Razor Blade Gravity Knife Novels & Stories

We just passed the 12 weeks mark. “Rissa and Gabe will help you practice and get used to it.” I just nodded and pulled the knife from its sheath. It was beautiful in its own deadly way. I didn’t know shit about knives, but I was sure you can kill pretty easily with a blade like this. “The blade is a high density silver alloy, so don’t cut yourself,” Gabriel chimed in. “I won’t.” I gave him an offended look as I put the blade back and closed the box on it.

His knife—a monomolecular blade that could cut through enhanced armor like tissue paper—traced a silver arc toward Griffin's exposed back. Only years of combat training saved Griffin's life. He spun with inhuman grace, the blade grazing his ribs instead of piercing his heart, drawing a line of fire across enhanced skin that healed even as the cut was made. But Twin B's assault didn't pause—he flowed from the missed strike into a grappling maneuver designed to break Griffin's neck with mechanical efficiency.

She filled them all with mortal dread as she entered her Cyclone Stance and expertly spun around in the middle of them. Her blades followed her as she went, and cut into the terrorists with exacting precision. The Ra’ventrii blade’s razor-thin edges sliced cleanly through their heavy armor and bit deep into the flesh and bone far below. Those around her were almost instantly sliced to ribbons as gouts of blood poured out of their wounds. A few of them made choking sounds as their lives exited their bodies, which began to slowly fall to the ground. It was as though they were gradually realizing just how dead they were.

It's practical for jobs like this, flexible enough for quick movements, tight enough to conceal the tools of my trade without restricting a sudden draw or twist. The romper's zipper runs low, exposing just enough cleavage to distract if needed, but tonight it's all about efficiency, not seduction. The knives at my waist shift with each deliberate step I take two slim throwing blades, balanced perfectly for a mid-air spin that could pin a fly to a wall from twenty feet, and one serrated beast for when things get up close and messy, the kind that tears flesh more than it slices clean. They click faintly against my hips, a rhythmic, almost comforting reminder that I'm always armed, always ready

“We didn’t want to bring it to you with everything going on in the council. We thought we could manage it.” I turned on him, eyes narrowed. “Stop using that brain of yours and always tell me matters like this.” He lowered his gaze. “Understood.” I exhaled sharply, about to walk away when something glinted in the grass near a thick bush. I crouched again, brushing aside the leaves until I saw it—curved, wicked, and unmistakable. A rogue’s blade. I picked it up carefully, inspecting the bloodstained edge. It wasn’t from any blacksmith in the realm. This was custom-forged—lightweight, designed for speed and silent kills. I could almost taste the lingering energy it radiated.

"They're special made, extremely lightweight blades meant for speed more than anything else. They're not going to pierce through any heavy armor, but if you know where to strike, they'll still do far better than any knife." I was honestly stunned for a moment as I just looked up at him. Since when did he give me things? Especially something like this. Was he feeling okay? "Thank you... I really appreciate it," I whispered, a little more than dumbfounded as I quickly glanced over the blades. They were nothing fancy, but he was right, they were extremely lightweight. Normally, I wouldn't even be able to lift a normal sword, but I could carry both of these no problem.

My blade says enough. The thigh holster straps on tight, and the knives slide into place like they belong there. I check each one by feel, sharp, balanced, and familiar. The pistol goes at my back, compact and unregistered. I take one more blade and slip it into the sheath at my boot. Redundancy saves lives.

That hundreds of razor sharp links, capable of slicing through flesh and bone with ease, will render any enemy, obstacle, challenges and anything who gets too close into ragged pieces. "My blade thirsts for blood. It hungers to taste the crimson life of our enemies as I cut them down one by one if they become a hindrance to our mission," Olivia says, as the Swordsman, as she grips her double-edged blade, ready to charge headlong into combat. The blade is perfectly balanced, allowing her to deliver precise slashes and stabs with brutal efficiency. The long, slightly curved sword allows her to deliver deadly precise blows, decapitating or disemboweling her adversaries in grisly fashion.

"Playing at being something you're not." "Maybe," I said. His hand came from behind his back. Fast. A curved blade... short and hooked, the kind designed for close quarters, the kind that went for throats. He came at me with everything. All his weight and six years of violence behind it. The blade aimed straight for my neck. I couldn't dodge cleanly. The tube. The ribs. Twisting would collapse everything Aris had spent three days holding together. So I didn't dodge. I stepped into him.

The cold plastic tip of the blade was pressing firmly against his skin, right over his racing pulse. "You're right about one thing, Lee," I whispered down at him, my voice carrying a terrifyingly calm, badass authority that completely controlled the space. "A blade is only as good as the hand wielding it. And right now, my hand is the only thing keeping you breathing." Marco swallowed hard, his throat moving directly against the edge of my knife, his fierce arrogance completely hallowed out by the reality of the steel. I held his gaze for three agonizing seconds, ensuring he felt every bit of the defeat. Then, with a slow, deliberate movement, I pulled the dagger back, stood up smoothly, and