Devil Realist Novels & Stories

But the reality was far worse. It had the same feel as an isolated radioactive town in a horror movie, with a crooked warning sign dangling from the wire fence. A big part of me was reconsidering my decision to come here at night, but I pushed the terror away. D7 was probably dead, and if that was true, then whatever he’d uncovered had been worth killing for. I needed to find out what that thing was. Squaring my shoulders, I continued down the street, my heels sinking into muddy ground with a horrible squelching sound. My stomach turned at the thought that what I had just stepped in could be more than blood.

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.

Wanted to beg for the butcher’s knives instead, for the clean end the medics had promised him. Anything but this. Anything but Velis’s mouth, Velis’s breath, Velis’s persistence tethering him back to life. This isn’t real, he told himself fiercely, clutching the thought like a weapon. It’s a fever dream. A hallucination. Velis doesn’t save humans. Velis doesn’t feed them. Velis slaughters them. He burns cities and salts their bones. So he clung to the lie. That this was only nightmare. That when he woke for the last time, he would find himself in the butchers’ ward, body unmade for the vampires’ table.

’ Inner Devil 2: ‘He’s the fantasy starter pack: filthy mouth, perfect abs, loyal heart, and the kind of possessiveness that makes you feel safe and scandalous all at once. Inner Devil 1: ‘His mouth isn’t even that filthy. It’s… poetic.’ Inner Devil 2: ‘Okay. Poetic filthy, then.’

He said it like it was the absolute truth. One side of my mouth pulled up in a nervous scoff. I don’t know what personality I was expecting for the devil to have but it was not this. I sort of imagined a monster who randomly kills people and takes their soul to hell because he is a lonely piece of shit but boy was I wrong. He is an entertainment deprived asshole with the mental age of a 5 year old if we’re not counting IQ. He doesn’t seem dumb. He manages to avoid every single question I ask with some bullshit that seems relevant but actually isn’t.

WARNING SIGNS: LANGUAGE THAT IS UNAMBIGUOUS CURSING VIOLENCE, GUN VIOLENCE SELF-INFLICTED HARM BLOOD, DECEASE, and GORE VALENTINA POV They say that the devil wears Prada. But the devil standing before me was dressed in leather. As we exited the cold, damp room, we were greeted by a sight I would never forget. “Damien. ” Luca growled, keeping me close to him.

I warn him yet again, my hands busy turning me to Picasso with a contour brush to my face re-applying my smeared make up, I threaten him with a smile on my face as I practice the best version of my fake smiles to give to the audience when I leave this bathroom and head back out to the party. It really does feel like making a deal with the devil, the atmosphere becomes quiet and dingy, I can hear a pin drop at this point, the hairs on my arms and neck are as erect as if electric charges had passed through them or something. " Okay okay I hear you, just stop with the mention of death it's too gruesome for me," that is so ironic coming from the Devil himself. I honestly cannot picture the Devil

I am not hero or villain, I am me and I decided to stick with you forever, you and Me together forever. ceri:- but everyone want to play the role of hero and villain, you telling me that you want to leave in peace velliam:- everyone want to play but in reality we are human not God and devil. no matter how hard we try we never become them and those want to play and those who get to play, are most unfortunate people because they only going to suffer, lost their real them, become their worst enemy, that why I don't want to become something that not I am, I am arrogant before and I suffer so much because of that

Valerian's POV I am known to be ruthless. I am known to be a devil. Both by humans and vampires. I am often labeled as cold. As stern. As hard. I've lived hundreds of years in this lifetime and I already came to terms with that, that even I, myself believed that I am. I had to.

“But there is more. To win, you will have to let it out. The part of you you keep buried. The part that scares you. The devil in your skin.” I frowned. “What devil.” His smile widened. “The one that whispers when you fight. The one that loves the kill. You know him. You just never admit it.” I shook my head. “This is not real.” He chuckled. “Say that all you want. But look around. You feel pain here, do you not.” I glanced at my hand. The cut from the flower still bled slowly. “If you bleed, it is real enough,” he said softly. “And if you die here, you die for good.”