Inanimate Insanity Microphone X Knife Novels & Stories

I continued, the bitterness seeping into my voice, "I'm dreadfully inept at practicing it." I noticed the signs of fear reflecting in his eyes, a sight that strangely satisfied my intentions. Making my way to the table, I finally settled on a choice—a black, short knife, perfectly suited for piercing and stabbing. Returning to the man, I found Anthony positioned before him, not aiming for his heart but instead staking his hands, eliciting a pained cry from the restrained figure.

he mumbled. “Mikael Maximus Bloodfur, you put me down right this instant or I will put a silver knife in that perfect ass of yours,” Rayvin told him. Mikael’s steps slowed down. He hesitated, but didn’t stop. “There is no way you are carrying a knife in that thing,” he said, not sounding too confident. “Do you want to bet on it?” she asked. She was trying hard to keep her dignity while hanging like a sack of potatoes. Mikael had stopped. He took a deep breath and then placed her gently on top of the step above where he stood.

He dropped to the ground, leaving a trail of crimson. Matthias' face turned pale. "My Amanda!" Dante cried out dramatically. His stupid knife was stuck in the couch, covered in blood. Dante slid over the counter and landed in front of Matthias. "Hi," he said, smiling. "Uh..." He watched the Mafia reach for the knife holder, pulling the meat cleaver out. "Do you have a gun, Matthias?" he slurred. "No. It's upstairs. What are you doing?" Matthias' brain was slow to process what was happening.

“Jax, Silas, get her in there. Deep. I’ll try to thin them out.” “Thin them out?” Jax gaped at me. “Are you insane? We’re barely standing.” “I can hold them off long enough for you two to get her to the truck later,” I insisted, already moving, reaching for the Bowie knife strapped to my thigh. My other hand instinctively went to my gun, but I knew it was almost out of ammo. “No,” Silas said. His voice was steel. He had Maddie cradled in his arms, his blackened face set in grim lines.

I bark. Silas is a blur of frayed iron and sparking steel. He slams into a support beam, using the momentum to swing upward, his heavy blade grinding through the lead drone’s ceramic casing with a screech that vibrates through my teeth. The machine sputters, trailing black pixels as it hits the floor.

The acrid scent of his fear mingled with the metallic tang of blood, creating a nauseating perfume that hung heavy in the afternoon heat. "Let go of me! Help me! Somebody help me! Security!" His voice broke into a high-pitched shriek that bounced off the sleek hood of my Mercedes, the sound echoing through the empty estate grounds. I let out a low, dark chuckle… smooth, completely calm, and dripping with dangerous amusement. The sound seemed to unsettle him even more than the blade I held. I tilted my head, flipping the small pocket knife between my fingers with casual, liquid grace before resting the cold flat of the blade against his sweaty temple.

The concrete drank the blood that spread like ink, staining the gray a horrifying crimson. Three more stormed in, their faces contorted with a mixture of anger and fear. One with a blade, glinting wickedly under the dim warehouse lights. One with fists, balled tight and ready to deliver blunt force trauma. One with a taser, its electric hum a low, menacing thrum. I smiled through the sweat, tasting copper. My knuckles were already bruised, throbbing with a dull ache. The cut above my brow pulsed, sending a sharp sting down my face.

She barked out a manic roar and pounced on me, landing a blinding smack across my face as I tried to fight back. “Oh, I will make sure to carve the letters S.L.U.T on your face with this fucking knife!” Spittle splattered all over my face from her roaring mouth as she grabbed the knife and brought it down with speed towards my face. “Die you slut!!!” Fear. Fear. I realized that she had gone insane to the point where she would stab that butcher knife right through my face. And it was only adrenaline, that was able to push my muscles into rolling away from under her, just a second before the knife stabbed the floor instead. With a hoarse, angry yell, I kicked out my foot to plunge it right in

Out of all the things in the world, all I worry about is if the blade is sterilized or free from infections. The fact that the blade almost came out from nowhere didn't freak me at all. But still, I was scared to die so I placed my bloody finger when he made me place It. I gave him back the paper and have Dee pull me out of the place aggressively. "You are a fucking psychopath, Luciano! Take your fucking meds! Fottuto figlio di un urgggg!" {Fucking son of a urggggg!}

my partner cut in. “No rush. It’s 3742. Good luck, Holmes and Watson.” “We don’t need your good luck, poop,” she spat and ended the call. She entered the passcode and we opened the gallery. As usual, there were two images. One is an image of a knife stabbed to the ground beside a short, fat tree and the other is an AMU student entering a café. Wait… I snatched the phone from her hand and zoomed in on the knife. Oh, hell. “It’s an obsidian knife, the sharpest knife in the world.”