The Devils Origin Novels & Stories

He stood in the doorway, sleeves rolled to his elbows, shirt open at the collar. He looked infuriatingly calm. Ronan Blackwood I've been too shocked to recognise him last night but now - fuck! Ronan Blackwood the rumoured devil. I had no idea if I should scream or just laugh because how the hell did I end up with the devil himself? “You had no right,” I said, my voice low, hard. “I saved your life.” he responded calmly. “You took it.” I marched toward him, heat burning through my chest. “You didn’t ask. You didn’t give me a choice. You just—scooped me up like I was some damsel who needed a knight.”

And it's ironic because that day was the first day he ever truly called my name with compassion. Blinking away the memory, I bend over the sink and splash water on my face, a devilish grin on. Maybe Papa was right when he said I was from the devil. Else, which child would tie her father to his favorite wooden chair and set him on fire? I felt nothing that day, even though I had a beating heart. I didn't pity him, even though I had a soul that was meant to be kind. Then again, maybe I was once an angel, a mockingbird killed by the wickedness of the ones I loved the most. Maybe it was Papa that turned me into the devil I became today.

His journey to Singapore recently made his works overloaded. Baltheir Damme DeVille is the second sons of the DeVille family. His father Damian Rouge DeVille is known as the ruthless and powerfull Alpha of the biggest pack in Russia. His mother, and himself moved from Russia years ago. Their spirit is too wild for the pack. His father, meanwhile stay at the pack house, leading the werewolves around the area. DeVille family own not only a huge area in Russia, but also is the owner of several chain businesses around Europe, Asia and America's continent. The pack that his father lead needs economical support which came from the DeVille huge chain businesses.

Machines meant not to kill, but to unmake. A voice echoed—Larkam’s, distant and grim. “To prepare his armies to crush the gates of Heaven, the Devil forged a gateway. A cursed mirror. A portal.” “It allowed demons to slip through—not to kill, but to split the soul. To rip away purity… and devour what remained.” “But the Devil miscalculated.” Earth, Eons Ago The world was new. Silent. Untouched. But beneath the cliffs, in the shadowed places, things slithered—demonic forms biding their time for man’s arrival.

Audrey asked, curious to know more. "The devil doesn't bargains, and as possessive and envious as he is, he wasn't willing to just walk away just because God said so" he said, "because he had most of the humans on his side 'cause they where his after all from selling their souls, he formed minions to rebel against God's orders"

Grayson Voss I was supposed to be in a meeting with a cartel rat who thought he could play both sides. Instead, I ended up in a club that reeked of sweat, desperation, and lies. Club Delirium. Ironically named, considering it mostly caters to men trying to forget reality with vodka and silicone. I wasn’t there for pleasure. I was there because the club owner was late on his payments. And late payments in my world meant broken bones or buried bodies.

So in a way, I truly deserve the name La Diabla because I'm the devil's spawn. "That doesn't excuse what you did. He raised you, fed and clothed us. How could you do that?" "With a knife" "What?" "You keep asking how I could do that. With a knife, Andres. I used a knife" Blood drains from his face "You don't even regret it"

"The head devil already ate them. The devils did not only eat the humans for nourishment, but they also ate their souls, as it gave them three times the nourishment compared to eating only the human flesh. " Marcus sighed. "Aunt Adira waited for a long time for her husband to reincarnate. And right when they just met again, the head devil took it away from her." "And it was all because of Melinda." She said. "Right." Minerva sighed. So that was the reason why the name Melinda became a taboo and hailed as the traitor of humanity. It was because she chose to side with the devils and let them kill the humans on the continent. If it wasn't for her father's intervention, Aunt Adira might've been

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.

It was a scream of pure, unfiltered pain. The Creator's eyes widened to dinner plates. The Keeper looked utterly stunned, their river-like hair stalling, while the First Traveler slowly lowered his head in solemn reverence. Because in that singular, agonizing cry, they all recognized the origin of the memory, and they understood exactly what it meant. The Devourer had not been born an absolute monster. It had become one. The jagged crack spread exponentially across the prehistoric darkness, and from the weeping center of the abyss, the Devourer whispered a question—a vulnerable, trembling question no one in creation ever thought it would ask: