Knuckles Turning Black Novels & Stories

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.

“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.

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.

“We made sure that Gen pop knew.” Shortly after sundown, Knuckles went downstairs to the black room. Dom let him in and waited patiently as he took his anger out on the man. For the second time in his life, Knuckles beat a man to death with his bare hands. After he walked out, the body was removed and disposed of as Nessie tended to her husband’s busted knuckles.

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.

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.

I’m clenching the locker door, and my knuckles aren’t just turning white, but my hand is starting to hurt. I pull away and see indentation marks on the skin. I stretch out my fingers and watch the feeling return to my nerves. Mark shakes his head in disbelief. “What the hell is up with you? You could have broken the door. Or worse, your throwing arm!” I slam the door closed, shaking my hand out as I throw my helmet over my shoulder pads, keeping the growl in my throat to myself. The last thing I want to do right now is risk anyone in this locker room eavesdropping on a conversation they know absolutely nothing about.