Knuckles Turning Black Novels & Stories

I took it as advice. My ribs are black from bruises. The hash along my hip has started to turn the wrong color, the kind of red that seeps heat when you press it. I've been rinsing it with warm water from a rusted kettle I stole two blocks over. No meds. No food. Just water and spite and whatever scraps of instinct I've got left. It's not enough. I'm not healing.

They hit the hard floor tiles and shattered into sharp wooden and plastic pieces with a loud crash. Holden let out a low, terrifying snarl from the absolute depths of his chest. It was that same non human sound from the locker room. He took a massive step forward to attack Marcus, but the moment his foot hit the floor, something truly horrific happened to his physical body. The skin on both of his hands suddenly began to turn a deep, pitch black color. Dark, smoky black veins started creeping rapidly up his arms from beneath his long sleeves like a spreading poison. He groaned out in pure, agonizing pain, dropping to his knees and gripping his head with both hands.

The blood had long since crusted over, indicating it had been quite some time since he had unleashed that punch on the wall—likely right after she fled. Once the dried flakes were cleansed, the full extent of the injuries became heartbreakingly visible: deep lacerations across his knuckles, bruises blooming purple and red, skin torn in places. It was truly horrible, and Gloria couldn't fathom why Lukas would inflict such self-harm on himself in a fit of rage. Okay, okay, stay calm, Gloria. You've got this—time to disinfect with the alcohol wipe, she coached herself mentally, steeling her nerves.

It was true that they did not spread much further in the time they were apart, however, "... they are much denser." Almost a third of the skin in the affected places was black from poison. Anger brewing in her, Katherine looked up at her husband. "Is it a coincidence that you almost only use your right hand right now? Can you even move the other?" "I can." To prove it, he clenched his hand into a fist and opened it again, then lifted his arm a bit as if to shrug. "You need not worry too much."

I said. Thalia kneels and removes the robe as she stays hunched over. More bones crack and she is in tears from the pain. It’s gutting me to see her in so much agony. I start seeing her fingernails extend and turn black. Followed by her eyes going full black. I won’t lie, it looks really scary and intimidating not seeing the whites in her eyes now. She is gritting her teeth and they are also turning black as more bones crack and start reshaping.

He is lying. I stared at his hidden hand. A heavy wooden scrub brush falling from six inches up does not crush a man's knuckles. It does not split the skin open like that. The only thing that could cause that specific, brutal injury was someone pressing their full weight down onto the bone with their heel.

It was the fierce glare of a wolf whose line had been crossed. His hands were a more visible sign. His knuckles were white, his veins bulging. His nails dug deep marks into his palms. He didn't even notice the small beads of blood forming. His heart felt trapped, making it hard to even breathe.

“That's true. Now let's get you rinsed.” I'm offering to wash his knuckles off the proof of fight, there is a big old baby behind his tough form and he revealed it today. I turned on the tap, he let me pull his hands to the running water. The water mixed with the blood on his hands was a stain on the white porcelain sink. The more water touched his knuckles, the clearer the water became. The blood stains was gone, I looked at his knuckles where the blood had gathered the most, “No cut?” I asked, avoiding glancing at him.

Panic flashed in his eyes, pure, unfiltered panic. “What the hell… are you okay?” I knelt beside him, reaching out to help, but the moment my fingers brushed his skin, he jerked violently and vomited more blood. I pulled back, but my eyes stayed locked on his. Something was wrong. I looked down at my hand, still resting on his arm, and noticed the skin beneath my fingers. His veins were turning black, dark lines spreading out like cracks in glass. They kept moving, snaking up through his chest, his neck, his face, until they reached his eyes.

He released a deafening howl and leaped toward the incoming mass. Cinnia took in a deep breath but when she raised her hands once again, she noticed that the tips of her fingers had turned black. Bewildered, she wiped them on her shirt, believing it to be ash from the fire but it didn't come off. It didn't look like a decay either.