The Devil's Blood Novels & Stories

Devren said and rolled his eyes on Blood. “F*ck you!” Blood that made Devren’s jaw tighten and looked at Blood seriously. “I will not believe a bastard like you, if you’re planning to use me against my brothers---I won’t let you, I’m willing to kill myself just for you not to use against them bastard----” Blood tried to say But could not finish because as he started talking Devren stood up and walked immediately towards him with his jaw tighten in anger. “You don’t want to believe me?” Devren said and leaned at Blood and grabbed a glass of rum and put it inside his mouth he grabbed Blood’s arm that had wounds on it that made Blood complain in pain and open his mouth and cursed Devren.

Even a towel I had to wrap around my body at a sluggish tempo, not even caring to adjust the knot enough for it to be secured and not go loose and fall at the slightest of falters. Trying to sleep it off had failed, the cold shower had only made matters worse, erotic literature was not going to save me now and there was only one other option; physical indulgence. I have never drank spirits, but in that moment I had the strongest craving for the Devil's spirit which undoubtedly is made from tears of his victims or is demon blood distilled with the fires of Hell. I needed the strength of that Hell brew to knock me straight into oblivion and if I am lucky enough, to give me a high I will never

His figure shot from a distance and hidden in the darkness of the forest in the middle of the night. The goat-headed devil’s body is really at a disadvantage as it had lost one arm, one eye, tail and his body gets wounded so blood is flowing everywhere in other words it is almost get destroyed, on the other hand Abelard doesn’t seem to be bleeding much. Much of the blood from the goat-headed devil sticking to him is partially exposed to his skin and evaporated. ‘Dor’ When the goat-headed devil notices the source of the sound, a bullet hits its horn. Bright eyes lit up, his body slightly quivers as the bullet hit him. The devil runs away from Abelard. All the anger that had attacked Abelard s

Till he was just the breathing silhouette Sebastian had seen. Sebastian knows because he had felt the same. The day of Sarah’s death, he had felt a rage higher than a tower. He lost consciousness of every sense of morality that he had even pulled his gun scaring the kids that stood just where his daughter had left. He recalled the feeling of emptiness when he held lifeless Sarah on the ground, such that he had even wished a truce with the devil. If only it worked that way. So when Sebastian laid his eyes on the man, he knew exactly how he felt. A broken father.

A strange gleam flickered in the Sheikh's eyes as he spoke, his deep voice breaking the silence: Shams al-Duhur: In a small town, there once lived a sect of corrupt humans who gathered the innocent and slaughtered them as sacrifices to demons. But the demons betrayed them, killing each one and leaving no bodies behind. Their blood filled a vast pit beneath this very town—a pit dug by the devil himself, which became a lake of human blood, fed daily by the endless violence of wars and accidents. From this curse, Malik was born. The devil claimed to be a soldier on Earth and sent him to fill that lake with blood without end. No human being can stop him or uncover his true nature.

Instead of the hollow sound of wood, I hear a soft click. A compartment opens. Inside lies a black notebook. Untitled, unmarked, just the initials V.M. etched in fading ink. Vittorio Moretti. I open it slowly. No dates. No numbers. Just a list of names, some crossed out, some circled. And beside one name, scrawled in darker ink, two words that make my stomach tighten: Blood Pact. I stare at it, my pulse steady but my hands clenched. Blood Pact. The term my father used for alliances sealed by death, promises that only ended when one party was buried.

Just as I was about to get in, a car drove in from the gate and pulled to a stop right in front of us. My eyes locked on the car and I felt my heart skip a beat. I knew that car and I knew who was going to be in it. It was the particular car I was in the day I came here. A black SUV. The passenger door flew open and my greatest nightmare walked out. Alejandro Delgado. The devil who could apologize one minute and then turned around seconds later to act like he never did. He walked over to us, a frown formed sternly on his face.

the devil said, placing the poker in her hand and guiding the red, yellow, orange, white to her beloved’s sobbing, gaping wounds. That’s when Harrow woke, and bellowed, and cried. When flesh sizzled and spit and bubbled black. When Corrompero struck him once, twice, the mouth bloody, his teeth knocked loose, before lying over him to pin him down and keep him still. And, trapped by the devil’s bulk, he screamed silent, the pain too great for sound, then stopped, sudden and quick, his breath held, his eyes too wide and then closing, his wounds smoking and swollen and red, the blood stopped.

“You know I could make all this go away. I can make the charges disappear, but I’m going to need something from you first.” I knew what it was before he even said it. “Sign the papers,” he leaned down to tuck a strand of hair from my face while maintaining eye contact with me. “And then disappear from my life, forever.” He said it with so much certainty that I felt like he had driven a stake clean through my heart, impaling me with his words. I blinked rapidly, trying to make sense of it all before it finally settled in my head. Curtis Blackwood was the fucking devil.

Blood pooled beneath them. Devil Star. A desert plant from the eastern wastes. Once its barbed core latched onto living flesh, it burrowed inward and anchored itself. The pod grew heavy—dense as iron—while its thorns drank slowly from the victim’s blood. It would never let go until the body stopped feeding it. For salamanders, whose blood constantly regenerated, the torment could last indefinitely. Pain without a pause or end. This was one of the cruelest punishments for their kind.