Knuckles Angry Novels & Stories

I just don't want him killing me. I finally got a good look at his face and boy was he angry. He was literally red and glaring daggers at me. "Why Anais? Why would my own luna embarasse me like that?" He asked through gritted teeth. His palms were fisted so tightly that his knuckles were turning white and his jaw was clenched as well.

“URGGGGGG!!!!!!” Zachary banged his fists on the wall angrily as he screamed in frustration. His knuckles were cut open and blood oozed from them as soon as his fists collided with the hard rock. But his face showed no sign of pain or sadness. His eyes had turned completely blood-red while his knife-sharp fangs made deep cuts on his lips. A thin stream of blood was flowing down from the side of his lip as he glared at the four walls of this huge dungeon in which he was forcefully locked up ferociously.

This is an old type of anger that comes from somewhere dark, somewhere I stopped visiting years ago, those years before I knew how to channel it into something useful, when the feel of bone breaking under my knuckles was the only thing that made the world feel quiet. I haven't felt this in a long time. The rush of it terrifies me, and I don't stop. I can’t stop. I want to take him apart completely. I want to keep punching him until there's nothing left to be angry at. I want to kill him. “You’re going to kill him!” The high-pitched scream tears through my haze. Nicole. I’d forgotten she was here. I pull back. My knuckles are split, blood coating my fists, and my breathing is ragged. Jack is

I couldn't feel the searing pain in my knuckles all I felt was hate and anger. Nothing else mattered but him not making it out of here alive, so I punched and I punched, his face streamed with blood. I got up and swung my leg colliding into his ribs. He cried out from the pain I was inflicting on him but all I could think of was the pain he was putting my girl through and what he was about to do to her. I grabbed him by his neck with both hand and squeezed until his hands began clawing at mine, I kept squeezing with all of my might. He deserved all of this for what he did to the love of my life.

I flinched at his action. His knuckles were bleeding. He was growling in anger and pain. Seeing his knuckles bleed, my heart dropped in my stomach. His fist was bleeding very badly. I started sobbing more loudly. I tried to take it in my hands to see the damage but he snatched it. “Don't touch me,” he shouted. I started sobbing and tried to control the hiccups but it was not in my hands.

Good. “That was for her cheek.” The brass knuckles come out next. Gold-plated. Custom. The crown tips are sharp, unforgiving. Heavy in my hand. His shaking gets worse when he sees them. He knows. On some level, he knows exactly what’s coming. They slide over my fingers. The second hit lands deeper. Anger pours out of me with the force of it. Blood spills from his mouth, thick and dark, dripping onto his shirt. “That was for the bump on her head.”

Knuckles, Vincent’s big dog, and one of the raiders, locked together like two bulls tearing each other apart. Both of them were huge, slabs of muscle swinging fists and knives. The attacker’s blade dragged a red stripe across Knuckles’ arm, but Knuckles just snarled, wrapped his hands around the bastard’s throat, and squeezed. They staggered, slammed into a wall, ripping half the paneling down with them. Neither was winning. It was a stalemate. And Knuckles saw me. His teeth were bared, sweat and blood dripping down his face, eyes flashing something sharp. Not fear. Anger.

she asked insultingly. And that's my cue! My patience is short, and I get angry quickly. I grabbed her arms and delivered my famous Kung Fu fist, followed by a flying kick that sent her soaring. "Take her to the hospital," I said nonchalantly. Sometimes I wonder about myself too. I have a side that's a bit demonic. When I'm angry, I'm really angry. I hate pretenses of all kinds. And finally, Zac came out - and he looked awful!

I slammed my palm on the desk making him afright. My eyebrows curved on its own, my fist clenching, When I'm angry I can't control my own mind. I can do anything. "just three seconds or you will have your face designed more than you can recognize "" I flared up and pick up an ice skate shoe. "Is that a threat??" He asked and That does it. I gripped his neck and pinned him to the desk. "If you don't want your head on a stake, get lost!"

Breanna didn’t answer immediately, rather with a deep exhalation, she took another bite of her burger and chewed slowly. She swallowed after a while, wiping her mouth with the back of her hand. “No!,” she said finally, her voice cool. “Blade Knuckle is a precision psychopath—a blade across the throat. No wasted effort and a remarkable clean escape.” She adjusted the focus of her binoculars, her pulse steady and calculating. “This? This is rage.” Breanna continued, voice almost detached. “Whoever did this used their fists. The face is completely caved in. Blade Knuckle’s style is always contracted—no personal feelings attached.”