Devil Mouse Novels & Stories

You can’t even take a single hit. “Now, now, Derrick. Don’t leave me so quickly. The fun has just started and you don’t want me to get bored now, do you?” I whistled and my eyes glowed red under the darkness. Derrick trembled as he witnessed that, “Who–who are you?” My grin widened, “I am the She devil. Nice to meet you.” *************************************

With him being a DEVIL? . . . TBC

It didn't end well for him as the story progressed. The Pink Devil- The Pink Devil is one of the main antagonist of this story. She is the evil version of Jennifer. She could possess Jennifer at anytime she feels like it and follows her wherever she goes. The Pink Devil is in her mirror, nightmares, when she has Sleep Paralysis, and does what Jennifer is afraid to do. She loves sex and BDSM; she only punishes men who treat women wrong. But it's revealed that The Pink Devil is a personification of Jennifer's father, who was abusive and tormented her. Anytime she thinks about her father, The Pink Devil appears.

Anything. A tongue formed out of the Black Devil's signature auric sand and licked behind Spitfire's ear before it spoke with a mouthless whisper. "Or do you wish to know what you fear is happening to the other one isn't creative enough? Because I know evil and it can be quite creative."

he asked nodding at her response. “Well, as much as I hate to break it to you mate, I have to. You see this “baby” of yours, is no hybrid and I don’t know what he is. But according to Carl his part wolf, as he can feel the presence of his pup in him, according to Demetrio, he has the power of the most powerful demon in the underworld and according to the leech right here, he is also a vampire. You see my dear, this is no baby but the devil incarnates.”

Bunny baby kept running in circles while devil chick could be seen frustrated as her bullets kept missing the target, she kept changing guns as to not run out of ammo, from pistol to rifles then to minigun and various other weapons only to find that none of them are working. Bunny baby was coming closer towards where the Devil chick was standing. "Why is the Devil not moving from her place?" Rosy asked which Leo answered," it's not that she doesn't want to move, but she can't, because the bunny keeps running in circles which gives her a slight advantage as she can see and move near wherever the devil moves, which is frustrating devil but i think that maybe devil here has upper hand in this b

I whisper in fear. Tsking, and biting his lip, he shakes his head. “Oh, no. Don’t think of it like that,” he says sweetly, his nefarious smile shifting to sweet and beautiful. “I’m just a fragment of dust of what you may term as the devil. So small and useless until I’m given instructions by my boss. In this case, Mr. Memphis, otherwise known as Devlin, and the water of power he pours to me in form of instructions, stirs my little particles into a pile of mud and I get my power from him. But for now, I’m nothing more than a human just like you and everyone else in your little world.”

It was a weird comparison given that Leviathan was a snake, and snake ate mice, but it was the most accurate. “You brought, yet you act obliviously,” Leviathan stated. Delores merely smiled at the words of the serpent, closing her eyes softly like she was falling asleep. Leviathan shook its large head in resignation. Delores’ nature was as such. If she didn’t want to engage in a particular conversation, she would just ignore you. It had known her long enough to push for a reply, for it was very aware that it would not get it. When it came to Delores, more often than not, she always had her way.

Ha‍nnah sta⁠red⁠ a‍t‌ the wall w‍ithout say⁠ing‌ any word. “I won't repeat‍ mys⁠elf,‌ w‌ho sent you?” “Just click it,” s⁠he spat out. “Fine.” The sou‍n⁠d of the gun ec‌hoed through the room and she collapsed. The sound jumped int‍o my chest, and m⁠y‍ body sud‍denly moved. I hit my hand over m⁠y mouth to hold back a scream‌. My elbow suddenly hit a metal mop that ‍ leaned ag‌ainst‌ the crates.

Instead of the hollow sound of wood, I hear a soft click. A compartment opens. Inside lies a black notebook. Untitled, unmarked, just the initials V.M. etched in fading ink. Vittorio Moretti. I open it slowly. No dates. No numbers. Just a list of names, some crossed out, some circled. And beside one name, scrawled in darker ink, two words that make my stomach tighten: Blood Pact. I stare at it, my pulse steady but my hands clenched. Blood Pact. The term my father used for alliances sealed by death, promises that only ended when one party was buried.