was to immediately curse before feeling the hangover that would ruin his day for two consecutive days in a row. He felt the pain in his head, and it was that kind of pain that seemed like there was a sharp knife inside his skull, and it was being dragged around by an invisible force. Not even a minute after waking up, he felt the need to vomit, but upon seeing that it wasn’t just him in the triple king size bed, he quickly stood before opening the nearest door which luckily happened to be the bathroom.

They are also both armed with wolfsbane filled dart guns, and 2 silver knives each. Ansel is wearing black cargo shorts, and a black tee shirt. He is armed with a set of silver throwing knifes, and a gun that shoots either deadmans blood or witches brew, depending on which one he loads into it. I am wearing knee high boots, loaded with throwing knives. A black skirt that is hiding 2 sets of throwing stars. A white tee shirt under my black leather jacket, which holds two small guns, one loaded with deadmans blood, the other with wolfsbane.

God, I’m going fucking crazy being here. I walk back to the bed and grab the knife I took at dinner from the nightstand. It’s made from the same material as everything else and is amazingly blunt, but I can use it as a weapon. Funny enough, it makes me feel safer having it close to me, so I vow to slip it into something I wear whenever I’m around one of those cunts.

His tactical intellect was definitely commendable, it was a shame someone with such intellect would be lost very soon. "What did you do to Annie?" I questioned the moment his stoic figure appeared from the looming darkness. In his right arm was a gun, possibly loaded, and on the left he held a pocket knife. I remained unwavering even at the face of his arms, they weren't deadly to me, except the bullets were silver. Since the knife wasn't a silver one, it was safe to assume he didn't have silver bullets, but even with that possibility, dodging them was a necessity.

“Aww, you think threatening me makes you a mighty giga chad, do you? I’ve been a member of the lawless underground society for more than ten years, and no one has ever dared wave a threat in my face! Are you happy that you’re the first? Now, come receive your reward!” Phantomknife unsheathed his snowy, shiny blades and pointed their tips at Javier. Cold glints bounced off their surface, making for a terrifying entrance, but little else happened, as Phantomknife never got to hit Javier with them. He felt a sharp pinch on his wrist and saw Javier’s silhouette get blurry. The next time his eyes focused, his shiny blades had changed hands. Javier was the one aiming the pointy bits at him now.

“Breathe babe. You got it?” My fingertips brushed leather. Boot. I hooked two fingers under the cuff, tugged. The knife was tucked in the inner side pocket…small, folding, serrated edge. I got it. The blade slid free with a soft click. We both let out the same relieved breath. “Yes,” Agnes hissed. “You beautiful, brilliant and smart bitch.” “Shh,” I snapped. “Keep your mouth shut. We don’t want to draw attention.” She went quiet instantly.

He twists the small knife in his hand and makes a wild stab at my stomach. I feel the tip of his blade grazing my side. Even though he looks practically insane, he didn't lose his speed one bit. He advances towards me in great leaps, taking wild stabs at every opening he can find. I parry his blows with the same agility, putting more and more strength into my blows until I knock the knife out of his grip. With one swift kick, I make sure he's never going to retrieve it in the messy room.

It was packed with all kinds of knives. Small paring blades with wicked curves. Longer serrated ones for sawing. Thin filleting knives that could split skin like paper. A heavy cleaver at the end, more for weight than precision. “What… what are you gonna do with those?”He asked. I pulled on the black nitrile gloves. “You Stupid piece of horse sh!t,” I said, almost conversationally. “You should know too well by now. Billie isn’t to be touched. Isn’t to be taken. Not by anyone other than us.”

He held the knife out, The polished wood gleamed in the low light. "I want you to ride it." My eyes dropped to the handle. To the thick, blunt shape of it was wider and longer than his fingers, wider than I'd ever taken. My hole clenched at the thought. Clenched and released and clenched again, leaking slick onto the tiles. "You're insane," I whispered. Cerci smiled slowly, his eyes never leaving mine. Thrilled at my response. A sensible person would scream. Would run. Would fucking do both.

"Every line of code in that chassis answers to my root command. Drop the knife, Aiden, or watch me cut him down myself." "You want him?" I snarl, the synthetic rage in my veins finally burning hot enough to melt the digital locks. "You want the prototype?" I don't drop the knife. I turn the blade around, burying it deep into my own forearm, right through the skin and straight into the subcutaneous neural port beneath.