Even The Devil May Cry Novels & Stories

Mark let out a primal scream, the pain and anguish tearing through him as he struggled against his restraints. The Dmitry walked slowly towards Mark, his face a mask of cold determination. Then Mark started laughing, his voice edged with anger and despair. "Abeni had a nice body, didn't she?" he asked, his eyes flickering to the spot where his mother's lifeless form lay sprawled on the floor. The Russian mob boss's expression darkened further.

Nothing except her. The auction room was packed with men, their faces hidden in the dim gloom. They clapped and cheered as different girls were brought onto the stage, each one a sacrificial offering to their base desires. The auctioneer's voice echoed through the space, a frightening chant that punctuated the filthy spectacle. The men raised their tags, their laughter mingling with the cries of the girls, creating a roar of misery and greed.

The baby stirred, a calm, steady pulse. Aunt Dee watched quietly from a distance, understanding settling into her expression. The ancestors’ voices echoed one last time through the realm: “The devil’s greatest act of defiance is not destruction— It is devotion.” Far away, the hunters drew closer. But for the first time since the prophecy began, Malik knew exactly where he stood. And he would not move.

DOOM’S POV My shoulder still throbbed like a bastard, but I refused to let it show. I swapped my usual suits for a simple black shirt and a pair of tailored shorts, unbuttoned just enough to tease. It was warm tonight, and Sally liked casual Doom, something about seeing the devil without armor made her smile, maybe because it made her feel closer. The dining room lights were dimmed low, casting a golden warmth across the mahogany table. Candlelight flickered beside the fine china, and soft instrumental jazz hummed from the walls. I had told the staff to stay far away, tonight was ours.

But somehow, I always pictured a balding old man with a pot belly caused by the cheap whiskey he drowns himself in every night. But I couldn’t be more wrong. The devil isn’t horned or hideous. He’s tall, sculpted, and terrifyingly beautiful. Power clings to him like a second skin beneath the flawless cut of his suit. His face is sharp, symmetrical and too perfect to belong to someone mortal, too perfect for the blood he spills, too perfect for the cruelty he yields, and his icy blue eyes can bring even the bravest man to his knees. A cold prickling sensation erupts over my entire body like a thousand tiny needles stabbing my skin

He shifted, leaned back, legs spread wider, one boot tapping the floor with lazy rhythm. “I’m sure you’ve heard of The Devil,” he said. His voice was smooth. Deep. Too calm. It wasn’t the kind of voice that threatened you. It was the kind that made promises you knew would come true, even if they were the kind to make your skin crawl. I blinked. “Only the one from the Bible.” He chuckled. Low. Warm. Wrong. “Are you religious, Luca?” He said my name. It sounded like silk being pulled tight against my throat.

The Bastard Devil was on the brink of transformation. It once been a Bloody Eye, that at the time passed, becoming a young man who looks like a snow in white. He was also cold, vicius-looking, yet every woman who lead their eyes at him would fall for sure. His good looks seemed his threatening aura to be his charm, every woman who admire good-looking young man sure to never resist the temptation. And that's would be their bloody end. This young man that was a Devil never love, he has a deep hatred to living people of this world. So how could he love someone raised in this place? He wouldn't do such a thing so he only killed his way to his revenge.

I’d seen enough death for my mind to fill in the blanks. “We know it was The Devil, because of the name on the list?” I ask, shifting in my seat. Chels hums. And then she shoves something under my nose, a photo of something. I pluck it and bring it close to my face to be able to make out the blackened caricature of the devil. Two horns on a round face, a fork for tail. A shivered gasp leaves me. “The Devil’s calling card.” She nods. Only very proud killers stake their claims so proudly. All these while, The Devil hadn’t staked a claim to any of his kills. Not one.

Not to mention, he was really good-looking. That was why I'd tolerated Caleb and his insufferable mother for this long. I left the room and walked into the lounge, where Bianca was still sitting comfortably on the sofa. I took a sit, and she moved closer to me. She told me that Evelina was the one who had inflicted the injury on Caleb. Evelina had always thought she could get away with anything simply because Caleb cared about her. She was about to learn otherwise. I left the Ryders' mansion and returned to my penthouse, which Daddy had gotten for me on my twenty-first birthday. I pulled out my phone and called Riley.

I just wouldn't! ~ 🥀🖤 ~ "I wouldn't let the devil win me!" ~ Esha Varnav ~