Damien Thorn South Park Novels & Stories

“I heard he’s hiding something. That’s why he doesn’t shift in front of us. Probably ashamed of something I heard.” Someone else snorted. “More like he’s got a small dick. That’s what I heard.” Laughter erupted. I froze. Damien covered his mouth with his hand, trying not to laugh. “Don’t you dare,” I hissed. “I’m sorry,” he whispered, clearly not sorry. “That one caught me off guard.” “They’re talking about me,” I growled. “That’s not funny.” “It kind of is.” “I will hurt you.” He raised his hands in surrender. “Okay, okay. Jokes aside... they’re obviously not fans.”

"Molly has been riding my ass for working too much." Damien scoffed and drew hard on his cigarette. He only smoked one brand of ciggies: Sobranie Black Russians. They were manufactured and exclusively packed in Old Bond Street in London. Damien's taste in everything was very specific and distinctive. Everyone knew that. Damien only wanted the highest quality in everything. He never settled for economy when he could always get first class. "Your old lady's got you chained by the balls, man. That's what you get for not chasing other poontang when you had the chance in college. Even Sally was hot for your ass."

“Of course, I’ve thought about it. But his words felt…” “Felt like what?” Thorin snapped. “Felt real? Felt sincere? Since when does Damien deal in sincerity?” “He didn’t have to say that,” I said quietly. “If he wanted to rile me up, he could’ve said anything else. Why this? Why plant doubt about my own people?” Thorin was silent for a beat, then spoke again. “Because it’s working.” I flinched, hating the truth in his words. “Lucien,” Thorin continued, his voice calmer now, “Damien’s a snake. You can’t trust anything that comes out of his mouth.”

I nod and we head for the park. "My dad passed away two years ago and since he was the breadwinner and mom was the housewife we struggled to make ends meet. I hadn't finished school so Michael paid for the remaining semesters and I managed to graduate from high school. I met Michaela in my junior year before dad passed away. I saved her from being gang-raped by these other kids from school so she paid my tuition saying she owed me her life and we became good friends. A few months later, dad passed away, mom started getting involved with this man named Ron, he is a drug addict; I tried to tell my mom that he was bad for her but Ron had a tight grip on her she couldn't even see it.

he said “Yeah, not really, I mean uhmmm… it’s complicated” “I understand” he said “Do you know him” she asked “Yeah and his leviathan friend” he said and she was surprised, how did he know Arnold was a Leviathan? ‘How... What do you mean?” “I mean be careful with the Leviathan guy?” he said “What do you mean by that? Who are you?” “Just call me Damien” “Ok, Damien how did you know that?”

"Mr. Volkov? Ms. Thorne? I need to get your statements. We have the perpetrators, but we need to understand what happened here." Damian didn't turn immediately. He held me for another moment, a silent declaration in the chaos. When he finally looked at the detective, the gentleness he’d shown me vanished. His face hardened into a mask of cold, aristocratic fury. The vulnerability was gone, replaced by the formidable Damian Volkov, a man whose wrath promised consequences far beyond anything the NYPD could deliver.

“They were family.” Damien sat with perfect, aristocratic posture despite his torn black shirt and crimson-flecked eyes. “Damien Crowe. Graduate student. Pure-blood vampire. I drove a silver blade through my sire’s heart tonight. The man who gave me this cursed existence… called me his greatest pride.” A bitter smile touched his lips. “Now I’m alone in the bloodline.”

He spat back. Damian let out a crazy laughter, his response cold and insulting. "Ohh sorry, my bad." His eyes sparked with malice, "it too bad you pretend to mourn Sarah but we know what you were doing behind the scenes huh. Using the opportunity to have a threesome with both mother and wife." Ray's anger boiled over as he punched Damian in the face. Damian's face fell back as he let out a creepy laughter afterwards. "Wasn't the gravesite a perfect spot?" Damian asked once more.

Was the man real, or just a fictional character created by Julian Thorne? Damian reached for his phone and dialed a number in the middle of the night—a private detective who handled the darkest cases for Manhattan's elite. The next morning, the atmosphere at Sheina’s hotel was thick with tension. Julian Thorne entered her suite to find her standing on the balcony, overlooking a Central Park beginning to yellow with autumn. "Damian has made his move, Sheina," Julian said softly. "My contact at Xavier Tower says he took a DNA sample from your glass last night."

“I’m dead serious, babe. Slept at his hotel last night. And guess what? He asked me to be his while his dick was inside me. How was I supposed to say no?” “NAHHH, THAT’S THE CRAZIEST SHIT I EVER HEARD! I LOVE THIS MAN ALREADY!” I could hear her flailing, probably tripping over her bed, biting her lip like she does when we dish about hot guys. “Damian Thorne just shattered every damn allegation. Boy’s a keeper!” “You can say that again,” I murmured, my eyes flicking to him. He caught me staring, scrunched his face suspiciously, like What are you schemin’, Sheriff?