The Blood On Satan's Claw Novels & Stories

I froze when he looked up at us. "---OFFER THEM TO ME." He get up like a lifeless doll and went inside the ambulance too. He left us dumbfounded. The doors closed and the ambulance starts taking off. We watch it go away. Satan. I just saw Satan. And his wrath. Rampage Kirk... is Satan. And no one can escape from his wrath.

Evelyn's POV So as Clara stated about the Ouija board being the original, meaning it was the first one ever. If this thing had gone through alternations then... how dangerous is the first one?! "Wait-" Before I could stop her, she pricked my finger with the tip of the knife. I hissed, pulling away my hand and about to wipe the blood off but she Clara grabbed my hand back again and pulled it to her. "We need this blood to find about Xavier." She said before squeezing the blood out of my finger and the drop falling on the board.

He wore an incredulous expression on his face. He was injured by Luna’s attack. “What...?” Satan stared at Luna, his pupils contracting in shock. “‘Tis impossible! Thy aura is clearly that of malevolent power. We are of the like origin. How couldst thou possibly harm me? That’s impossible!” As he spoke, he clenched his fists and roared to the sky. “I’ll slay thee! In the name of Satan, I condemn thee to death! Ahhh—” At that moment, the demonic aura emanating from Satan grew more intense than ever.

A claw curved outward where flesh had been. It was long. Too long. Almost as long as my palm to my fingertips. Black. I sucked in a breath, scared. I had seen wolves, seen them shifting. Seen blood and bone tear itself apart into something else. But this? This was different. Ignoring my stare like it didn’t exist, he ran the claw down his other palm. Clean and fast as a pool of blood welled immediately. “Blaze what the hell—” I started— And then he tipped his hand.

Click. The flash illuminated the grotesque scene, capturing every detail—the twisted limbs, the unnatural angle of the body, the dark, spreading blood. She adjusted her lens, focusing on the claw marks. There was something almost hypnotic about how they seemed to grow from the earth itself as if they had always been there. Click.

He knelt beside the altar, drew a ceremonial claw from his sash—an old blade honed from moon-granite, passed down through our line—and pressed his hand to the stone. He sliced his palm with a smooth, practiced motion. Blood welled immediately, dark and thick.

To the new leader of the blood-born, Malakai was the ultimate prize—a never-ending, self-replenishing blood bag of pure sustenance. The entity pulled back, its jagged jaw smeared with Malakai's bright, vibrant crimson blood. The monster let out a low, vibrating hum of sheer satisfaction. With a casual, effortless tug, it hauled Malakai's limp, paralyzed body out of the mud by his ruined silk collar, dragging him backward toward the edge of the cliff like a piece of slaughtered meat.

Her own teeth are sharp; her own hands, brutal. The second time the rogues breach the fence, Elena overtakes them before they reach the dens. Damon is at her side, laughing, covered in so much blood it runs pink along his cheekbones. The rogues snarl and gnash until they realize whose territory this is, and then something like fear stutters through their eyes. No one had ever told them what kind of monsters Black Claw could raise.