Devil Realist Novels & Stories

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.

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.

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

my real self lost. ceri:- why don't you face destiny instead of running away velliam:- I realized something two me exist in me. first one weak me who is tried from world and other one is energetic who want to conqueror the world. now if have to choose between one of them. then my answer is 2 one. I will travel through hell to conqueror in order to find my self again. I am coming devil. sorry ceri I think I want to risk my life and experience thrill that why I will do want to my want. that may cause risk my life but can't help it

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.”