Bloodbath Diablos Novels & Stories

Sebastian’s POV The sky bleeds. The Blood Moon hangs like a curse, full and red and humming with the promise of war. The air crackles. Lunaris is no longer silent. It thrums with howls, metal, and the scent of ash. I see the battlefield laid bare before me like a nightmare uncoiling. Dante’s forces flood the valley—feral wolves with hollow eyes, twisted by blood magic, their snarls inhuman. Undead. Cursed. This is no army. It’s death itself.

Her skin burned faster than it could regenerate and though she was the furthest away from Kylie, she seemed to be the one suffering from the brunt of the fire. “The flames of a sun,” Davies suddenly muttered, looking silently at the dagger in his hand; it was Dark Shadow’s dagger he held. “What?” Jack asked. “Nothing,” Davies responded with a shake of his head. “Tell me,” Jack insisted, something he hadn’t done since he dropped the persona of a bully after the veil had been taken of Kylie’s eyes. “Blood Daemons are similar to vampires of legends. Well, they are the same thing but with a different name. And their weaknesses are...” Davies started.

He held the dagger up to Ruben and Ruben stepped forward taking Batton’s other wrist and slashing it open as well. Kat gasped in a breath as Ruben stood side on to Batton and raised his hand, igniting Blood Reign and Batton’s blood started to glow, lifting up from the ground and, like dust particles in the sunlight, drifted up in small filaments and disappearing. Batton grimaced and a pained strangled noise escaped him as the Blood Reign started to pull the blood from his open veins, draining him completely. “You’ll kill him…” Kat breathed, watching with a morbid fascination.

Desperation clawed at Damien’s throat, a useless plea for mercy trembling on his lips, as he now found himself bargaining with death's shadow, pleading for a sliver of life he seemed no longer entitled to. Yadiel raised his silver blade, its edge glinting with a deadly promise in the dim light. With every muscle tensed for the kill, he prepared to deliver a series of devastating strikes to Damien. In the ruthless gaze of a villain, the bonds of blood were rendered meaningless—a mere whisper of kinship drowned out by the clamor for power.

Tears rolled down my cheeks, I was not only scared for myself that I had handed my heart over to this man, I was also scared for his people, I needed to know what inspired such hatred to murder his people. “You want to know the truth? I will tell you.” He strolled from the throne towards me, “The world I told that was built by me and my two friends, these people are the descendants. We made a blood covenant that whichever one of us dies first, our power should be given to the next who was alive to maintain the balance of the park for greater good. Their fathers saw us as a threat and opted to end our lives. For each one they killed, their powers were absorbed into my blood, the same blood I

I pushed myself off the door frame and took a step toward him. "So, is this what you do to your victims?” I pressed. “You put them under your control and then kill them? Well, Darick, you can shove that stupid blood oath up your ass and go to hell! You are barbaric.” This clearly made him angry. Good. He deserved to feel half of what I was. "You don't know what you're talking about. You know nothing about me," he growled. "I know you are the leader of the Blood Brother's mafia, a gang of vampires, and I now understand why you're called Darick the Bloodthirsty," I replied, pointing to the bite mark on my neck.

he tells me then tits his head to the carnage I left in the middle of the room. I slump into his shoulder and just breath, I feel like my lungs haven't had a proper breath since walking away from my dad's body. My heart feels heavy for my lose but somehow alive, it's all because of the man who's holding me tight to his chest while giving out orders. "My condolences Miss Diabla for your loss" says a man with a heavy Spanish accent. "The Castro. The San Torino and The Belmura Families all stand at your side, we will have allies' contracts drawn and send for you agreement in the next few days"

Prophecy of Blood and Moon Long before Maverick Delacroix and Odessa Kingsleigh ever stood beneath the same sky, the world itself had begun to whisper. Ancient texts—half-burned, half-forgotten—spoke of a convergence marked by omens rather than dates. They told of a night when the moon would bleed silver instead of light, when roses would bloom black at dawn, and when shadows would no longer know which master they served. Vampires called it The Crimson Turning. The neko elders named it The Hour of Unbinding. Different tongues, same dread. In those prophecies, two figures always appeared at the center of the unraveling.

## ELARA'S POV The sound of Dante hitting the floor wasn't a clean, cinematic thud. It was a horrible, heavy crash that rattled the metal legs of the table. His head struck the concrete with a sickening crack, and then there was just this awful, dead silence. For a second, nobody breathed. The dark pool of blood beneath him didn't stop. It just rushed faster out of his side, spreading across the gray concrete like spilled ink. "Dante?" Sophia’s voice didn't sound like her at all. It was high, thin, and completely stripped of its usual iron. She dropped to her knees so hard I heard her kneecaps hit the floor. "Dante! Hey, look at me. Look at me!"

He didn't reply, forcing me to peer into those unreadable eyes and drink him in. “Is this from the blood oath?” I tried again. He shook his head, leaning into my touch like an obedient pet. His eyes were trained on me, as if challenging me to a gaze holding standoff. “No.” He said after a few minutes. He turned his other hand where a small scar marred his palm. “This is it.” “While this,” He said and his hand connected with mine which was still clinging to his face. My heart beat tripled. He continued effortlessly. “This Happened in a fight many years back.”