Sheath And Knife Comic Novels & Stories

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.

Allen Peterson could clearly see the trajectory of the long sword in mid air, but his body couldn't react. The knife with a scar is not sophisticated, just an ordinary wielding knife. The only difference from a butcher is its speed, surpassing the limits of the human body. Before you react, I'll kill you directly. The world's martial arts are only fast and unbreakable, which is the truth. At this moment, a path of black light appeared from somewhere, one black and one white, colliding in front of Allen Peterson. Young man, the knife is fast enough, but in your hand, it's just a dead object and useless

I cleared the first 50 meters, taking a rough corner that snagged my shirt just a bit when I saw a flash of something move. Getting into a kneeling position I let my fingers release the small throwing dagger from the pocket of my pants. I gripped it ready to fly it to my target when suddenly my dominant arm was ripped down by a German Shephard. The vicious beast shook me with all his might and caused me to fall backward. I felt it's teeth sank into my flesh and I groaned in both pain and frustration. I wasn't expecting this to be a part of the hunt tonight.

☾☾☾ SASKIA'S POV ☽☽☽ My pocketknife flinches at his neck, and I roll a sigh of despair into escape at his grisly joke. "You aren't funny, Wade." "I see you still got it, Luna." He tucks away his blade in his pocket, chuckling happily as if he'd been handed his favourite pie on a silver platter. "Do I?" I keep my knife staid at his pulsing vein. His face rumples in confusion. I smile as his hands slowly grace the air over his head in unfailing surrender.

I watched, amused, as he huffed, taking a step forward. “I never said I was alone, did I.” The moment he finished talking, a small pocketknife flew directly toward me. Had my reflexes been slow, it would have hit me; however, I caught it by the tip at arm’s length. “If that’s how you would like to play it.” Smiling, I threw the pocket knife into the air, caught it, spun around, and threw it back at the wannabe assassin who failed their task. When it hit him, it combusted into the same fire that kept the souls confined within the borders of hell.