Doom Crossover Novels & Stories

If there is something I do not want, it is to be placed in the darkness. "Someone better tell me what is happening." I shift my gaze from each person face. Crescent is the first to talk. "He is back. His name is Doomsblood, the most barbaric Vampire the world has ever encountered. He can see templates of the future, which makes him the hardest vampire to capture. Luna captured him but before then he sired Marcellus and Kael. Luna believed it was his way to come back, and now, it looks like it."

----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------- Later that day, Damon entered Club Solace, a fortress of quiet opulence nestled deep in the hills - a sanctuary for the power elite. At the center table sat Adrian Cross, a man with skin like marble and eyes like cold steel. He didn’t rise when Damon entered. He simply gestured to the seat across from him. “You’ve inherited quite the mess, Mr. Thorne”. Damon sat but didn’t shake his hand. “Cut the pleasantries”. Adrian smirked. “Fair enough. Let me offer clarity. I can bury the past for you. The journal. The fallout. Everything. In return, you merge with my network. The Thorne-Cross Alliance

The room became quiet. She began by saying, "I've come here today to tell you something that you can't ignore." Even though she was scared, her voice was strong. " Damon Cross and his company, CrossCorp, have done more than just commit business fraud; they have been systematically wrecking people's lives. They've taken money, threatened people, and damaged businesses. There was a quiet murmur in the room, but Mimi stayed still. She kept moving, her eyes on her the whole time.

It wasn’t fear yet. But the animal in them sensed a predator older, darker, and infinitely more willing to ruin the world for one person. Damian moved before thought could catch him. One heartbeat the Cross men were standing—smug, breathing, existing—and in the next, they were meat. Claws tore through sternum, bone cracked like dry twigs, and Damian ripped them apart with a violence that felt… sacred. Righteous. The chamber walls were painted red before the bodies even hit the floor.

“Still, it’s a relief to see you finally working beside someone... respectable.” Her words hang in the air, sharp as glass. Doom doesn’t flinch. He never does. He only tilts his head slightly, voice smooth. “Respect is earned, not borrowed.” My father laughs too loudly. “Naturally, naturally. Still, one can’t deny Elara has always had an eye for strong partners.” I say nothing, though the word *partners* tastes like ash. The meeting starts. Trade routes, security measures, resource allocations. I keep my tone clipped, precise. No hesitation, no weakness. Doom announces that the main infrastructure of Crescent Reign will be completed within two weeks. Resource lines will open immediately. My

Her green hair served as a covering for her nakedness, covering up her breasts and feminine folds. “Shut up!” Doom snapped, and he too came out of the dark. He was a giant man, with shiny golden skin and broad shoulders and chest—much bigger than Mischief. He was three times her size, and he didn’t know how the books said they were together, but he wasn’t here to figure that out. He was here to make a request. “I am a pusher of boundaries, and so I would say, six months.” “What’s six months?” Doom asked, looking a little clueless about it all.

Tears rolled down his face as he screamed for Jackson to stop. “I-I,” he stuttered through the pain. “I was supposed to make a scene to make you l-look incompetent.” He gritted his teeth to continue pushing through. “My coven leader appointed me as his representative. He f-f-financed Bane’s ventures and gave him a hefty payment to destroy you b-bot-th.” His body was shaking from the pain. That was precisely why the Criss Cross of Doom was so effective. Anyone would squeal to save themselves from additional pain.

He slowly began to wrap them in fresh, stark-white athletic tape, pulling the fabric taut over his bruised knuckles. He was preparing for his second night in the Crucible. For the last twenty-four hours, the Bastion’s mind had been a war zone of conflicting tactical data. Varkas had given him the explanation: the Death Game was not a slaughterhouse, but a quarantine. The 'Wild' men generated too much volatile kinetic mana. The 'Red Rust' infected their minds, turning them into rabid, violent monsters. The only cure was to bleed the kinetic energy out through brutal, physical combat.

Nails left crescent marks in the skin. “I’m — shit — ” Marcus pressed their foreheads together. His breathing came in harsh pants.“Come on. Let go.” Ethan shattered first. His back arched. A choked groan tore out of him as he spilled hot and thick over Marcus’s fist, streaking their stomach. The sight of it — Ethan’s release painting their skin — pushed Marcus over the edge seconds later. He came with a low, guttural curse. Hips stuttering. Adding messy stripes to the mess already there.

The probability suffers even more while injecting malice and grudge into a Corpse Puppet with already centuries-old of hatred and enmity. Xiao Chen's gaze traveled to the Grudge Cauldrons being tagged and arranged neatly and felt something was amiss. Something within him told him that the grudge and malice these cauldrons were carrying were not intended for common Corpse Puppets. The Divine Corpse from the rumors, perhaps?