Vergil Dmc Devil Trigger Novels & Stories

I said. He chuckled lightly at first, but then it developed into a full blown laughter. I waited patiently for him to get all of the laughter off his chest, because very soon, nothing would be funny. He was still laughing when the last light of the day disappeared into the darkness of the night. “Oh Diavolo. Ever so arrogant. No one wins forever, don't you know? Not even the devil,” he said after his laughter had subsided. “Not everyone is me,” I replied, and then turned around. “Good night Damien Draco.”

He scanned me slowly, then, with a grunt, he asked, “Did you bring it?” “I did.” He glanced back to the driver, who was scanning the edges of the pier like a hawk, and nodded. The driver nodded back and opened the SUV’s rear door. Another man slid out. He had the kind of body that made every other man around him look smaller; thick neck, broad belly, face like a cliff. He wore a suit that cost more than my first car and moved with the slow arrogance of someone who knows his influence in the underworld. “Allow me to introduce the leader of the Vincetti Family. The one and only, Big V,” the man close to me announced with pride in his voice.

Wolves collided with the shadows of those wings, thrown across the room as blood and instant death erupted. Vivica froze, eyes wide, her chest rising as she watched the devil himself descend upon them. The dark blue aura surrounding him pressed against her burning skin, sending a thrill along her heated skin, and desire, through her. All the rumors about him turned out to be true. He was the Devil. The real Devil. Finn stepped forward deliberately, each movement slow, lethal, deliberate. He stopped just in front of her, the room now deathly silent except for the beat of her pulsing heat.

Strolling to his Ducati, Vergel got on and started it up, then drove into traffic. He didn't wait for a gap, barely missing being run over, ignoring the blaring horns as he turned left. Putting in his earbuds one-handed, he cranked up the music and sang along to the song as he let his mind wander back to her. Always back to her. The hunch he'd had weeks ago now—of glass-green eyes, of power like gilded shadows washing over him, through him—filled his mind.

The Earl shrieked in wonder, "You call her a maiden! She is no maiden. She's a thief! A mercenary, unbelievable thief!" He continued barking while he walked backwards away from them, "She handed her drink to the Earl of Vetcom, said things too daring for any normal Scottish woman and stole food. You would not call such person a mai…" He found himself staggering suddenly, noticing he was just at the edge of a ditch, one he didn't notice because he was too busy shouting. While he found himself falling into it, a hand quickly gripped around his hard and tight. Gently, that same hand pulled him up, straight back to his balance. And it was the devil herself.

A man is, shown talking over the phone better say shouting at his PA Mishra (poor Mishra, he knows his boss and his anger, his boss never takes no for an answer, and now when he told him the deal was slipping from their hand, he knew he awakens the Devil) Mishra was brought back from his thoughts by his boss deep voice "ᴍɪsʜʀᴀ, ɪ ᴅᴏɴ'ᴛ Ғᴜᴄᴋɪɴɢ ᴄᴀʀᴇ ᴡʜᴀᴛ ʏᴏᴜ ᴅᴏ, ɪ ᴡᴀɴᴛ ᴛʜᴀᴛ ʙʟᴏᴏᴅʏ ᴅᴇᴀʟ ᴀᴛ ᴀɴʏ ᴄᴏsᴛ, ʏᴏᴜ Ғᴀɪʟ �

This is forever. “Here lies Lucian D’Argento—devil to the world, but a man who loved enough to conquer death.” [TOPE]

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.

"What do you mean? You saw him out there! He was terrified when he saw me alive!" "Exactly," Vergil said smoothly, taking another step closer until he was towering over my frame. "Did you not see the sheer panic in his eyes? Dante genuinely believed you were dead. A master manipulator like him wouldn't display such raw, unfiltered shock if he had sent a killer to finish the job. He wouldn't have walked straight into my fortress completely unprepared if he knew a assassination strike had just occurred here, especially knowing he would without a doubt be the primary suspect."

I smiled when his hand went to my stomach, caressing it with pride and admiration that there was life growing. “I promised I would destroy the world for you. And I am. Anything to keep my fire.” Damiano whispered, still looking at my stomach, feeling enchanted by it before he looked at me with a beautiful smile on his lips. He did promise me, and not once had he failed to keep his promise. After all, Damiano was a man of his word. He was my villain, and… “My Devil.” I whispered with a soft smile, and a mischievous look appeared on his face.