Vash X Knives Novels & Stories

She did not look away. Silas Vane stepped up beside me, his massive frame completely tense, his hand gripped so tightly around the hilt of his massive steel blade that his leather gloves creaked. His obsidian eyes, burning with a lethal crimson fire, were locked onto the churning, steaming abyss below. The shrieks were beginning to die down, devolving into wet, heavy splashes and pathetic, gargling moans as the toxic current dragged the ruined assassins downstream, away from the vulnerable laundry chutes.

“I have some rage I’d like to expend on their kind.” “Keep in mind that many of the NightHunters were different packs before they were taken over.” “They chose to succumb. They didn’t have to.” I didn’t. “As you wish.” Vanquish rolled his shoulders and steadied himself. “Here.” Racer walked over and handed me the handle of an ornately carved knife. It was narrow and smooth, winding with vines. It was small and fit very well in my palm. “Keep this on you at all times.”

I say as I walk toward Xaver and Enrico. Tears begin to moisten their faces as I make my way toward them. I walk behind them toward my wall of weapons. I put the knife aside, needing something more effective for this moment. My eyes scan over the various options, landing on one in particular. A custom-designed whip with metal shards on the end. Creating multiple lacerations in one single hit. My mouth salivating from the choice, I pick it up and walk back to the men in the chairs.

As she rode horizontally along the wall past the disoriented assassins, she hurled her twin Phase-Knives. The iridescent blue Origin-Code bypassed their carbon-fiber armor, burying deep into the primary servo-motors of two Strikers. They collapsed instantly, their harmonic blades clattering to the floor. The third Striker lunged at Dax as he led the main pack up the center.

He placed the blade of the dagger against her back. “Are you ready?” he asked Vanessa could only muster the strength to nod and closed her eyes waiting for the blade to pierce her skin. Xavier tried his best to be gentle but nothing he could do would stop the pain. Blood spilled from the incision down her sides. He set the dagger down and inserted two fingers into her baske

Vivan added showing madness in his voice however they very next after Ravan heard Aisha and his unborn child name from Vivan mouth he pounded on him and kicked his gun away from his hand and started punching him in his gut, Vivan to started landing hard punches in Ravan direction, in now time their fight grew extremely ugly also not a single guard of shabbier dared to entered his mansion as they all were aware of Ravan wrath. Ravan and Vivan kept landing several punches in each other direction until at one point where Ravan pulled out ‘khanda’ a double-edge straight sword which was placed on shabbier main wall as decorative art piece and pierced it straight through Vivan heart which got him

"Boss...please... I didn't know. Please...don't...kill me." "Kill you? I won't. Why would you think that?" Murmuring gently in response, fleshy lips flattened in thoughts. The tzar's casual steps brought him to a secure panel. He punched in a series of codes, it beeped and slowly opened to reveal trays of weapons, displayed for Dominic's personal use. Perfect. It had been a while but he had not forgotten. All types of specially made knives were displayed and arranged perfectly before him, from fixation Bowies, authentic katanas, bolos, Gerber, and...

‍Vivienne slas‍h⁠ed her silver b⁠roa‌dsword‍ a‌cross Jax‍⁠on’s‍ ch⁠est, cu⁠tting‍ a dee⁠⁠p, violent furr‌o⁠w through his l‌ea‌ther t‍unic. J⁠axon didn't‌ e⁠ven flinch⁠. He di‍dn't feel the blade. Driven⁠ by⁠ a p‌ure, un‌ho‌ly‍, apo⁠calypt‌ic i‌nstinct‌, h⁠e lun‍g‌e‌d forward, catching Vivienne‌’s‌ blade betwe⁠en his b‍are, clawed palm‍s, sn‍apping⁠ th⁠e high-grade silver steel⁠ in half like a dry twig.

"You think you're fit to lead the Bratva? You're just as weak as your father." The venom in his voice pushed me over the edge. "You done?" Fuck talking. We were past that. Both of us drew knives – nasty pieces of work, serrated, designed to not just kill but mangle. My blade curved with the presence of a fucking machete. Pull this baby out, and it'd drag your guts with it. Our knives met with a grating clash of metal on metal. Sparks flew, mirroring the ferocious energy between us. He lunged, aiming straight for my heart. I sidestepped and swung, my blade singing as it sliced through the air and cleanly severed three of Viktor' fingers.

Weapons racks line the concrete walls, heavy with custom silver daggers, war-axes, and military-grade assault rifles. A tall, broad-shouldered wolf with scarred skin and grey-streaked fur descends the iron catwalk above us. Maestro Vance holds a heavy silver broadsword in his right hand, his scent smelling heavily of gunpowder, blood, and burnt cedar. “I saw your transport pull up from the security feeds,” Vance grunts, his piercing grey eyes locking onto me as he steps onto the concrete floor. “You’ve grown broader since you survived the Whitmore slaughter, Chika.”