Inanimate Insanity Knife X Trophy Novels & Stories

His eyes wandered to the pen knife that his brother was holding. “Is that the weapon you brought?” “Yes,” Zayn lowered his eyes to the thing in between his fingers and explained, “This pen knife was made out of silver and dipped in Growsbane. You should know that it is more than enough to take away your life if I desire it.”

I floated freely after the harvester monster was shattered into pieces. “Ba-how....” “I love about how you conquered it. Yet that's just my illusion, Mate.” “You're hallucinating because you're nervous.” I turned my head and found Terrence back with a glass of drinking water. I sighed and grabbed the drinking water and drank it. “It was a little real.” “By the way where did you get this knife?” Terrence asked as soon as he saw the silver knife that pierced the bolster before me. “Eum ...”

“This is perfectly safe” A few nervous laughs followed, shallow and unsure. “The swords have been equipped with non-lethal composite tips,” she explained, motioning toward the rounded, dark ends—elegant, polished, deceptively harmless. “They won’t draw real blood… just bruised egos…and…reveal who deserves to wear a crown next to the goddess Inanna..” She smiled and my fists clenched more. “Each blade is pressure-sensitive. One clean hit is all it takes to register a strike.” She continued with a light tone.

Was the fucking thing grinning at him? He whipped out his chopper, an eight-inch Afrikaner Bowie his uncle brought back from the Boer War, and drove it into the thing’s temple. Or tried to. True to his prediction, the creature blocked the knife-wielding arm with its left forearm, stepped inside his guard and delivered a teeth-rattling uppercut that lifted Quincy off his feet.

Rule number two of this business: know your prey. Mr Allard gets in the driver’s seat and now it’s time to have some fun. While he’s busy turning his phone back on, I carefully pull my best friend from my ankle holster. Crimson – as I like to call her – is an 11” titanium knife with a 5” trailing point blade with a sloping style hilt. I never go anywhere without her and before you ask, yes I call it a ‘she’, how can I not? She’s reliable, durable, gets the job done and is bloody every month. Quickly sitting up, I place the blade of my knife to this throat, while being sure not to nick the skin – that’s not how we’ll be doing this. His body instantly goes rigid as he pushes himself into the s

Big, cocky, stupidly handsome Gino the one who always winked at me when I walked past, the one who flexed his muscles at the girls like a dumb puppy. He was crying. Hard. Snot running down his nose. His hands tied behind the chair. One eye already swollen. His lips were busted, bleeding. “No! No, please, Brando! Don, please!” Brando stood above him, knife in hand. Not just any knife. A jagged-mouthed one. Curved like a devil’s smile. Rusty-looking. Nasty. He was laughing. “You let a girl get touched in my fucking club?” Brando growled. “You let someone crawl in and almost kill my merchandise?”

This knife was gifted to him by Luka when he came of age, he is the only one in the pack who’s not affected by silver. When Xavier saw the knife, he looked at his brother in defeat; he knew he was not joking. He watched as Zande cut off Jace’s head like a butcher; he took it off his body so clean as if a machine cut it. He places the head aside and took gasoline which Xavier did not even notice was there.

"I set the trap. And you walked exactly where I told you to walk." Sloane’s gaze dropped to the sleek tactical gear hugging my curves, then to the gleaming six – inch blade in my hand. A dark, bitter laugh tore from her throat. "Look at you," Sloane sneered, though a slight tremor in her voice betrayed the toll of the hallucinogenic trap. "Playing dress – up in the dark. Franco gave you a toy, Lolita. But a knife doesn't make you a killer. It just means I’m going to have to take it from you before I break your fucking neck."

“That’s why I’m called The Shiv.” “B-betrayer? Traitor?” he sputtered, “Don Vyon, I do not know what you’re talking about!” I nodded patiently. “Don’t worry. There’s more than enough time to make you understand.” I leaned away and walked over to the table where an array of knives, different types and sizes, were on display, my eyes scanning for the perfect tool for the night. For the sleazy traitor. My eyes finally settled on a twelve-inch blade with a silver blade, and the corner of my lips turned up in a half, sinister smile.

Though Nico’s going to be upset… I really must take the time to explain the threat his more seasoned fellows pose, not just to me, but to the country at large. I throw back the next two, but the guns still go off, and a consecrated bullet winds up embedded in my thigh. Fuck that burns. I snatch the butterfly knife off my next victim’s belt – regular steel, not silver plated – perfect for cutting that bullet out of my leg before if burns its way clear through the bone. It hits the ground with a hollow ting.