Wrist Blades Novels & Stories

The vibro-blade slammed against the dense carbon-fiber plates of the moonstone wraps, emitting a shower of bright orange sparks. Rhys didn't even flinch. He gripped the assassin’s wrist, his fingers squeezing until the bones gritted together. With a cold, calculated twist, he disarmed the man, drove his knee directly into his chest, and threw him over his shoulder, slamming him into the concrete floor with a bone-shattering thud.

I slid one out of the box and looked at it shining in my hand. With that I took the small blade in my hand, I lined it up to my left wrist, my tears had stopped knowing I would be free from this awful world. Without another thought, I cut through the skin on my forearm and sliced it deep down the wrist that didn't have my brand. Instantly I shouted in pain and my breathing quickened as blood poured out quickly. The pain was greatly welcomed as I knew that for once, I was in control. I was just about to do the same on my other arm but my hand was grabbed, the blade was forced out of my grasp and a hand clamped down on my deeply wounded arm, my teeth began chattering as coldness swept over me

"You're awake. Feel the weight of your choices yet?" Kostas winces, most likely noting the aching of his shoulders when he tries to flex his arms. He struggles to pull himself up to offset the strain on his wrists but the open wounds on his leg prevent that. I watch as he stops his weak attempts. "I'd hate to do this all day so I need you to be alert a little faster please." That's a lie, I'd enjoy nothing more than to continue at this. "Hold this for me," I say before I push the blade into his arm. His startled scream follows me to the table where I wipe the excess blood from my hands.

In fact, he and Damian probably weren't even in the same league anymore. The only thought left in Blade's mind was to run. He turned around and rushed toward the doors in the boardroom as quickly as he could. When Damian saw that, he immediately dashed toward the door like a ghost and stopped Blade from leaving. Blade's eyes widened. He couldn't stop shivering when he realized that he was about to crash into Damian. He quickly produced another knife in his hands and lunged at Damian's chest with it. However, Damian's hand shot out and grabbed Blade by the wrist like an iron clamp, and with just a slight exertion of his force, he crushed Blade's wrist in his hands.

My first attempt at a slash nearly wrenched my wrist. The instructor’s demonstrations looked fluid, effortless, but in my hands the blade was nothing but a rebellion. My knuckles ached from gripping too hard, my skin raw from the constant adjustment. I told myself not to think, just to mimic. Again, again and again. Each repetition burned deeper into the tendons of my wrist until I felt they might snap. And then the guards. “Block.” I barely had time to raise my arm before the strike landed. Pain exploded, blooming from wrist to shoulder. My breath caught, and I stumbled backward, the weight of the blow threatening to topple me.

I grabbed her wrist and twisted it swiftly, causing her to lose her grip on the blade. Without even wasting another second, I took control of the blade, kicked her back to create a little space between us, and swung.

It was the Crescent Moon Blade. "Oh, Pretty Lady. Are you bringing out the weapon now?" Wyatt smiled at Evelyn. "Pretty Lady, now that I've played with you for so long, it is time to end this." Right after he said that, Wyatt held his palms together and gathered his internal energy. Then, he launched his fist with all his strength! Evelyn shouted, "Pure Double Slay!" Suddenly, Evelyn had blades on each of her hands and charged aggressively toward Wyatt. She was as fast as lightning.

Before long, he felt the handle of the blade and grasped it firmly. Notwithstanding, when he was going to take the blade out, he understood that there was something on his wrist that held him back from taking out his right hand. Bowen then, at that point, understood that there were four cutting edges around the kickoff of the iron box. The sharp edges of the cutting edges were pointed inwards. It was not difficult to dive into the container in light of the fact that the sharp edges were looking down, however as he attempted to take out his hand, he felt the four edges slitting his wrist.

I sidestepped just in time, the blade missing me by inches. Before he could recover, I grabbed his wrist, twisting it sharply. A sharp crack sounded as he yelped in pain, his fingers loosening their hold. The knife slipped from his grasp, clattering against the concrete floor. His free hand lashed out, aiming for my face, but I ducked, using his own momentum against him. Twisting my body, I drove my knee into his stomach, knocking the wind out of him.

The blade glinted in the soft light. His gaze shifted to his other arm, and he fixated on his wrist. The world around him seemed to fade into the background as his focus narrowed on that single point. He put the sharp side of the knife against his wrist, clenching his teeth. He pressed down, cutting his wrist without any hesitation. He watched as the red blood flowed from the wound, soaking the white carpet beneath him. However, he still wasn't experiencing as much pain as the ache caused by Sara's absence. It seemed like the wound needed to be deeper. He positioned the knife's edge over his wound once more, intending to cut it again and make it deeper.