Joker's Knife From Dark Knight Novels & Stories

“Oh, yes, I was about to introduce you to Lolita!” “What?” I asked, confused. What is he talking about? He took a wooden box from his bag. He opened the package and took out a razor-sharp knife. It was a striking steel knife with an image of a panther’s head. The walnut handle has a sterling silver panther head with gemstone embellishments on top. My eyes grew wide. I’ve seen this knife before. It was my father’s knife that was lost. He used it to make me kill Finn. “H-how did you get this?” I shouted. Visions of my father tormenting me flashed before my eyes.

Archer started throwing punches one after another. I know I need to do something. I can’t stand here and do nothing. Just then I saw Archer whisper something to Mr. Drake and then he took out something shiny. I already know what it is judging by its shape. I used to hold different types of it. My mother and father taught me how to use it. I remember them saying how a knife can be your friend and enemy. I saw Archer raise the knife and strike it on Mr. Drake’s knees. I had to look away as I heard Mr. Drake shout in pain.

I froze when I spotted the first sliver of an out I’d seen since he blasted into my life that day. On the table sat his gun with the silencer still attached, along with a knife. It looked military, much larger than the average pocket knife, with the blade and handle being one piece. The tip curved up into a sharp point. I couldn’t take my eyes off it. That piece of metal could free me. The gun I could fuck up with, plus I didn’t even know if it was still loaded with as many shots as he got off, but a knife? Anything goes.

They got off too easy. Even unharmed, it doesn’t relinquish the air of danger that clung to him. Niko stalks forward as though daring someone to make a wrong move. No one moves, I doubt anyone even breathes. I sure as hell didn’t. Crouching low before one of the dead men, he pulled out a knife stuck in the man’s throat hilt first, the blade of the darkest night it was almost black came out bloody, He flicks the knife once causing a drop of blood to fly. “Bring him”

“Good to hear. We will leave tomorrow morning.” Everyone filed out of the conference room except for Chris. He stayed behind, looking at the swords Jackson had created. Chris had admired the fact that Jackson had crafted everything, including the blade. The blade was only sharp on one side, unlike the rest of the swords in the bunker. Each of the blades had a small notch on the front side of the blade to lock it into place when attached.

The hits just keep on coming. Walking over the side of the cell where knives of different sizes and shapes were nestling above a rusty table, Ace’s long elegant fingers traced each of them one by one until he settled on the weapon of his choice. A bronze tattered knife. From my vantage point, I can see that rust made that knife look a deep shade of bronze. Holding his choice of weapon, he walked back in front of a still smirking Alexa and traced her shoulder with the tip of the tattered knife.

There was something magnetic about him, something darker, something so dangerous that it pulled me in like a moth to the flame. Viktor pulled back suddenly, just enough to look at me, his eyes searching mine with an intensity that made my breath hitch in my throat. A small, twisted smile curved his lips, and I realized, with a sickening jolt, that he wasn’t done. He reached into his jacket pocket with slow, deliberate movements, and for a moment, I thought maybe he was going to pull out a gun. But instead, his fingers closed around a knife, its blade glinting menacingly in the dim light of the room.

The shadow jolts and falls aside toward the TV stand, where it disappears into the darkness. I manage to kick free of the blankets then scramble to my feet and adjust my grip on my knife. The blond stalks toward the television, his fingers curled tightly around his own dagger. His weapon puts my dinky switchblade to shame. It’s more like a fucking miniature machete than a pocketknife. I’m not used to having the smallest knife in the room. We wait in absolute silence broken only by the distant passing of cars. It’s wild to think that life outside is just trucking along while I’m battling a literal shadow in my motel room with my second mate after rumbling with my first mate in the woods.

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.

“Don't talk about them. You're not allowed to.” "The dagger," Kairos demanded, his tone shifting to business. "Give it to me. Now." Jason reached into his jacket slowly, pulling out the Obsidian Dagger. The blade seemed to absorb the light around it, ancient and terrible. He held it up, then dropped it on the concrete between them with a metallic clatter. "Here it is," Jason said, stepping away from it. "Let her come to me, and you can move to get it."