Novel & Cerita Metal Knuckles

Beside me, Jake hunched over his custom-built keyboard, its mechanical switches clattering with a staccato rhythm that sounded like machine-gun fire in the tense silence. The blue light reflected off the silver stud in his eyebrow and the intricate geometric tattoos snaking up his forearms, visible beneath the pushed-up sleeves of his faded band t-shirt. His brow was furrowed, eyes narrowed behind black-framed glasses, completely absorbed in the digital labyrinth he was navigating.

He became agitated, his chest heaving as he strained against the silver chains that bound his wrists and ankles. “Arghh” A low, vibrating hum erupted from his throat as he kept struggling against the chains. Suddenly, the man’s hands flexed and with a sickening sound of tearing flesh and grinding bone, metal like claws extended from his hands. They tore through the skin of his knuckles, gleaming brightly in the dimly lit space.

He pulled out a heavy set of brass knuckles—the kind the rich kids kept for 'protection. ​"You want to play the hero, Vance?" Jax asked, sliding the cold metal over his fingers. "Let's see how you look with your jaw wired shut." ​He stepped toward me, the metal glinting. He was done talking. He was ready to finish this.

I can’t stand the way he looks so hurt, so…vulnerable. His jaw is so tense and sharp that I’m afraid he might break his teeth with this much pressure. His knuckles are white as he clenches his fists beside him, and his eyes are so narrowed and dark that, for a moment, I even forget they are the brightest blue I’ve ever seen.

I nod thoughtfully as I put on a set of silver knuckles on each hand. “Then let me hear you scream,” I say as I land a vicious punch to his face. I hear the sizzle as the silver connects with his skin, the crunch of his bones and the spurt of blood that flies from his mouth and splatters against the white walls. I let the beast take over as I throw right hook and left hook, over and over. The more blood I draw the more I crave. I’m in a complete blood rage. I’m landing punch after punch, to his face, his ribs, his stomach. Anywhere I can reach.

She says. I removed my hand from the light and what seemed to be a skeletal blueprint before, it immediately materialized the moment I removed my hand. Now, there was a shear glove over my left hand. I tried making a fist and saw micro scales moving. I even feel my knuckles hardening just enough but it was not too constricting. “You said you don’t want your knuckles to turn soft. The shell is hard, but it doesn't protect your knuckles that much so you can still keep your calluses.”

He cracked his knuckles and rolled his neck until it popped. Then, he grinned. “It’s time for a fucking rematch,”

Huh? Nathan took out a lot of equipment continuously. "This is a brass knuckle, it protects your hand and hurts your opponent a lot when you punch them. This electric rod will inflict severe pain and render one unable to fight for 30 minutes upon touching the human body, use it with your insulated skin tight battle suit. This is a teeth protector, it can be used to protect your teeth." Holding the pile of equipment in her hands, Hilda was puzzled for a while before she realized what was going on. Nathan knew that he couldn't stop her, so he decided to find some better equipment for her instead. That way, she wouldn't be at a disadvantage when fighting outside.

I pulled out the metal to examine it further and asked, “We get this on your brothers’ wrists and then what?” “Any cuffs made out of these will be activated when they are attached to the person. Even when they are in their wolf form, they won't be able to move,” Androkles answered distractedly, swiping his merlot eyes in awe all over the room. “They aren't regular metal. They are godly restraints.”

“I brought something for you to see.” Ronan’s head lifts a fraction. Mara arrives like a shadow, eyes already warily resting on Ronan. Kieran nods to his attendants. They set down a long, narrow chest and step back. He opens it himself. Inside rests a brace of throwing knives with pale handles, each inlaid with a smoky thread of metal like a lightning bolt frozen mid-flight. “Silversteel,” he says softly. “Flexible, balanced, takes an edge like a promise. I had these set aside when I heard you were studying knife throwing.”