Devil Traps Novels & Stories

The man was a Fallen Devil! A Fallen Devil was a Cultivator who had been infected by Devil Qi, or had strayed into the Devil's Practice for some reason. He would possess the strengths of both an Immortal and a Devil.

Did he just say they want to turn my best friend into one of their sluts? “Excuse me?” I ask, needing to make sure I heard him right before I lose my shit. “She either becomes an old lady or a Souleater,” Devil repeats, serious, like he didn’t just sign his own death warrant. I stand, pushing my chair back so hard it falls. My mind blanks. Tunnel vision kicks in. My breathing slows. The rage vanishes. I go cold. “You want to use my best friend for your little fuckfests?” My voice is calm. Detached. Ice-cold.

A sense of surprise washed over her as she noticed a striking dragon tattoo circling around their necks. They turned their faces to the door just as it swung open, revealing a little girl peeking out. “Y-Yes?” she asked hesitantly. “Can you tell us if you are Miss Hailey Davidson?” one of the men inquired gently, his voice unusually soft for someone with such a tough exterior. She swallowed hard, nodding slightly while her grip on the doorknob tightened, sensing an unshakable sense of danger looming nearby. "Why are you looking for me, Mister?" she asked doubtedly, but suddenly felt the man bringing something from his back which covered her mouth and nostrils.

A waiter moved past her with a tray of drinks and glanced back too long. They know. Then she saw him. Lucian, standing near the marble staircase, his black mask making him look like a devil carved from shadow. He was speaking to a diplomat she didn’t recognize, his body language calm, too composed—he hadn’t yet noticed the shift. Ayra threaded through the crowd, her mind racing. What could she say? What would make him listen instantly? She didn’t waste time. She walked straight up, reached for his shoulder, and whispered just one word in his ear:

”Nice flowers.” Wendy commended as soon as Rebecca entered the room. Rebecca on the other hand didn’t pay attention to what was said. She was lost in a world of her own thought. She didn’t see the face of the biker, but from the sound of his voice, she could tell who it was. It was a voice she would recognize anytime, any day. The voice of the devil who haunts her in her dream. A pat on the shoulder brought her back to reality. She jerked and the flower slipped from her hands, but Wendy caught it before it could fall to the floor.

he choked. Miguel stepped forward, eyes ice. “One you were never worth trusting. Two I’m the Devil. And you? You’re another Devil. Two Devils can’t run side by side. And three…” he leaned down close, his voice a whisper of death, “I’ve wanted to kill you for a very long time.” Dimitri gasped, trying to laugh, blood spilling. “You… think you’ve won…”

LAZZARO That girl. The way she stitched me, the way she looked at me while at it was fucking sexy. I had almost lost control, and it took everything within me to hold back. I never force my way with women. I might be a devil, but I wasn’t that monstrous.

“What is it?” “That Devil is…is a vocal artist.” “Which Devil?” “Jacob Martinez,” She replied immediately; my heartbeat began rising. “You won’t believe me, Falak. I heard him talking in a female voice with someone over the phone. I don’t know with whom he was talking, but he was acting like he was with a female, that’s why one moment he was talking like a man, and at another moment he was talking like a woman. I still couldn’t believe that he was doing that work so perfectly.”, She said in surprise.

Obsidian cliffs rose like fangs, each echoing with the endless cries of the damned. Below, demons soared—winged monstrosities lashing the tortured with whips of bone and sinew. Blood ran like water in channels carved through black rock. We plunged deeper. A fortress rose from a lake of black fire—spires of rusted iron and sharpened obsidian twisted toward the sky. The Devil’s Keep. The heart of corruption. Through a broken window, we entered. Inside: firelit gloom, a forge of horror. Torture devices lined the walls. Hooks. Blades. Machines meant not to kill, but to unmake.

“I serve the Vendetta family, as I always have. And now, it seems you’ve been brought under our care.” Vendetta family? Is this a joke? “This has to be a dream,” I muttered, shaking my head. “None of this makes sense. Mansion? Territory? What am I back in the 15th century?” “If it helps, I can assure you this is very real,” Livioski replied smoothly like he could read my mind. “How are you feeling this morning? Did you sleep well?” Damn. He’s so fucking weird. If this is a dream, it’s the weirdest one I’ve ever had. But deep down, I’m starting to think it’s not.