Doom Slayer Tattoo Novels & Stories

“Your tattoos are beautiful.” I look at the tattoo of a skull surrounded by black flames. My whole right arm is decorated with tattoos from shoulder to wrist. My skin prickles with every caress of her fingers, but I don’t stop her from touching me. The tattoo sleeve has several tribal symbols, and there are a seal trident and a frogman tattoo on my shoulder. Each tattoo represents something in my life. The skull represents my status as an Assassin, and the cross is a play on my name. Her finger moves down the line of my intricate cross, then to the inside of my rib cage, where I have an inscription. Qui velit, ut vivat in aeternum.

Just as I stood, the door creaked open. It was Damon. He was shirtless, his tanned skin slick with a fine sheen of sweat that made his muscles ripple with every movement. As he turned to close the door, the morning light pouring through the window caught the ink on his skin. I finally saw it clearly, the tattoo that dominated his back. It was a masterpiece of ferocity: a massive, snarling wolf with its fangs bared in an eternal roar. It covered the entirety of his broad back, the intricate black ink making the creature look as though it might leap off his skin at any moment.

He paused his ministrations on my neck and with one flick he stripped of his tee. "There, touch me." He groaned and I didn't want any further persuasion. My hands glided over his toned chest, running over the dragon tattoo. "Why is this for?" I asked, my fingertips grazing over the fire tattooed on his abdomen. He bit his lip. "It represents power and victory over bad. I had it engraved when I couldn't take any more of my step-mother's false accusations and controlling nature. I was feeling weak and I needed to feel something. I went to a party and got dunk and somehow landed up in a tattoo parlor. He decided to draw this a sign that I am powerful and can rise from ashes." He paused and grin

“Skulls and bones signify death. Knives and waves signify the medium of death. Waves in the sense that the person died by drowning. Knives in the sense that the person died by stabbing or some other way.” “Sia mentioned that he tried committing suicide at some point.” “There you have it.” “Why am I seeing these things? Is it normal to see these things?” “For hellhounds, yes. The tattoos tell you how many times one has escaped death.” “And this information is needed because?” “If the tattoos have reached a certain number, it means that the individual in question is tired of life. And we, because we’re so merciful, we end their life for good,” he explained.

his tone is wicked as he nuzzles my neck, his hand moving to trace the tattoo, another one on his neck. It’s a large black wolf, surrounded by a full moon with my initials, R.S His tattoo on me had the initials H.S for Hades Solomon. “What’s your relationship with Damien Shadow?” he suddenly growled, “do I have to warn him away from you? Do I have to challenge him to a duel?” He's serious. There's jealousy in his voice. I laughed out loud, surprising him, and shook my head. “I guess I can tell you now. Damien Shadow is my biological brother.”

I admire the tattoo taking up most of his back, it's similar to Storms. It's a pair of evil snake eyes in red, with a green and yellow snake wrapped around the pistol facing the red eyes of the evil snake. The words The Satan Sniper’s Motorcycle Club are written under the pistol. But what has me at a standstill is the shading that's done around the entire picture, it's a light shading but unmistakable. It's wings, Angel wings. I don't say anything. I want to but I'm tongue tied. I scan his back and stop at the blue bruises around his sides.

And moved down to her exposed midsection and the sheer, almost see through flimsy excuse for a skirt that covered her bottom and revealed a long expanse of bare leg. But that wasn’t even the worst of it. It was the ink on her skin that did it. Dark mass of ink designed her arms, belly, legs in swirling loops and whirls. And in the middle of her chest right between her breasts was a tattoo of the royal family crest— a lycan howling up at the moon in fierce victory. The entire design; the dress, the ink... They all symbolized one thing that she was nothing but the slave of the man standing over there, looking like he couldn’t believe what his eyes were seeing.

My focus glued to this stranger and my heart beating through my chest with the sensation I’m being chased, stalked, or hunted. He's exactly as the visions showed. Perfect as a man, with good looks, and sculpted physique, a presence that screams dominant alpha male. He’s muscular and tall, covered in black Aztec tattoos which are there for all to see as he once again turns towards us. The large blazing sun sign of the hunter on his left peck, right where I hoped it wouldn’t be and it seals his fate. The symbol has not changed in hundreds of years, and even though this is a tattoo and not burned, carved cruelly on the skin of the hunter, it’s still exactly as it’s always been.

“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.

The spot was right above where he always grabbed me. I was dazed until the tattoo gun buzzed loud. Before I could protest, it was right on my skin and goddamnit did It hurt more than I thought. I kept feeling sharp little stings over and over. Damon sat next to me holding my hand. Every time I winced he rubbed his thumb on my palm. Almost gentle like a caring boyfriend he was definitely not cut out for. “Almost done,” he cooed softly. “Looks good.” When it was finished the artist covered it with some plastic. Damon paid and then we left. In the truck I lifted my shirt and looked. Small dark letters. “D.K.” was stuck right on my skin. Permanently. Forever.