Antichrist Damien Novels & Stories

He hadn't cared about most of them. Until he saw one name. Cynthia Hart. He hadn't known why he stopped there. He hadn't even spent much time looking at her photograph. He simply instructed his assistant to make the payment. Now, weeks later, he was finally sitting across from the same therapist. "Mr. Blackwood?" Damien looked up. The receptionist stood near the doorway. "Dr. Anderson is ready for you." Damien stood and followed her inside. His therapist, Dr. Anderson, was a well respected psychologist whose private practice catered mostly to high profile clients. He had worked with Damien for several years and was one of the few people who could speak to him without being intimidated.

"I can't believe that bastard didn't choose her already, he needs to play his numerous games. " Amanda screamed in anger when we got home. I was still reeling the fact that I have come really very close to Alpha king Damien and I wasn't even thinking of killing him the entire time only fucking him. My insides squish at the memory of our encounter. Killing Alpha Damien would be hard and I didn't need to let my doubts out because Amanda is already spiting fire.

“Just let me get a shower then we’re out of here.” Heading towards the bathroom, the risen sun cast shadows across the rug-covered wooden floor. I should have been content. Tonight, Nikolai had come to me, and we had finally admitted our feelings. We had made love, he’d even told me his deepest secret. Except he despises those with visions. People like me. I am the receiver of his mothers gift and he despises her for it. /He wouldn’t hate us, he could never despise us, he loves us./

“We have to discover the source of the obscurity and crush it before it destroys us.” Ethan looked around the chamber, the old carvings on the dividers were now bent and adulterated by the darkness that saturated the air. The altar at the center of the room still beats with dim energy, the images carved into its surface shining with an foreboding ruddy light. Something constrained was at the heart of this place, it was antiquated and capable, and it was arousing. “Come on,” Ethan encouraged, taking Miriam's hand and driving her away from the altar. “We need to discover another way out of here.”

I returned the gaze suspiciously. “We have a very important guest today,” Dad said just as footsteps echoed through the room. I turned to see him—Damien. Dressed all in black, looking like a king. His outfit and presence commanded power. “What the fuck…” I cursed under my breath, wondering why he was dining at my house. “Damien Kings, welcome,” Dad said, standing to shake his hand. Theo followed suit.

Watered the windowsill basil like it was a normal Sunday. Then the email came. From an address she didn’t recognize. Subject: “Clarification Needed: Former Church Transactions” Her heart stopped. She clicked on it with trembling fingers, already knowing before the first line appeared. “We are conducting a routine review of financial discrepancies from Restoration Harvest’s building fund, and your name has been referenced on several relevant authorizations…” No signature. No explanation. No contact number. Just enough to make her blood run cold. Eden sank into the kitchen chair, stomach lurching. Her mind raced—how much could they trace? Hadn’t that all been under Dusty’s control?

Dante’s imagination and fascination with mid-evil torture divides a gore makes him one of those people who would take enjoyment out of watching someone slowly bleed out while watching them suffer until he gets his answers. Damien is the level headed, silent one who you’d think would be the scariest but he’s not, he’s more methodical when it comes to his plans and what I’ve come to learn makes him grate at mental interrogation. Like one of those people who with a single glance can detect the smallest of micro movements and know your intentions or that your lying. Then there’s Damitri the man with a plan and an irritation fuse so sort he’s most likely to slap the shit out of someone sir sniffl

Instead, there was a growing curiosity, mixed with a touch of disbelief. “Tell me, Castiel,” he finally asked, his voice filled with both reluctance and curiosity. “Who is Damien really up against this time? Because I highly doubt that you’d be here, asking me for help if this was someone Damien could deal with on his own. And as far as I know Damien, there are very few people who match him in strength and cunningness.” “Elijah Blackburn.” "You’ve got to be fucking kidding me," Dominic scoffed, his voice barely above a whisper, but his eyes were wide with the weight of what he was hearing. "Elijah? *The* Elijah Blackburn? The one everyone’s too scared to even mention?"

Then — "How do you know he hasn't run?" "Because he built this," Damien said. "Everything. Seventeen years of planning. Men like that don't run from what they've built. They protect it." Another pause. "You've been studying him longer than anyone Marcus. Where does he go when he goes dark?" The silence this time was longer. Rain watched Damien's face while he waited — the controlled patience of him, the jaw tight, the particular cost of asking Marcus Calloway for anything visible only in the set of his shoulders.

Locked and empty. That’s why I’m here tonight. Damian Prescott. Campus legend. Hockey captain with effortless charm, the kind of guy who walks into a room and steals all the oxygen. Rumors follow him like perfume. Every girl he’s ever dated leaves singing praises about his stamina, his creativity, the way he makes you feel like the only person in the world while he’s wrecking you. Some whispers say he doesn’t discriminate… that he swings both ways. I’ve never confirmed it. I’ve only observed from afar. Fantasized in secret. And now, I need real material. Something raw. Something authentic to make my next chapter stop feeling fake.