Knuckles Turning Black Novels & Stories

Coming out of a blackout was always a painful experience, both physically and emotionally. Color blossomed like newborn flowers at the start of spring, sharpening before my eyes until the hallway with it’s vaulted ceilings and the lockers, as black as the raven in the University’s crest, came into view. I blinked a few times, flexing my fingers which brought on a sharp sting of pain that chased away the last of the grogginess. Ouch, that really hurt. With a frown, I looked down at my hands. The skin covering my knuckles was bruised and split in some places. There was blood speckled along my fingers, and I had a sickening feeling it wasn’t just my own.

My head rings, and my vision blurs from the strike. My ears ring as I fumble on the ground. What the hell? His hits are hard, too hard. I look at his gloves and notice the tape around his knuckles outlining more than knuckles. Faint gold shining through split tape I realize why he's hitting with such force. He has fucking brass knuckles on! "Hey!" I yell at the guy standing outside the ring, trying to inform him of the knuckles. I run to the other side of the ring, wiping and smearing blood from my eye from my face.

And then he’d crossed his skinny-ass arms across his fuckin’ Metallica tee like he was ready to throw down or something. Punk ass poser. His knuckles hurt. He opened his eyes and held his hand in front of his face. Yeah, he’d punched something. Fingers scraped. Knuckles swollen. Black and blue and sorta yellow and, fuck me, red? Broken? He flexed his fingers. Nah, this was a wood punch, not concrete. Not flesh or bone. Wood. “It’s shit,” he’d screamed at Spike, his fists clenched. Fuck counting back from ten. “It’s fucking shit, man. I just want it fixed. It’ll take two fuckin’ seconds!”

He purposely slowing the materialization of the weaponizing hand so that the man would not kill him. In this scene where his hand is slowly turning into a killing weapon, one can describe what is actually happening through words. His fingers started getting hard as the crack of bones can be heard. His left-hand turns pale as it reddens because of the blood and slowly turns into dark grey. Mike notice the materialization as he saw a little bit of weird substance leak from his left hand's skin and cover his whole left hand. Slowly his pale left-hand turn back alive as his nail was replaced with sharp dark gray nails.

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.

Sitting that close to Lorenz and not being able to do anything was infuriating abd that arrogant son of his… I was going to celebrate his end. I took deep breaths in on calm down and pushed off the door. I walked over to the sink and turned the faucet on to wash my hands. I winced when the water touched my skin. Frowning I turned my hands around to see what was causing the pain and saw red semicircular marks on my palms seemingly caused by my nails. I groaned, I was so angry I didn't even notice when my nails pierced my skin.

he insisted while his gaze dropped back down to my swollen lips. I gently grabbed his right wrist and I pulled his bruised hand up so I could inspect the fresh bandages I wrapped around his knuckles. The white gauze was already stained with a few spots of dark red blood but the cuts seemed to be holding together without needing medical stitches. "You are going to have to soak this hand in warm water and Epsom salts tonight or your joints will stiffen up by tomorrow morning," I instructed him while sliding back into my comfortable nursing mode. "I can survive a little bit of knuckle pain," Kyle dismissed my medical advice with a careless shrug of his broad shoulders.

He again tried to cup her cheeks but she slapped his hands away and at the same moment she noticed his healed knuckles. She paused, her eyes met him before she looked at his knuckles, cold engulfed her form as she took a stumbling step back. She had seen his knuckles all bruised just two hours ago but now there was not a single hint of a wound on his hand. "H-how?" She stuttered in disbelief, taking yet another step away from him. "Y-your knuckles..." She stuttered and the pale shock on her face made him understand what she was thinking. He has healed which wasn't normal for a human being.

Holding his collars were a pair of bulky, muscular hands that had bluish-black veins on them. I followed the black veins that hid in the cave of the hem of the shirt. The shirt was worn by Dominic. He pulled one hand, turned it into a fist, and punched the man. The sound of bones cracking caught me off guard and my heart leaped into my mouth when I saw the man’s face turning into a bloody pulp with Dominic’s hard punches.

His worry and rage had consumed him so much that he had ruined dinner. He began to scrub the charred wok. It was still hot on the metal. He ignored the heat and reached for a sponge. His hands back scraped the hot wok edge as he applied pressure to a particularly obstinate piece of burnt food. With a sharp uncontrollable gasp he withdrew his hand. His left hand caught his attention. He already had a long red welt developing on his knuckles. Taking a deep breath he turned off the water. He grabbed a small amount of burn cream from the first aid kit.