Butcher Diabolical Novels & Stories

His brother had truly screwed him this time. His lips were still turned up in a rictus of a smile at his predicament when he heard the crossbar being raised and the door swung open. Sigurd loomed in the doorway casting a long shadow across the small room. The sun glowing behind him gave him the appearance of a dark avenging angel. "Time to break your fast, Brandur the Destroyer,” Sigurd said with a sneer, taking a step into the small hut.

David’s backup is arriving soon! I felt a jolt of anxiety. I did not expect him to have help coming. However, my anxiety disappeared immediately when I saw David and Sarah get pinned down to the bench. I wonder who would be faster: the rescue team or the knife? The butcher spat on the ground and raised his blade, but the pigs were fighting back with hysterical strength. The butcher grumbled, “They’re kicking around too much. I can’t get a clean angle to cut into them.” The comments exploded with compliments.

Hard. And the devil had watched, smiling the whole way down.

Although Janice wasn't an expert when it comes to board games, she knew the meaning of most words, and she was also careful not to let Jules trick her. Janice glowered. “That is a wrong spelling, your majesty.” “Really? I thought I saw 'scod' whilst leafing through the dictionary yesterday.” “I believe that is a blatant lie. It is 'Scold' and not 'Scod'. I haven't come across such a word.” “Then you call me a liar?” Jules said. “Rather, I'm calling you a cheat,” Janice replied. “That's outrageous!” Janice flinched whilst staring at Jules. He furrowed his brows, and his eyes glinted. He seemed offended, and she would have believed it was genuine if she didn't know him.

“Well, well, well, if it isn’t the devil.” His eyes narrow as he takes in my appearance. “Lana, what happened to you?” he looks on as the locusts continue to devour the spiders. “Are those locusts eating the Arachia demons?” I shrug my shoulder and point to the locusts devouring the creatures with a wide, maniacal grin. “Yep,” I giggle. “It looks like they messed with the wrong girl.” I laugh again, which makes his brow furrow.

He tumbled along the ground and stopped motionless, lying like a broken doll. “No!” I didn’t even realize at first that it was me who had cried out. Was he dead? No, his soul wasn’t flying away! And even if it was, I would get it back. I was a necromancer, dammit. Rage and desperation flashed inside me, and my other half got the upper hand. Instead of banishing the devourers with my necromantic power, I immolated them with a stream of scorching flames. It didn’t really matter anymore, though.

she asked, leaning forward in her seat. Steve turned toward her, his expression serious. "The Diablos," he began, his voice taking on a somber tone, "are a biker werewolf gang with no territory. They ride around terrorizing, killing, stealing, and sometimes smuggling illegal things throughout America." His words painted a vivid picture of lawlessness and danger. "They're also known as Demon wolves or Devil wolves. They sell their services to whoever can pay them, but they won't hesitate to betray or backstab if they get bored."

I yelled out of frustration. "Don't fucking yell at me I could've left you there to die! I could've let him rape you and kill you. If I wanted to I could've waited till he killed you so that you could kill him and collect the money my damn self!" He yelled as his eyes darkened. Dylan's a very attractive man but when he gets angry like this it's incredibly scary. He almost looks like a different person, he gets so infuriated that he can't control his impulses. But at this point I had nothing to loose

Every hit and blow was so massive that within seconds, the poor man's face was unequivocally destroyed and was bathing in his own pool of blood. No one dared to stop Sebastian even after hearing the poor man's cries for help. Everyone knew that if their boss was brutally vicious and ruthless, Sebastian was way more barbaric and bloodthirsty in his own way. He was bestial and diabolical hiding under a sheep's clothing. He was a former assassin after all.

“I AM NOT FOR DINNER!” The demon pushed his hands into the air. “Hey, hey, little bird. Calm your engine. I'm just asking for posterity's sake. The name's Aym.” He tipped his fedora at me, then snapped his fingers, summoning a ball of yellow flame. “Connoisseur of fine cigars and grand arsonist of Hell.” He blew on the flame, revealing a fat cigar. He puffed it listlessly. Beelzebub sneered. “And now what? We grovel before the fleshbag?”