Demons By Fyodor Dostoevsky Novels & Stories

“No… It’s not.” Serenity put the glass down and leaned forward, wringing her hands. “I have done as much research as I can. But I can’t find the answers I need.” “And what are they, pray tell.” Serenity licked her lips and glanced at the door, to the pair of demons and her brow furrowed. She didn’t like the whipped look they had to them. “One of the tomes talks about the ultimate sacrifice.” “Ah yes… What a load of bullshit that is. There is no ultimate sacrifice.” Daisy waved her hand and Serenity blinked. “Demons are loyal, yes but they are also cowards. They will always save their own skin, over that of someone else.”

Leon The bastard was already on his knees when I walked into the basement. Two of my men were standing on either side of him, holding his arms like dead weights. His face was bloodied, one eye already swollen shut, and he was coughing like something’s stuck in his throat. I don’t feel a damn thing looking at him. Not pity. Not curiosity. Nothing. I’m still pissed.

He knew that a slice to the jugular would mean immediate death. And if he were to grab this opportunity, then that would mean the village of Gashea wouldn't experience any more misfortune under the hands of some malevolent demon. Still, as he looked at the demon's eyes, Fyn felt like something was wrong. A powerful demon such as the one that was in front of him surely wouldn't look like they were ready to embrace death. Surely, even demons could feel fear. The demon's eyes looked welcoming, like it was waiting for Fyn to just kill him. He already felt as if the demon were human, and now, as he was looking at the being's eyes, it felt like the belief strengthened.

I could smell them from a mile away and when I encounter them, I vanish. I opened the mahogany doors of the conference room to see a bald headed man wearing glasses. He was formerly looking at some papers but immediately I entered, his head sprang up and I froze. I knew him. Well not literally knew him but he was famous. Some blogs called he and his friends the Yoruba demons. The term was now used for Casanovas in general but if I'm correct, the man sitting before me and his two friends invented the term. They were the first Yoruba demons.

I stared at him while waiting for an answer. “It’s a Demon’s symbol.” My eyes furrowed at what he said. I stared at his eyes but he seems serious! But what? Demon’s symbol? I don’t understand. “D-Demon?” I stammered. He nodded and looked away. He’s now back on staring at the glass wall. I shook my head in disagreement. “Are you kidding me? There’s no such thing about Demons! I am finding the murderer and-“ “It’s always been the Demon’s fault, Majesty. They are just using the people to do bad things but it’s always been their idea to hurt and kill someone.” He said while staring at the glass wall. I am even more confuse now.

I'm so sure that it was him because I recognized his voice! "B-Why are you doing this, Damian?" welding weak my question. I almost gasped when I heard myself mention his name. I feel so disgusted just by mentioning his name. And did they really get along with Baldo? You bastards! Demons! I want to scream at them. I want to hurt them until I get bored. I didn't know that their evilness will reach this point. Now I realize I should have cried right away when they were still out! Because now I can't scream anymore. Damian blackmailed me. And nothing else can help us.

he stopped midway as if he released something. “I am finally freed from the shackles which bounded me.” saying so, the bitterness, hatred, shock, grief and joy vanished in Dumeny like a trace of smoke. His heart was clear; his demonic resolution shone deeply in his eyes. Dumeny, from the very beginning. He was the Devil in disguise.

They were twin pits of swirling, molten red that seemed to swallow the firelight. "WHO DARED TO CAPTURE ME AGAIN?"The voice wasn't Remiel’s. It was a demonic roar that vibrated in the very marrow of their bones, sounding like a thousand screams layered into one. The air grew ice-cold, and the shadows around the square began to rise like living things. The demon had claimed its vessel, and this time, it was hungry. The massacre began with a sound like a gale force wind trapped in a narrow canyon. As the guards charged, their boots barely left the ground before an invisible wall of force slammed into them, tossing their armored bodies aside like autumn leaves.

Deep within the heart of this realm, past the rivers of black fire and the pits where lesser demons clawed at the walls, stood the throne hall. And on that throne—made entirely from the skulls of the innocent, the guilty, warriors, children, ancient beings, and anyone unfortunate enough to fall under his rage—sat Roosevelt, Demon King, unmoving like an eternal nightmare carved into existence. His eyes glowed with a cold, ancient hatred that never dimmed. The hall was silent until footsteps echoed—hesitant, slow, fearful. Devyani, one of the five demons Roosevelt held closest to his heart, bowed deeply. Even though fear trembled inside him, he kept his expression blank. Showing weakness here

“I am just a worker whose job is to appease men.” Dante's face hardened. “I know a lie when I hear one.” he said as he caught my hands before I could undo one of his buttons. I flinched and stared at him. “What is your name?” “Emily.” I blurted out. “You are not like the rest.” he told me as he ran his fingers through my hair. “And what are the rest?.” I dared to ask. Dante smirked. An evil one. “Fearful. They possessed fear. You don't.”