Thanatos Tattoo Novels & Stories

Thanatos informed the two who he opined were both egoistical in regards this issue. “Without further adduce, let the combat began” he stated uninterestingly.

"Be nice. He was just doing what you said." "Yeah, but I was doing something a whole lot more important." Thomas rubbed a hand over his head as a tiny glint of sunlight highlighted the tattoo on his upper arm and shoulder. Instinctively, I smoothed a finger over the intricate design. "What does this mean?" Thomas flexed his bicep, glancing at the tattoo. "Which one? I picked three Greek symbols and combined 'em." "What's this one?" I ran my finger around the dark circular pattern. Goosebumps rushed over his arm as he stared at my lips. "Strength."

I bow my head, pretend to focus on the screen. "You were staring," he says in a low, amused voice. He leans against my desk, arms crossed, towering over me. "My tattoos interest you?" I shake my head, too quickly. "No, I… it's nothing." He chuckles softly. "Liar." He pulls up the left sleeve of his t‑shirt, revealing more of the raven and other symbols: a miniature cathedral, eight‑pointed stars, Cyrillic numbers. "Every design has a story. The raven… it's for memory. For those we've lost, but never forget. The stars are rank. The cathedral… the faith you keep even when everything else goes to hell."

"Can you see this, below my left shoulder? This is a picture of my younger brother Nathan who died a year ago. How old? He was eight months old, and died of 'crib death.' What is crib death? That's what the doctor said and I don't know what it means. It's like when a baby suddenly dies for no reason while inside a crib. Look at his plump face and silver teardrops. I used to look at him in his little crib while sleeping and always wondered: 'do babies dream?' I wanted to know… See this here right below Nathan's face? It's a coiled serpent, you know, like in the Garden of Eden; tempting Adam to take a bite of the apple from the Tree of Knowledge. Beware the snake's temptation Zeke. There is al

A body made for war. "Let’s start from the back," he said, turning. I dragged my gaze over the designs. He started with the skull, the first tattoo he ever got—at eleven—after his first kill. It was massive, covering most of his upper back, though other ink had been added over time. "The woman’s face over the skull, to the left," he pointed, "that’s my mother. And the dove beneath it signifies her demise." His voice was detached, but I felt the weight of it.

The echo of harm that ripples outward even at death. When I take it, the pain is instant. My tattoos ignite. Not their usual slow burn, but a furious, living red that crawls across my skin as if the evil itself wants to be seen. The marks coil down my arms, over my ribs, up my throat, vivid and angry. The soul resists, not with strength, but with malice that lingers even at the threshold of its end. I carry it through anyway, absorbing what must not return to the living world.

“My name is Stace. I come from a realm very far away. I shouldn’t be here, doing this, but Death has become too much of a threat.” “So you’re going to kill her?” The words feel ashy in my mouth. He nods grimly. “It is what must be done. Powerful immortals are becoming a threat to my kind.” “And what exactly is your kind?” I ask warily, my gaze falling to the tattoos on his neck, depicting patterns I’ve never seen before, a foreign story I don’t even want to begin deciphering. Not to mention the way they drift and curl tauntingly, ever so slowly that they nearly convince you that you’re just seeing things, and they are in fact nothing but normal tattoos.

“I’ve never really looked at you this way. But now, it’s all starting to make sense. The date on your forearm…” I let my gaze drift lower, tracing the sharp lines of his torso. There were other tattoos scattered across his skin—fragments of a story only he knew. A Latin phrase curved along his collarbone, the ink bold and deliberate, “Memento Mori”—remember you must die. “Hayden?” He whimpered in his sleep. And groaned. I lifted my gaze to his face. Hayden whimpered softly, tossing in his sleep. Tears ran down his temples. Pain was written all over his face, frozen somewhere beneath a nightmare and a cursed reality he couldn’t escape from.

The maids soon wore pitiful countenances as they headed out to work. They all did expect one who couldn't stop herself from gaping at Thane. Her co-workers tried to snap her out of her constant gawking, but she paid less attention to them. He's shirtless with the expertly drawn tattoo of a moon visible to every seeing eyes. Someone might find it strange for a tattoo of the moon to be drawn. But, Thane loves it. Maybe it's because of his immense obsession of the moon at such a tender age. Thane took notice of the unfocused maid. A frown played on his lips as he glared intimidatingly at her.

The weight of the moment was palpable, heightened by the realization that the priest standing beside me was none other than Krystallo, the infamous mafia priest known for his merciless acts. My eyes inadvertently drifted towards the cross-shaped tattoo, intertwined with a viper, adorning Krystallo's neck. The intricate design served as a chilling reminder of the countless lives he had taken and the blood that stained his hands. It was a symbol of power and ruthlessness, one that sent shivers down the spines of even the most hardened criminals.