Razor Blade Gravity Knife Novels & Stories

Either someone was helping me… Or my crew finally found me. I knelt beside the body, yanked the blade from his neck. It was warm. Clean enough. I wiped it. Then moved. I turned a corner — two guards. Eyes wide. No hesitation. The blade sank into the first one’s throat. The second raised his gun, but I was faster — sliced his face, then stabbed his chest. Both dropped, lifeless. My bare feet slapped the marble floor. I saw the sitting room doors — wide open.

He caught his balance at the last second and he bared his teeth at me. "I will kill you for this," Azriel promised in a low whisper. His eyes flickered with a dangerous golden light. "You can certainly try," I answered easily. I knew I was faster and stronger than he was. I reached down to the thick leather sheath strapped to my right thigh. I wrapped my fingers around the textured handle of my silver combat blade. I pulled the heavy knife free. The sharp metal made a quiet sliding noise against the leather. I raised the blade and I pointed the sharp silver tip directly at Azriel's chest. I held the weapon perfectly steady under the bright chandelier lights.

He smiled while they screamed and thrashed in agony, a glint in his eyes. Blake didn’t give up and continued the torture for hours while the few warriors that joined us kept running out to bring coffee and food. If torture were an art, Blake was an exceptionally creative artist. I had never even thought to imagine all the different ways a body could be disfigured. And as if he was a professor, Blake patiently lectured us on the benefits of each knife he was using. He showed off his clip point—good for quick, deep puncture and withdrawal. Then his drop point—good for skinning. Finally, his needlepoint—perfect for thrusting. All things I'd have been perfectly content never knowing.

His men had done quite an impressive job on their victim. Leaning forward, a sharp tool flashed in his tattooed hands as he spoke ...his personal favourite weapon. A double blade dagger with his initials engraved on its side "This is what we're going to continue doing, for every wrong answer you give I'll rip off one of your body parts ...there's plenty you don't need to be alive" he paused, to see the desired effect of his words on the man.

Azrael wields the Blade in grace, power and glory. The Blade’s gold hilt with black crystals, the luminous, silvery and steely blade with details of diamonds and golden runes looks incredibly stunning in Azrael’s hands, “After a thousand year, I think the oldest Damned title would be passed right down tonight.” she stated. Her voice is remarkably thrilling.

Suddenly, Owen went pale as a ghost. He didn’t even see how Kira's hand moved. By the time he realized what was happening, there was a knife in his throat! A butterfly knife, one of the most infamous weapons out there, was sneaky and lethal. With a swift flick of the fingers, it could deliver a dangerous and wickedly cool effect. A girl brandishing something like that at him like it was nothing? That’s cold-blooded and ruthless! “Back off, Owen.” Kira squinted slightly, the gleaming blade of the knife lightly tapping his cheek, “Even if every other man in the world disappeared, I still wouldn’t choose you.”

The surrogate mask is heavy, but it's the only armor I have left. My fingers graze the back of my neck—the thin, raised line of scar tissue across my throat, and just above it, tucked into the coil of my hair, the Phantom Blade. A titanium needle, no thicker than a wire, its tip ground to a point that could part skin before a man could register the cold. As long as it's there, I am not a victim. I am a weapon with the safety still on. "Ms. Moore? This way."

Like something else had taken over my body. My hand moved to the blades, touching them. I ran my thumb slowly down the cold, sharp edges of the metal, feeling the teeth of the steel. Subconsciously, I was looking for the one with the sharpest point. The one that could cut through flesh without getting stuck. I picked the last one. I paused, feeling it. My fingers locked around the thick carving knife. The handle was black, the blade long and perfectly straight.

"And Mendoza's standard arsenal, I'm guessing." Rick moved to her side and produced a key from a hidden compartment in the communications cabinet. The lock clicked open, revealing a compact but comprehensive collection of weapons, two handguns with extra magazines, a short-barreled shotgun, and various knives. "Iron blade," Rick noted, lifting a matte-black combat knife from its moulded slot. "Military grade, designed for anti-supernatural operations." Casie took it, testing the weight and balance. The handle fit her grip perfectly, and the blade absorbed rather than reflected the cabin's dim light. "This will help against the constructs."

To defend his quick attack, Edgar swung his double-edged blade in an ice pick grip. The double edge blade was designed to enhance the tip of the knife. This bevel gives the blade an ability to pierce and break deeply into its subject. It's usually used for skinning animals; thus, isn't it the best weapon to beat a beast like a prime slayer hidden Alpha.