Isaac Castlevania Knife Novels & Stories

“I forged those weapons, Leland. How naive are you to use the weapons I created?!” Suddenly, he conjured a blade using the blood mist. The blade was crimson and emitted a chilling wail of a thousand ghosts when it took shape. Kayne announced, “My dear friends, I’ll give you one chance. Join me in unleashing the daemonic god’s power from Purecastle’s seal. If you do, I’ll spare your lives.” He raised the crimson blade and unleashed an even more terrifying wave of energy as he spoke. However, the Purecastle elders remained unfazed. They would never submit to such an evil being.

They are coming. Isabela’s face changes in a heartbeat. The rage smooths away. Her eyes go cold and sharp. Then she moves fast. She snatches the big kitchen knife from the counter. The sharp one Nana uses when she is cutting meat. My heart jumps into my throat. “Nana,” I manage to whisper. “Knife…” But Isabela does not come toward me. She drags the blade across her own forearm. Blood opens under her skin in a thin, red line that gets wider as it fills. She drops the knife on the floor beside me so hard it clatters, then lifts it again, smearing the handle in her own blood.

A strange looking net. Isaac went to grab it but I stopped him. I threw my silver knife on it and the electricity buzzed at my knife and was drawn to it. "It's electrified." Isaac says. "They took Jackson." I say.

I slowly reached for the dagger. I pulled it out. Quietly. Carefully. The moonlight hit the blade. Someone behind us chuckled. Probably Marcus. I held the dagger between us, not raised. “I’ll fix this,” I said under my breath. Sebastian raised an eyebrow. “By killing me?” I almost laughed. But I didn’t. I stood. Held the blade high. “I’ll do it,” I said loud. Calm. Elias looked pleased. “Then do it.” I looked at Sebastian one last time.

"Since we left the castle and whenever we interact with humans, you have a certain attitude of hostility towards them, is there any reason for that?" "... Actually, I don't think it's hostility that you perceive." Isabell replied in a low voice, inspecting her pinky nail in boredom. The black polished nail was almost 2 centimeters long. She had a nail clipper in her other hand, but the nail was well trimmed and required no polishing. Satisfied, Isabell tossed the clipper into a small holster beside her; which was actually a magic item for storing items.

King smirks, then presses the blade just beneath Isaac's shoulder blade and slices. The sound is thick. Wet. The kind that stays with you. Isaac jolts, a raw, broken sound tearing out of him, like a scream that never makes it all the way out of his shredded lungs. "Oh, fuck," I mewl. Wetness pools out of me like a river. "Careful, King," Mason warns, breathless. "His heart's not gonna take much more."

The screams of that bastard gave him equal joy that gave his sister. They made sure to bleed his anal enough to lose his sense while beating and scratching his body. When Sila saw the blood from his body everywhere after ten minutes, she demanded over the screams. “I want a knife!” Isaac walked and handed it to his sister. He gave her an assuring nod and stepped back. Sila clutched it in her hand and walked towards her culprit. The Vors gave her a way, stepping back while Adrian, almost half unconscious, opened his eyes and crawled his body towards her.

How did they know we'd be here? *Lynn!* Vincent called through the link. *What do we do? They keep coming! This is not a normal attack.* Lynn groaned. *I don't kno-* Claws dug into Lynn's arms, and the wolf bore its fangs into her neck. "LYNN!" Vincent yelled when Lynn let out a scream. He ran to help her, but let out a pained howl when he was stabbed from behind with silver. He turned around and ripped the Werewolf's head off.

“Lucien, wait…” “You were right,” he whispered coldly, eyes glowing like ice over fire. “I don’t forgive.” And he meant it. His hand moved with terrifying calmness, reaching for the blade hidden in the nightstand drawer. She’d once called it his favorite. He pressed it to her throat. “Lucien, please…..” The slice was silent. Clean. A gasp. A gurgle. Red on silk. And then, Isla collapsed. Just another name in the long list of those who thought they could play him.

85 Noah. The dagger came in a black box. There was no note or seal. It was just the blade, nestled like it was sleeping. It was silver and engraved with my name, and a crown. Isaac set it on the kitchen table like it might bite. “It was left at the gate,” he said. “No scent or tracks.” Of course there weren’t. I stared at it. I didn’t touch it. I didn’t need to. I’d seen that style before, centuries ago, when we were still pretending Edward hadn’t gone mad with ambition. It was the kind of weapon you sent as a message. Not for defense or declaration.