Razor Blade Gravity Knife Novels & Stories

"Oh? And what can you do, sweetheart?" I smiled coldly. My hand slid into my hair. I unpinned the jeweled hairclip Sebastian had gifted me—the one he called "just in case." I clicked it open, revealing the hidden blade. Serrated, sharp, almost needle-like. Designed to pierce deep and refuse to be pulled free. I trailed it gently across one man’s neck. He didn’t notice until the tip broke skin. "Ow—what the fuck?!" The others went still. "Try me," I said. "Please. Give me a reason."

He stated as we both burst out laughing. It made no sense to me though. But I went near the knives and picked one up. It was a short knife with a wooden hilt and a small, pointed blade. It weighed next to nothing so it would fly through the air if used at a good speed. I played with it in my fingers and stood in front of the target.

Slowly, he pulled the blade from its sheath and brought it toward my face. I closed my eyes and held my breath. Relax, Lila. He's not going to kill you with it... I repeated to myself before cautiously opening my eyes again to stare at the most intimidating blade I had ever seen. It looked incredibly heavy, as though it carried the weight of an anchor. I wasn't even sure I could lift it with both hands. "Do you want to know why this blade is called the Blade of Poison?" he asked, raising it into the air to admire it.

Switchblades are the go-to weapon for almost every street gangster and gang member, and far more people are killed by switchblades each year in the United States than by guns! "What if I said I'm not going to get out of the way, and I want you to give the bag back to that lady over there?" Li Jie's voice was cold. If he was a gangster like this, Li Jie wouldn't mess with him. But gaining the ability to be an E hero today gives him the confidence to take on this punk, who is armed with a switchblade, not a Colt M1911.

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

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.

My blades are perfectly fine, Grim muttered, holding his leather pouch close to his chest like a child. They are garbage, Valerie snapped, reaching into her own tattered sleeve. She pulled out the surgical steel scalpel she had smuggled from the outer slum clinic. The silver metal glinted purely under the harsh overhead bulbs of the compound. I have my own. I need a hollow tube. A pen, a plastic casing, anything clean and rigid. Here, a large biker threw a hard plastic pen casing onto the metal tray next to her. I washed it in whiskey about an hour ago.

They were cold against my palms, the weight grounding me. I moved to the weapons rack. A row of knives and blades. Batons lined the wall. My hand hovered, then settled on a serrated knife with a silver edge. The blade was long enough to cut through enhanced skin if it had to. I tested its balance. I flipped it in my hand. I felt the pull of gravity against it. Perfect.

Blight, Ryker’s Gamma, steps forward with a grin on his face. He’s dressed in all black like me, with blackout tattoos covering his neck and arms. Short cropped blonde hair, grey eyes, tall but muscular; I’ve heard tales about this Gamma that rival my own. He has a penchant for killing humans in the most gruesome ways, and his favorite weapon is a JagdKommando knife; the deadliest of blades as it has three edges that spiral together like a corkscrew into a sharp tip. No doctor can sew up a wound left by this knife.

“That’s why I’m called The Shiv.” “B-betrayer? Traitor?” he sputtered, “Don Vyon, I do not know what you’re talking about!” I nodded patiently. “Don’t worry. There’s more than enough time to make you understand.” I leaned away and walked over to the table where an array of knives, different types and sizes, were on display, my eyes scanning for the perfect tool for the night. For the sleazy traitor. My eyes finally settled on a twelve-inch blade with a silver blade, and the corner of my lips turned up in a half, sinister smile.