Devil Ninja 3 Novels & Stories

He almost forgot what fear felt like, and there was a time when he would have been terrified by a shriek in the night. Mephiles stood there on the balcony and awaited his greatest enemies to fight him and end his reign upon the earth. He was a brave man who seemed to never back down from any onslaught or battle. He had demonic-blood and wolf-blood inside his veins, his eye color is red and black, and his sword was crafted through metal and ancient nordic steel. As he stood there, he was carrying sand with him to commemorate the memory of a woman he loved long ago. She was taken from him, and once again, he was left with nobody to love, nobody to cheer him up, and nobody to tell him their gen

My eyes swirled. Valentine's lips captured mine, pushing back the puke trying to reel out of my mouth. "Eat Daredevil. You need it to get strength,” He moaned in my mouth. He fed me. I ate a little and couldn't eat more. His hands snaked to my back. I felt my zipper running down. The hair at the back of my neck rose at its ends.

Dante Moretti was angry again. The Devil was angry again. And when the devil is angry, blood follows. He stood still—silent—shoulders squared, chest rising and falling like a man barely holding himself back from ruin. He couldn't believe what his ears heard from Alessia’s mouth. His eyes, once clouded with concern, were now burning coals. Dark. Unforgiving. Dangerous. The kind of stare that made grown men drop to their knees. The kind that whispered of violence without ever raising its voice.

"My apologies, I didn't mean to startle you." "Can’t sleep?" she muses, her delicate tone tinged with an Indian inflection. I shake my head, rousing from my slumber. "I only just woke up," I admit. Without a moment's hesitation, she retrieves a bottle of crisp, white wine and places it upon the marble counter. Moving with effortless grace, she procures two delicate wine glasses before joining me at the bar. Nirali is a breathtakingly beautiful being, possessing a unique charm that sets her apart from any other. Her most striking feature is undoubtedly her skin, which bears delicate, white patches thanks to her rare condition, vitiligo.

the third one hinted. "Damn that bitch, he stole my fun for tonight. Now do I need to find a new girl huh? Damn she looked like she would be good in bed." The man cursed again. "Looks like you were in a bad mood." "Now who the he-Mr.Knight?" The three men were shook to see Damian standing before them in all his glory, with a few people behind him and cars parked at the end of the alley. Damian smirked as he saw them bowing down to him as soon as they saw him.

The devil in front of her chuckled a little, then squatted down while touching her chin. "Why didn't you shoot me? Afraid your bullet missed?" The demon asked in a scornful tone. Iris closed her eyes tightly. She felt the demon's hand touch her hand that was still holding the gun. The approaching devil allowed Tommy to attack. He pulled out a knife from under his jacket to attack the demon. But his movement was stopped quickly because the demon threw him again until he rolled onto the table. "Tommy! Oh god...." "I'll take care of you later after this woman." His words were full of threats.

The third man, the leader—the one with the now infamous bandaged face—glared at Zayden despite the fear trembling in his bones. “You think this will stop us?” the bandaged man spat, blood dripping from his split lip. Zayden didn’t answer. Instead, he walked over to a wooden crate, where a brand-new badminton bat rested. He picked it up, weighing it effortlessly in his grip. He turned to the men, his face devoid of any emotion. Then— He swung. The first strike connected with the face of the man on the left, the impact sending a sickening crack through the empty court.

DANTE'S POV People call me the Devil of New York. They're not wrong. I've killed men for less than a dirty look. I've gutted rats who thought they could steal from me. I've fucked women who begged for mercy and made them beg for more pain instead. My empire runs on blood, loyalty, and fear. That's the only language this rotten world understands. And tonight, I reminded everyone of it. Crawford thought he could play me. Thought he could borrow money from my syndicate, promise returns, and then ghost like I'm some dumb fuck banker. No. You don't spit in my face and walk away.

Her reaction was immediate. Her eyes widened in terror as she stared at the image. Slowly, shakily, she lifted her hand and pointed at it. “T-th-is… h-he… i-is a d-dev-il,” she stuttered. “B-b-ad… m-man.” A chill crawled down my spine. “Yes,” I nodded firmly. “He is a bad man. Have you ever seen him with your daughter?” Tears streamed down her cheeks as she looked around the room, panic flooding her face.

Over the course of my quest for answers, I had transformed into a force that was unyielding and insensitive to the cries of people who were caught up in the currents of my vendetta. Nevertheless, my phone buzzed just as the doors to the dungeon rumbled shut behind him, a ruthless incursion that shattered the quiet that had been present. There was a video that appeared on the screen, and it was a horrible vision that left an indelible mark on the various parts of my awareness.