Pretty Knife Novels & Stories

My fingers landing on the hilt of my favorite option among those presented to me. “Let me guess,” the Fletcher says sardonically, “the Butcher knife?” “What can I say?” I toss back, “I am a creature of habit.” Plus, I like the weight of the weapon in my hand. The way it slices cleanly through the flesh, muscle, and bone. “Plus, less time is spent hacking away and cleaning the mess. I have a mate to return home to, remember?” “Makes sense,” he nods, shoving his hands into his pocket as he observes me holding the blade in my hand. “Did you forget the zipties?” I question, looking around for them but coming up empty.

Those things looked like they could trap water if they weren't kept in check. I was pulled out of my thoughts as he raised a beefy hand and pried my mouth open. I glared at him as he withdrew his hand from his back and waved what must have been the scariest knife I had ever seen before my eyes. At first glance, it looked like a regular knife with a length of about five inches and a thickness of about 4 millimeters. But on closer look, the knife which had a bronze coated handle had several tiny teeth on either side of it. Looking at it, I couldn't help gulping in fear. I imagined being stabbed with it and the thought was enough to send a tremor through my system.

[Name: Butcher Knife] [Type: Sharp Weapon] [Rarity: Damaged] [Attack: Weak] [Attributes: None] [Effect: None] [Able to bring out of the dungeon: Yes] [Remark : A normal household butcher knife used for slicing vegetables... or someone else's hand.] The moment Mike picked up the knife, the information appeared in front of his eyes. After inspecting it, he put the knife away in his backpack and continued his search. Soon enough, he made another discovery.

Joe gestured to the table containing the knives, and we nodded, signaling for him to continue. “Alright, so, you are going to want to hold the kn*fe by the blade at the balance point. Pinch it between your fingers, with the blade pointing upwards. Now, tilt it back slightly, and push your arm towards the target. Release the knife as soon as your arm is fully extended, and make sure to snap your wrist as you do so.” He showed us how to do it slowly as he spoke, and then proceeded to do it so fast that it barely looked like what he had described. The knife travelled so fast that you would miss it if you were not looking directly at it, and it pierced the target. We stared in amazement for a c

I wouldn’t give him the satisfaction of watching me crumble into nothing. No. Not today. “Yes sir,” I muttered. I forced myself to stand up. Every muscle protested. But I moved anyway, pocketing the knife with a trembling hand. It wasn’t much of a weapon, but it made me feel like I had some control. The pocket knife was a gift from Jamie. A silent request for me to make use of it when need be. At the end of the day, I couldn’t even defend myself with the object. But regardless, it can come in handy sometimes.

She was absorbing. I stepped to the right side of the room. “This wall is knives. Every type you can think of. Combat blades, switchblades, karambits, trench knives, double-edged, spring-loaded, throwing knives. Most people don’t realize how often these end up being the backup when guns fail. Knife throw is an art in itself.” Gianna glanced over them, her eyes narrowing as she took in the polished blades and serrated edges. She reached out to touch one but paused, hesitant. The thing looks weird in her soft, delicate hands, not gonna lie.

Too small. I look at the other weapons, well, more like knives. We have kitchen knife, cleaver knife, carving knife, santoku knife, paring knife, then tomato knife, then a fork. not your normal fancy fork, No, a two way fork. Lastly, my personal favourite, chain saw machine, all coated with silver, than touched with silver sulfide.

The knob felt cold under my palm, and as I turned it, his words rang out loud and clear. "For someone who didn't want to hurt me, you sure put a lot of force behind it when you drove the fucking knife into me."

Brutal, effective, designed to take on multiple opponents and survive, if somewhat worse for wear. Also he gave me a knife, which seemed irresponsible even to me, a violent juvenile delinquent. It wasn't l like a Bowie knife either, or a survival knife. It was straight, double-edged, with a wickedly sharp point. He called it a "Fairbarn". Later I'd learn that the skills he taught me dated back to world war two. I've never been able to get Billy to tell me where he learned it.

And I disliked unknown variables more than enemies. Across from me sat Adrian. Or what remained of his composure. Viktor stood beside him, gun raised casually, the barrel resting against Adrian’s temple with unsettling familiarity. Viktor never wasted motion; his stillness alone was enough to suffocate weaker men. Adrian was already sweating. Good. Fear shortened conversations. I set the tablet aside and reached slowly into my coat pocket. Metal met my fingers. It was familiar, balanced, and perfect. My knife. Custom-forged Swiss steel, designed to my specifications alone. The blade unfolded with a soft, precise click, catching the cabin light. Along its spine, engraved in clean lettering, w