Bottom Scaramouche Novels & Stories

“Before you dismembered the demon, did you happen to get a good look at it?” He nods. “Maybe five feet tall if I’m being generous. Claws, flat teeth, smelled like the inside of an asshole, with skin resembling an elderly man’s ball sack.” “Scrapper demon. Great. When there’s one there’s usually more. They follow behind more powerful demons, eating their scraps. Hence the nickname. I’m surprised it took them this long to follow behind that Third Hierarchy twatwaffle.” I tip my head. “How many old man ball sacks have you seen?”

He was wearing gloves. “Hey, Wallie. It’s been a while!” Scorch’s voice did not fit his 45-year-old six-foot-seven size and oval-shaped head. He talked in squeaks. Wale had always thought of Scorch as a more modern version of Chucky, with a more masculine, human body. However the knife and dried dark bloodstains smeared all over his face. “Yeah, I’ve been, you know, busy. Running here and running there.” “I can see how much good fortune it’s brought you.”

Scott chuckled mentally. "OfCourse my Friend, you are fine, what can be happened?- Scott's facade of concern remained intact as he watched Steve down the drink, masking any hint of satisfaction at his own manipulation. With a smooth motion, he signaled the bartender to make another strong drink. Steve took the glass and without a second thought he chugged the harsh fluid down his throat.

CHAPTER ELEVEN: After Recap/ hi, I am boma hart, there are a few things you know or maybe forget, after a lovely dinner date with Brandon, Scott called me the following morning and dragged me out of bed to the music fest, the same music fest that changed our lives years past. (Still at the music fest) Scott and I danced just like old times, he did his moonwalked and swiftly made his way to me, I couldn't stop laughing and wandered off to the food stand.

The sound of heels echoed throughout the lonely street until a pair of black pumps came into the sight of Jasmine. Before Jasmine, was an annoying Scar, who stood with her arms crossed over her chest. "What the hell are you doing out here, Jasmine? She asked, while Jasmine slowly sat up with her hand pressed against her ribcage as a groan left her lips. "It's good to see you too, Scar," she said, followed by a weak chuckled. "This isn't funny, Jasmine, you could've gotten seriously hurt," she said as Jasmine rolled her eyes. "You sound like Tommy," she said as Scar helped her onto her feet.

Just as she was screaming, another hand grabbed my hand and yanked me backward. I turned immediately and was ready to throw a punch when I stopped midway. The man’s intense gaze sent shivers down my spine. He looked sophisticated and powerful. He was wearing a Midnight-black suit, with striking eyes, and a dangerous calmness. “Don’t you ever set your filthy hands on what belongs to me ever again,” he bellowed.

Scar sits up, realizing her trick failed, she starts bargaining, “Give me a good reason why I have to do it.” “You are giving him two billion dollars, and you don’t even want a thank you from him?” Silco answers with a question. “Nope, I’m THAT generous,” Scar fakes a smile. Silco laughs at her capricious tantrum, teasing: “Well, I’m not. I want my money spent with the beneficiary acknowledging it.” “I’ll acknowledge it!” Scar pleas, “You are doing this for me, no?” “Okay,” Silco complies with her plea, smirking: “So you are saying, it’s YOU who wants to save Sebastian Knight, not me?”

It climbed up onto the coach’s roof. “Ok, how am I going to do this?” Scott thought to himself as he stood on a moving roof with a holy claymore and an audience of children, and felt his options narrow to one workable set. He staggered back toward the front of the coach as it drove down the highway, dodging cars and traffic as the Scorcher demon climbed up and stood above Scott, dwarfing him in shadow. He crouched down so he could hear the driver and looked toward the driver’s side of the bus while kneeling as he was praying.

Skye asked, anticipating her response. "It's fly, I'm astonished," Scar commented, despite all this Scar's mind was somewhere else, she was absent-minded. Skye noticed this but didn't wanna push it so he asked her something else, "What would you like to have?" Scar sighed wearily, "I need something strong, something hard." "Um, Alright, Do you take vodka?" He asked. Scar nodded, Skye turned his attention to the bartender, "Vodka and whiskey on the rocks." He nodded and started mixing the drinks, and before Scar could blink a drink was in front of her. "Here Señorita." the bartender said.

It stopped being remarkable. It just became you. “Hey, Cole!” Victor ‘Scars’ Innis barked from the opposite end of the bar, dragging him abruptly back into the present. “Table six needs another two pitchers before they start a fucking riot.” Cole glanced over automatically, catching sight of the bar manager and club Vice-President weaving through customers with his usual terrifying efficiency, massive shoulders cutting through crowds like a battering ram. Scars looked exactly like what he was: a man built equally for violence and authority, his heavily scarred face and hulking frame carrying enough weight inside the Road Devils that entire rooms shifted instinctively around him.