Doom Slayer Tattoo Novels & Stories

I smiled, though my body trembled slightly with unease. He smirked, his eyes darkening as he sauntered towards me. Slowly, he reached out, invading my space. My gaze drifted to his chest, where intricate tattoos sprawled across his skin, half of his left chest completely inked. There was a large python coiled menacingly, its fangs bared as if ready to strike. Surrounding it were other symbols—a bleeding dagger, an intricate skull wrapped in thorns, and a blood moon rising behind them all. The ink seemed almost alive, dark and haunting, like it held secrets too dangerous to reveal. I had seen something like this before. The imagery was disturbing, almost as if he were part of some secretive c

“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.

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.

I said as his eyes widened and I stuck the knife in his neck a few times as his blood spurted over the tiled floor. “Dispareo,” I said as his body started to evaporate and disappeared back to the realms of the dead. I gritted my teeth as my skin started to burn and his mark appeared on my arm in a tattoo like emblem. None of the marks on my arms were actual tattoos, they were the marks of the souls I’d taken, people I’ve killed and sent back. It only burned for about fifteen seconds as the mark started to heal and formed part of the other marks creating the sleeve effect on both my arms.

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.

I almost wanted to laugh at how dramatic I had made it up to be in my mind. Damiano then grabbed the card, and my brows went up when I recognized the image on it. It was the very same one he had tattooed on his chest. The hooded skull, the crown, and the massive angel wings. It was my favorite tattoo of his. One I had memorized and recreated many times in my sketchbook.

“Do I make you unhappy?” I swallowed, shaking my head. “No,” He kissed me deep and slowly before he pulled me apart, and I rested my head back on his chest, running the tip of my finger through every fascinating masterpiece on his chest. His torso was covered in black and white tattoos, from a Madonna and child on his stomach to a dagger weaving through his collarbone from shoulder to shoulder. A cross on one of his pecs and a rose on the other. A domed church on his side. A lighthouse on his left arm and on his right arm, below his bullet wound, was a familiar tattoo in red. I'd seen it on Savio's arm as well.