Sharp Objects Novels & Stories

the old man said when we entered the armory to get the weapons available. He walked to a section of a cupboard and got out a long cardboard box which he opened to reveal two swords with razor sharp edges. The blades were sharp enough to cut through anything with ease. “I had the scientists make this for you,” he said. “It can slice through your enemies with ease and they will have no choice but to retreat.” I held the swords and waved them around to see how it worked. It was light and didn’t feel like it weighed a ton unlike my former blade.

the shopkeeper greeted them warmly. “Show me the best thing you guys have,” Anwen said, and the shopkeeper did as Anwen said. In front of Anwen lined up knives of various sizes. “All these knives have excellent sharpness and do not rust easily,” the shopkeeper explained. Anwen picked up a small pocket knife and examined it carefully. It was so shiny, that she could see her reflection in it. “It’s good, isn’t it, Sister Ody… eh?” She was stunned to find a blue-eyed young man standing beside her.

Yet Sharon moved it around like she was playing with a toy, and the smile on her face was not forced. Reaper’s edge was very different from Canyon’s Mouth. Unlike the aggressive looking Canyon’s Mouth, Reaper’s Edge had a very delicate look. It was a slender saber that was half Sarong’s height, and it was very beautiful. Its dark blade was joined to a white handle that served to provide beauty by contrast.

SCHWING. It wasn't a flashy display. There were no golden lights or roaring dragons. It was a single, terrifyingly complete arc—the blade leaving the scabbard and completing its stroke in a fraction of a millisecond. Internal energy didn't just flow into the steel; it condensed at the razor-thin edge in the absolute final millimeter of the draw. The atmosphere split. A hairline fracture of displaced air zipped across the dark earth. Ten meters ahead, a clean, silent trench opened in the soil, the edges glowing faintly from sheer kinetic friction.

He confessed as he grimaced. “I don’t care about how they look. I care about being mobile,” I told him. He smiled at me. “I’m glad you said that. There was something that caught my eye. If I may show you, sir.” He walked to his bag and pulled out a sheet of paper. I looked at the picture. It was a piece of curved metal with what looked like a sock at the top. “It’s a running blade, and it’s made out of carbon fiber. Athletes use them to compete. I was thinking this would be more suitable for a man like yourself.” “Does it make them any faster?” I inquired.

The soldiers have let go of their guns. Those who have swords are gripping them at their sides; the rest are holding their spears flat along the ground. For one of the few times in my life, I wish I had a sword instead of a machete. My blade’s lack of a point renders it useless for this particular defense, so I leave it sheathed on my back. Instead, I grip my new spear tightly.

These were meant to be training weapons but they were still able to draw blood and some even had been chipped on the edges making them slightly sharper than they should have been. If you could be lucky enough to get first pick in the morning you could make sure to get the one that was sharpest if nothing else so it couldn’t be used on you. Sylis it seemed had gotten lucky today as when she pulled, it sent Yuki on her back and left a nasty cut on her lower calf. Quickly, Sylis moved back making sure the tip of her spear ended up right against Yuki’s chest as she started to get up. “Think before you make your next action.” she hissed.

I need my sword. Reaching behind my back, I feel the cool, smooth texture of my marking shift beneath my fingers. There’s a brief moment where the ink pulses, almost as if it’s alive, before it solidifies into the hilt of my sword. I draw it out, feeling the familiar weight settle into my hand. The blade hums with energy, a glowing blue that pulses in time with my heartbeat. This sword is mine, a part of me, born of my blood and soul. Athena’s gift, forged from my very essence.

"It was clean, it came straight out the other side so it just needs cleaning and stitching up." I carefully rolled Hampson onto his side so I could see his back and swore when the skin was smooth. "The bullets still in him," I muttered and laid him flat again. "Shit!" I reached into the first aid kit and grabbed a pair of sterile tweezers. I ripped the packet open and grabbed some antiseptic to clear the wound. I poured the liquid over the wound on his stomach and wiped away the large amount of blood. I then got to work on locating the bullet.

The pencil has a sharp silver blade at the other end and it was designed specially because of my former small, weak pack. “Ouch!” I faked a groan to attract the guard’s attention.