Novel & Cerita Komik The Devil

After a long moment, he stammered, "Y-you… you're a messenger of the Devil! Brothers and sisters, this one represents the Devil! Attack! We must kill this messenger—or the Devil will find us and kill us all!" He had always controlled people with his Devil theory. Hearing him speak now, the crowd stiffened, their eyes burning with murderous intent again. Ray smiled faintly. "Wrong… wrong… wrong. I am not the Devil's messenger. I am the Devil."

His voice drops into a dark, lethal tone that carries to every single corner of the silent chapel. "You know what they say, Pierre… the devil always comes to collect..."

I looked up at him from where I was sitted, a smile on my face “Are you going to kill me?” Elan asked and I burst into laughter “I am not going to kill you” I said slowly, I don't go around killing people for no good reason “But.. you are the devil, the devil from the blood moon pack” “Some call me the devil, some call me the ripper, some call me a mad man but I personally, I prefer the Del Monté devil”

1000 years later It was in the middle of winter, in the year of the rabbit. Terrified screams filled the night air as the sky in the human world suddenly turned red, but this didn't last a second before it returned to its original form. Before the eyes of everyone a new star appeared beside a red star called the “ devil's star ” causing a great uproar. All these signs remain unknown to a group of people hiding somewhere in the palace of DeHaven. KINGDOM OF DEHAVEN.

”Nice flowers.” Wendy commended as soon as Rebecca entered the room. Rebecca on the other hand didn’t pay attention to what was said. She was lost in a world of her own thought. She didn’t see the face of the biker, but from the sound of his voice, she could tell who it was. It was a voice she would recognize anytime, any day. The voice of the devil who haunts her in her dream. A pat on the shoulder brought her back to reality. She jerked and the flower slipped from her hands, but Wendy caught it before it could fall to the floor.

No humanity, just hunger. “You’re him,” she whispered. “The Devil of the Underworld.” He bowed his head slightly, a mockery of courtly manners. “Dante Moretti. Though most only whisper my name.” Her heart pounded. Dante Moretti wasn’t just a crime lord—he was a myth. A monster in a designer suit. A man with more blood on his hands than the war itself. Rumors said he didn’t age, didn’t bleed, didn’t sleep. That he struck deals in shadows, and those who betrayed him were never found again. Or if they were, it was in pieces.

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.

Dear Nicole, You may think that you can run from me but you are wrong Cole. even if you still think so, You can run as much as you can but you can never hide from me. even if you are hiding deep beneath the core of this world, I'll dig up and find you, princess. You just can't leave behind the world you belong to. you can't escape from me, I'll drag you straight back to hell darling. meet you soon Cole. Your sexy bastard, Devil I knew that I was looking at the catastrophe that has hit my life.

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.

Only the foolish make deals with the devil. Only the ones drowning in pride… or pain. Because the devil doesn’t barter. He doesn’t wait at crossroads. He doesn’t ask for permission. He takes. He does not knock—he kicks down the door. He does not beg—he commands. He does not love—he consumes. He wraps his hunger in charm, his cruelty in confidence, his madness in tailored suits and cold, perfect smiles. And once you catch his eye, it’s already too late.