𝗧𝗮𝗹𝗲 𝗼𝗳 𝘁𝗵𝗲 𝗗𝗲𝘃𝗶𝗹 & 𝗛𝗶𝘀 𝗧𝗲𝘀𝗼𝗿𝗼 'Poor little soul.' A pure, innocent soul forced to face the harsh realities they said. A soul that was led down the path of darkness, One that was bent and made to be other's nightmare, only to end up deemed nature's lost cause. How tragic, right? Wrong. Because this, this is not nearly as simple. You see, mostly, if not always, the only real difference between a hero and a villain is a matter of perspective- WHO is telling the story. But not in his case. What if he really embodies the epitome of a real-life villain, instilling terror in the hearts of all those who cross his path, or even hear whispers of his name? What if he's a wicked man who ceaselessly gets whatever his icy heart craves? A monster who seeks power more than salvation, A nightmare who believes vengeance is unerring. A killing machine, devoid of heart or soul, let alone a pure one. Damien, they call him, His name whispered with terror and fear, Because Damien is not an ordinary man, but a man who clawed his way out from the depths of hell. One who's driven by a relentless pursuit of the very thing that threatens to bring downfall to the world we know. He is the reigning terror among monsters, holding dominion over the dark underworld of New York City, Even with his true identity hidden from the prying eyes of all. Damien is no ordinary man. But he is the Devil. So what happens when an angel meets the devil? When a naive runaway escapes one demon, only to find herself in the clutches of the worst of them all? ⊱ ʚɞ ⊰ ~𝗗𝗮𝗿𝗸 𝗠𝗮𝗳𝗶𝗮 𝗥𝗼𝗺𝗮𝗻𝗰𝗲 ~𝗘𝗻𝗲𝗺𝗶𝗲𝘀 𝗧𝗼 𝗟𝗼𝘃𝗲𝗿𝘀 ~𝗠𝗮𝘁𝘂𝗿𝗲 𝗧𝗵𝗲𝗺𝗲 ~𝗘𝘅𝗽𝗹𝗶𝗰𝗶𝘁 𝗦𝗲𝘅𝘂𝗮𝗹 𝗖𝗼𝗻𝘁𝗲𝗻𝘁 Complete✔️

𝐓𝐚𝐥𝐞 𝐨𝐟 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐇𝐮𝐧𝐭𝐫𝐞𝐬𝐬 & 𝐡𝐞𝐫 𝐉𝐮𝐝𝐚𝐬 Loyalty. It's a simple philosophy of virtue, worn thin by the world. In his hands, it is sacred- A creed carved in blood and obedience. A faith sharpened by order, tempered in the fire of command. Trust is demanded- forged beneath the weight of discipline, Bound by the concept of duty. But in hers, those words are fables- Tales spun by desperate men to keep obedience alive. Loyalty's a language of the desperate- spoken loudest by those too afraid to stand alone. Trust is a fool's game for those who've never bled. And right is wrong, wrong the only right in the chaos she was made for. They were born to opposite sides of the same war- two souls carved from a single wound, destined to bleed for different flags. They were meant to ruin each other quietly. Ruin. Ruin. Ruin and call it mercy. Call it duty. Never to find warmth in the ashes they made. Never to seek solace in what was made to destroy, what was meant to bring death. But fate... fate has never cared for intention- It placed his oath at the mercy of the woman he was trained to destroy, Placed her wrath in the hands of the only man who could ruin it. Steal her fury. Quiet her rage. Unravel the reason she drew breath. And he truly meant to do it- Every bit of it. Meant to ruin, To steal, To quiet, Unravel. He meant to bring justice, Bring justice and strike down a woman born of vengeance until fate intervened once more- Until, somewhere between the hunt and the havoc, he forgot to destroy and learned to worship instead. But worship's not enough to blunt her truth- hungry dogs are never loyal- not even to the palm they once adored. And even the devout, in the end, turn on their gods. 𝒄𝒐𝒎𝒊𝒏𝒈 𝒔𝒐𝒐𝒏...

𝗧𝗮𝗹𝗲 𝗼𝗳 𝗗𝗲𝗮𝘁𝗵 & 𝗛𝗶𝘀 𝗽𝗿𝗶𝗻𝗰𝗲𝘀𝘀 Revenge Countless souls have fallen prey to its grasp, their lives shattered as deeply as those they sought to harm, if not more so. For most, mere death isn't the end It's not enough to satiate their thirst They crave retribution, wish for something beyond the grave. They want misery upon those who've wronged them. Long for the torment of those who've wounded them But at the end of the day, it's merely a wish, A burning desire for- well, nothing realistic, really For they are weak. Powerless Some may even deem them useless But then, there exist the select few- those who refuse to settle for anything less than the worst, denying death's grasp to unleash a living hell upon their enemies, Those who take matters into their own hands, seizing control & becoming the architects of their own vengeance, Now those, those are dangerous. For in their eyes, the concept of contentment is a foreign notion, replaced by a searing ache for more- More agony, despair. More misery, more wails. More destruction, chaos. People like him, they feed off of fear, thrive in causing pain. They're cunning, calculating, heartless But frankly, even the most twisted of them seem like harmless amateurs in comparison to him. He reeks of death Exudes darkness, sorrow Death is all that shadows his steps, making his existence a reminder of the inevitable fate that awaits his victims. And whispers in the Russian underworld speak of him as Mors- The god of death So, what happens when a girl, who abandoned her family, her life & the very empire bestowed upon her- just to escape the sight of death, catches the eyes of the reaper? What happens when he pulls her into the abyss of his world, intent on destroying all she has fought to be in pursuit of vengeance? And what happens when, as the day wanes, the embodiment of her deepest fear captures her eyes as well?