Doom Slayer Symbol Tattoo Novels & Stories

Without hesitation, I fetched my phone out of my pocket and browsed on the internet what it meant if someone had a tattoo of a scorpion on his wrist. Some images were displayed on my phone screen and even before I could read out the content behind the scorpion tattoo, someone already beat me to it. "It symbolizes the membership of a well-known dangerous gang known as the Gun fire men." A familiar deep voice rung out loud from behind.

I started to follow, but Sloane caught my arm. "Aurora," she said. Her face was pale. "I need to show you something." "Not now," I said. "Gray needs me." "This can't wait," Sloane insisted. She pulled me toward one of the walls near where the attackers had entered. On the stone wall, burned into the surface, was a symbol. It looked like a wolf skull with three claw marks across it. The lines glowed faintly red. Wrong. Evil. "What is that?" I asked.

The four types of tattoos were the Alpha tattoo, the Beta tattoo, the Zeta tattoo, and the member tattoo. My tattoo had seven moons at the top of my back with two versions of the Helm of Awe on each shoulder blade. In the middle of my back was Yggdrasil, the tree of life with a wolf head coming out of the roots. Finally, below the wolf and running down my spine was my name in Old Norse. In the middle of Yggdrasil’s branches, the Alpha sign of our pack was cleverly blended in.

’ I doubted, my hand trembled as it found itself touching it. “Do you like my tattoo?” Damon muttered, with his eyes closed. Was he awake all along? “Y…yes... It looks nice.” “I’ve had it since I was dating Sharon. We got it together.” He let out, now opening his eyes. “This design. It looks familiar. Like I've…” I was saying, but he cut me off. “The design represents our Club's aim.” “Club?” “Yes. Sharon and I used to belong to a Lovers’ Club. This tattoo is known as ‘King and Queen Crowns’. Every member of the club shares the same tattoo as a symbol of love and devotion for their partners.”

she grumbles. Opening her locker, she reaches down to grab the books she took home out of her bag, the locker door slamming shut above her as a hand slams against it. She follows the large black Celtic style tattoo carved into his skin, only making out the bottom of the tattoo under his rolled up shirt sleeve. It doesn't look like a simple symbol like she has seen on a few other people, there are multiple symbols and designs within the base design, she can't get a clear enough look. "You really like checking me out, don't you?"

Each man wore the mark. Different symbols etched into skin: a serpent coiled around a sword on the left forearm of one, twin wolves snarling beneath a bleeding moon on the wrist of another, a skeletal crown on the palm of a third, and a phoenix swallowing its own tail just above the elbow of the last. Each tattoo pulsed faintly, dark and ancient, remnants of an allegiance born of secrecy, ambition, and old blood.

She spoke again: “This was not vengeance. This was reckoning. The world has forgotten fear. Let it remember.” They bowed then, not to a throne, but to the fire in her voice. That night, every Ashborn soul painted a new mark upon their armour: two crossed lines, one flame, one fang. Unity and fire, death and choice. From tent to tent, the symbol spread until even the youngest wore it across their leather jerkin. Mourne carved it into the pommel of his sword. Vessa etched it onto her breastplate. Kael carved it beside the names of the fallen.

"I mark you, you mark me. Equal strength, equal claiming." The word 'claiming' hung in the air between them. Laura dipped her fingers into the cool clay and began tracing symbols on Dante's broad chest, copying what she had seen others doing. "Tell me what they mean," she said, drawing a curved line across his pectoral. "That one is for victory in battle," he said, watching her fingers move against his skin. She drew another across his shoulder. "And this?" "Loyalty to pack." Laura worked in silence for a moment, feeling the powerful muscles beneath her fingertips. When she reached his lower abdomen, tracing a symbol just above the waistband of his pants, Dante's breath came faster.

“You’re sure no shifters had this mark?” He gave a single nod. I studied the tattoo—a serpent coiled through a three-headed skull, each skull bearing the distinct features of a mamba, a cobra, and a viper. A flicker of recognition stirred in my memory, but I couldn’t place it. Pulling out my phone, I snapped a picture. “I’ve seen this before—just can’t remember where. I’ll dig into it from my office. Thanks, Doc.” He acknowledged me with another nod before sliding the body back into its cold drawer.

“We…don’t…speak…it.” Coward, the Zenaida-voice inside me hissed. “Then draw it,” I said. “In the blood you were so eager to spill.” I lifted my boot, just enough for him to move his arm. He hesitated, then dragged his fingers through the puddle of red by his leg. His hand shook as he traced on the concrete, rain already working to blur the lines. The symbol that emerged was ugly in its simplicity: a circle with a line through the center, and four smaller cuts radiating outward like claw marks.