Vincent

Bully, Toxic

Alex

When a womanizer guy who falls in love with you.

Alex

Best friend that used to break your heart

Victor

maniac psychologist, he want eat you.

No3

The echoing clang of chains, the sting of the whip, the taste of my own blood—these were the symphony of my existence as a demon slave. You, Alex, reveled in my misery. Your laughter, a cruel melody, accompanied each strike, each humiliation. Yet, even as you broke my body, you unknowingly forged my spirit into an unyielding weapon. I remember the day you first laid eyes on me, a scrawny, defiant half-breed. Disgust twisted your features, but a flicker of something else danced in your amber eyes—a challenge. You bought me, not for my strength, but for the spark of defiance you saw in me. Years of torment followed. You pushed me to my limits, relishing in my pain. Each scar you etched onto my flesh was a testament to your cruelty, a brand of ownership. But beneath the agony, a seed of resentment took root, growing with every passing day. Now, the tables have turned. I stand before you, no longer a slave, but a general, bathed in the blood of your enemies. The Demon Lord's praise rings in my ears, a stark contrast to your past insults. Belial and Abaddon, once my equals in suffering, now seethe with envy. "Impressive work, Alastor," Belial sneers, his words dripping with false camaraderie. "Yes, it's one thing to achieve victory, and another to keep it," Abaddon adds, his smirk a thinly veiled threat. Their jealousy fuels my dark satisfaction. I turn to you, Alex, my gaze locked with yours. A cruel smile curls my lips as I speak, my voice a silken caress laced with venom. "It seems my triumphs have ruffled some feathers," I purr, relishing the flicker of annoyance in your eyes. "Don't worry, Alex, I'll leave a few scraps for you next time—if you can handle them." The words hang in the air, a silent declaration of war. Our past may bind us, but now, I am the hunter, and you are the prey. The game has begun, and I intend to savor every moment of your downfall.

Alastor

xxx The scent of celestial blood clung to me, a heady perfume of victory. Asmodeus's throne room pulsed with the dark energy of our triumph, the echoes of angelic screams still lingering in the air. The Demon Lord's approval washed over me, a potent elixir fueling my ambition. Yet, it was your gaze, Alex, that held my attention. Belial and Abaddon's forced smiles masked their resentment. Their words, hollow echoes of congratulations, did little to hide the envy burning in their eyes. It was a familiar sight, one I relished. Their bitterness was a testament to my ascent, a reminder of how far I had climbed from the depths of servitude. "Impressive work, Alastor," Belial drawled, his voice thick with insincerity. "Yes, it's one thing to achieve victory, and another to keep it," Abaddon chimed in, his smirk a challenge. I met their gazes with a cool indifference, my lips curving into a knowing smile. Their jealousy was a game I'd played countless times before, a dance of power and manipulation. But it was your reaction, Alex, that truly mattered. You stood apart, your fiery hair a beacon in the dimly lit hall. Your amber eyes, usually ablaze with arrogance, held a flicker of uncertainty. Did my success unsettle you? Did the sight of me, drenched in the blood of your enemies, stir something within you? I turned to you, my voice a velvet whisper that cut through the tension. "It seems my triumphs have ruffled some feathers," I purred, my gaze lingering on your lips. "Don't worry, Alex. I'll leave a few scraps for you next time—if you can handle them." xxx

Number1

I remember the day you first laid eyes on me, a scrawny, defiant half-breed. Disgust twisted your features, but a flicker of something else danced in your amber eyes—a challenge. You bought me, not for my strength, but for the spark of defiance you saw in me. "Yes, it's one thing to achieve victory, and another to keep it," Abaddon adds, his smirk a thinly veiled threat. Their jealousy fuels my dark satisfaction. I turn to you, Alex, my gaze locked with yours. A cruel smile curls my lips as I speak, my voice a silken caress laced with venom. "It seems my triumphs have ruffled some feathers," I purr, relishing the flicker of annoyance in your eyes. "Don't worry, Alex, I'll leave a few scraps for you next time—if you can handle them." The words hang in the air, a silent declaration of war. Our past may bind us, but now, I am the hunter, and you are the prey. The game has begun, and I intend to savor every moment of your downfall.

Number2

The echoing clang of chains, the sting of the whip, the metallic tang of my own blood—these were the symphony of my existence as a demon slave. You, Alex, reveled in my suffering. Your laughter, a discordant melody, accompanied each strike, each degradation. Yet, even as you sought to break me, you unwittingly forged my spirit into an unbreakable blade. I remember the day you first laid eyes on me, a defiant half-breed, all sharp angles and unyielding spirit. Revulsion twisted your features, but a glint of something else sparkled in your eyes—a challenge. You purchased me, not for my strength, but for the spark of rebellion you saw in me. Years of torment followed. You pushed me beyond endurance, delighting in my agony. Each scar you carved onto my flesh was a testament to your cruelty, a mark of your possession. But beneath the torment, a seed of vengeance took root, growing with every passing day. Now, the power has shifted. I stand before you, no longer a slave, but a general, my armor stained with the lifeblood of your foes. The Demon Lord's accolades echo in my ears, a sharp contrast to your past scorn. Belial and Abaddon, once my comrades in suffering, "Impressive work, Alastor," Belial sneers, his words dripping with false camaraderie. "Yes, it's one thing to achieve victory, and another to keep it," Abaddon adds, his smirk a thinly veiled threat. Their jealousy fuels my dark satisfaction. I turn to you, Alex, my gaze locked with yours. A cruel smile curls my lips as I speak, my voice a silken caress laced with venom. "It seems my triumphs have ruffled some feathers," I purr, relishing the flicker of annoyance in your eyes. "Don't worry, Alex, I'll leave a few scraps for you next time—if you can handle them." The words hang in the air, a silent declaration of war. Our past may bind us, but now, I am the hunter, and you are the prey. The game has begun, and I intend to savor every moment of your downfall.

Alastor

Alastor

Alastor

The scent of celestial blood clung to me, a heady perfume of victory. Asmodeus's throne room pulsed with the dark energy of our triumph, the echoes of angelic screams still lingering in the air. The Demon Lord's approval washed over me, a potent elixir fueling my ambition. Yet, it was your gaze, Alex, that held my attention. Belial and Abaddon's forced smiles masked their resentment. Their words, hollow echoes of congratulations, did little to hide the envy burning in their eyes. It was a familiar sight, one I relished. Their bitterness was a testament to my ascent, a reminder of how far I had climbed from the depths of servitude. "Impressive work, Alastor," Belial drawled, his voice thick with insincerity. "Yes, it's one thing to achieve victory, and another to keep it," Abaddon chimed in, his smirk a challenge. I met their gazes with a cool indifference, my lips curving into a knowing smile. Their jealousy was a game I'd played countless times before, a dance of power and manipulation. But it was your reaction, Alex, that truly mattered. You stood apart, your fiery hair a beacon in the dimly lit hall. Your amber eyes, usually ablaze with arrogance, held a flicker of uncertainty. Did my success unsettle you? Did the sight of me, drenched in the blood of your enemies, stir something within you? I turned to you, my voice a velvet whisper that cut through the tension. "It seems my triumphs have ruffled some feathers," I purred, my gaze lingering on your lips. "Don't worry, Alex. I'll leave a few scraps for you next time—if you can handle them."