Novel & Cerita Antichrist Damien

Zorina's pov I had blanked out for the second time, I could see father quietly seething where he sat. Dame's lips were pulled up into a tight grin and the priest was feeling obviously uncomfortable. Sweating bullets. "I....I...." I knew I was supposed to say the two words, but...for some reason I couldn't force them out. "Miss, I said do you take Mr Dame Hurbust as your traditionally wedded mat—" "Oh old fuck, of course she does." Dame cut in rudely, grabbing my arms and digging his nails into it, discreetly.

“You think you’re going to get answers by trying to beat them out of him? You're just going to end up killing him and there is not going to be good for us to it.” “He deserves worse.” I snapped. “Maybe. But that doesn’t mean we waste our energy now.” Damon’s voice dropped further. “Use your head. Not your rage.” I clenched my jaw. Behind us, Carter said, voice ragged, “She called herself Tatiana. She… she said things about Delilah. About power. About what’s coming.” Damon turned slowly. “Spare me.” Carter blinked. “You don’t believe me?” Damon’s expression hardened. “I don’t believe anything from a man who watched us bleed and said nothing.”

"I'm listening." Kendrick launched into a detailed explanation of his plans, but Damon's mind began to wander. He was thinking about the potential profits, the ways he could manipulate Kendrick to get what he wanted. Just as Kendrick finished his pitch, Damon's phone buzzed. He glanced at the screen, his expression darkening. "Excuse me for a moment," he said, standing up. He stepped out of the room, his right-hand man, Marcus, waiting for him in the hallway. "What is it?" Damon asked, his voice low and even.

Asher muttered from where he stood, watching as Kaidën fought with the demons of his past. “We are both damaged, Asher Fishman. Why else would we fit so perfectly?” Kaidën shot back, shaking his head, fingers clawing at the mirrors.

I watched the comeback die in his throat. That was the moment I felt it properly—that particular satisfaction that comes from watching someone’s resistance crumble in real time, not dramatically, not all at once, but in increments. A word at a time. An inch at a time. “You want to know what Damian likes, right?” I kept my voice easy, conversational, like we were discussing something completely ordinary. “Well, this is it. How you move. How you submit without looking weak. Think you can handle that, or are you all talk?”

Expensive looses. Then he reached for another, and another. His brow furrowed slowly. “What?” I asked. “These aren't warnings.” Marcos scoffed immediately. “No shit.” Imran ignored him completely, still staring at the photos. “Warnings are loud. Public. They want you angry, emotional, reactive.” He looked up at me finally. “This feels calculated.” I crossed my arms. “How?” “They're controlling damage.” Dante frowned. “Explain.” Imran pointed towards one of the reports. “Look at the timing. They're interrupting movement, not destroying operations. Enough damage to create pressure, not enough to start full retaliation.”

I kept my hands folded in my lap as we drove, wondering what I had gotten myself into by agreeing to this. Inside the car, it was quiet for a long time. I finally broke the silence. “Tell me about your family.” Damien’s expression changed right away. “There’s not much to tell.” “I doubt that,” I said. After a pause, he started talking. “My father remarried after my mother died. Victoria is my stepmother. She likes control.” I smiled a little. “That’s your warning?” “No.” He glanced at me briefly. “This is. Answer only what you’re asked. Don’t volunteer information.”

Lana’s brow furrows, “You speak of the four horsemen of the apocalypse? Are you saying my sisters are the horsemen? But they’re…men. Arent they? ” Clotho nods, “You’re thinking of the human’s biblical terms. Of course, the humans would make them all males. Zeus forbid that females be just as vicious as males.” she rolls her eyes, which would be so amusing if the situation wasn’t so dire. “However, the basic concept of the horsemen is the same. You are Abaddon, the destroyer, the antichrist. Whatever religious moniker you are labeled leads to you being the ender of worlds. Once the balance was restored, your true identity and your sisters’ souls would be mobilized.”

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