Demon Xlr の小説・ストーリー

This was a BDSM room—a space designed for pleasure, control, and submission. Nervousness crept up my spine, but it was tangled with something else—curiosity. What were we going to do here? Why had Damien brought me to this place? “Xiana, come here.” His voice broke through my swirling thoughts, and I flinched slightly before turning to find him. He stood near an enormous, antique dressing mirror, his gaze locked onto his reflection. Without hesitation, I stepped closer until I was right beside him. “In this room, you will witness and understand why I am a demon.” His voice was low, barely more than a whisper, yet it sent shivers down my spine.

Damien straightened, listening. There was silence. The hallway outside remained quiet. No footsteps. No voices. He reached into his jacket pocket and pulled out a slim leather case. Inside were thin metallic tools and a small device he had paid far too much money for. He worked quickly but carefully, attaching the device to the keypad, studying the interface. “Come on,” he muttered. “You’ve always been sentimental with numbers, Xavier. Don’t tell me you didn’t use something obvious.” He tried one sequence. Denied.

That’s how he found himself in the closest police precinct begging the officers to help him. “Please! Arrest me!” Rell screamed as he practically fell into the doors constantly looking back to see if the demon would follow behind him from his apartment, convinced he’d seen his horns in his rearview mirror. “Sir, please, calm down. Why do you think we should arrest you?” The confused officer asked, looking at Rell as if he was another strung out junkie just looking for a place to stay the night. “Tha- that man! That devil!” He screamed hysterically.

On the other hand, lower demons always had a ravenous appetite. That was how they replenished their strength. “Are you coming?” “Give me ten minutes.” In the meantime, I took a walk across the clearing and took a handkerchief out of my pocket, drenching it in the blood of the scarred templar. I’ll summon you later, and we’ll have a talk. The road back took just twenty minutes. Naturally, nobody had noticed my absence. I put all my trophies together with the demon’s remains and lay down on my bedroll.

The demon met every blow with raw, abyssal strength, its claws leaving gouges in the stone walls as they traded hits that sounded like thunderclaps echoing through the hall. "Is that all you've got?" the demon hissed, its eyes glowing like embers as it swung a massive, shadow-cloaked fist. Kai ducked the blow, the wind from the strike ruffling his hair, and countered with a palm strike to the demon's chest that sent a shockwave rippling through the corridor. The demon staggered back, but only for a heartbeat before lunging forward with a guttural roar, its speed defying its massive size.

"Guys, let's start?" Everyone went to their positions. Rave's the drummer of the band, Dave's the main vocalist, Train's assigned on the keyboard and also the back-up vocal, and lastly, Peter's the guitarist of the band. They're not really an official band, they're like a group, formed just for this occasion. The whole place was filled with the sound of instruments and the good singing voice Dave had. Some members are listening in awe as to how good the boys are. The girls would surely swoon once they see the performance and how good looking the performers are.

It must be extremely painful, even for a demon. "You don't have to look at me like that." Jesse turned to look at me, our eyes meeting. "I don't need your sympathy." "I guess you don't need it either." I took one step closer. "You are a powerful demon." Jesse sat up in bed, wincing slightly, making me wonder how hard he was trying to stay calm in front of Rayline. Jesse stared me up and down as I approached while fiddling with something in my hand. Then I held out a white tube to him, who raised his eyebrows. "Cream for burns."

With a heavy, uncoordinated thud, the Demon CEO crashed flat onto the hardwood floor, his long limbs sprawled in a thoroughly unpolished, chaotic position. Xavier lies perfectly still on the cold hardwood floorboards, his long fingers curling into tight, bone-white fists against the wood as the terrifying realization of his physical displacement registers within his analytical brain. A low, primal growl vibrates deep within his chest as he slowly forces his towering frame up onto his knees, his dark hair falling wildly over his forehead as he tilts his chin upward—his pitch-black eyes glowing with a level of unhinged, dangerous ferocity that says the last remaining remnants of his civilized