Dark Pit Fanart Novels & Stories

“It's not like that. It's not something you can get rid of. It's part of me; it's my other half. It's who and what I am. Don’t you see, I am the darkness! To get rid of it would be to get rid of me. I'm no good for you. I will only cause you pain and suffering. I am the darkness! I'm the monster everyone's afraid of. I'm the beast in the dark that children have nightmares of. I am the evil from the depths of hell and will only snuff out your light, little angel. You and I can never be together!” He said with a deep and rough voice. Smoke seeped from his body again, and a dark aura rose from his body like a shadow looming over her.

Dark magic poured from my fingertips, fire pushing into the ice, melting it away, layer by layer until nothing stood in front of me. A cold wind blew out from the now open cavern, my hair whipped across my face. I walked into the dark cavern. It was a place of nightmares, the power that came from this room called to me, drawing me closer. I groaned as the power caressed my skin. It took my breath away.

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Just answers. The club was a low-end spot called Velvet Sin—neon lights still flickering even in daylight, bass thumping faintly through the walls. Back entrance, like Dre said. We slipped in through the service door. The bouncer knew Dre’s face—nodded once, let us pass. Money talks. Then Dre turned around, giving me the signal I needed. Up the stairs to the VIP booths. Room 7. The door was cracked open, moans spilling out—loud and shameless. I pushed it wide.

Arthur slid into the passenger's seat of the cab that pulled up in front of him. Richard welcomed him with a grin. “It's freezing out here, man. What took you so long?“ “Sorry, bro. Just had to find the right outfit.“ Richard gestured at his outfit. Black, denim jacket. Black boot. Black gloves. Black hat. Black shades. “You look like you're on goddamn espionage.“ Arthur had zero sense of humor for the night. Something about racing through that door earlier today plunged him into a terrible mood.

Chapter Two. AZAEL BLACKWELL. The redhead with the big blue eyes was moving her hips in circles above me, I could feel my manhood coming in and out of her over and over again, I was focusing, imagining her to be that sweet redhead I've been studying for months, one that, has become the main protagonist of every one of my fantasies, I can't get her out of my head, not until I have her in my hands and make her mine, just mine.

He meant to grab a shirt to put on her so Edward could do a proper exam, however, he wasn't expecting the sight that lay before him. He hadn't noticed it in the car because it was too dark, but now in his illuminated bedroom he easily took in all the white and black marks marring Summer's porcelain skin. On her right arm lay a tattoo of a Serpent that wrapped its way around her forearm and up along her bicep with its head ending just above her collarbone. Littered around the tattoo were white scars that looked to be from something cutting her delicate skin again and again. Her other arm that didn't have any tattoos covering it sported the same scars.

Who had painted all of this? She didn’t know who has painted all of this, but what is certain is that they were a talented person, gifted with beautiful hands and extraordinary imagination. Because no ordinary person could make such thing. Morana stretched out her hand, but before she could touch the surface of the canvas with the same woman's face, which was dominated by bright red, someone warned her. "Don't touch it, it's still wet." Morana gasped and immediately turned towards the source of the sound and found Daniel staring at her. he was standing at the door, blocking the light from the corridor, but she didn’t realize it until he spoke. How long he had been standing there?

Adrian When we reached the old Phi Umbra house in Cainebrielle, the sight that greeted us was carnage wrapped in fire and silver. Blood streaked the grass, blackened with wolf and Dhampir alike. Carson and his men held their ground, but the wolves were pinned beneath a relentless hail of gunfire. The Strigoi’s Dhampirs were well-armed, their weapons gleaming with silver tips that sang with each discharge. They outnumbered the wolves ten to one, a tide of shadows pushing forward without hesitation.

Her perfectly serene doll-like look was ruined however by the tired scowl which decorates her face. Rubisviel Fyaril, the Orchid Butterfly Witch of the Dark Forest wipes the sweat from her brow and huffed after completing a drawing of a Cthulhu symbol inside her circle. Thick black bags hang under her tired golden eyes and her face was paler than usual. Her head hurts like a battle-ax was splitting it open and her shoulders and legs are aching after prolonged hours of sitting on the ground and focusing on drawing the symbols.