The Devoted Hound of Hell (ᴏʙ...

By CrimsonSplatterFrog

16K 582 148

Unhealthy obsession is what this is, but in Outis's world, it's simply called adoration and devotion. ᴏʙᴇʏ ᴍᴇ... More

‼️𝐈𝐦𝐩𝐨𝐫𝐭𝐚𝐧𝐭‼️
╏ᴸᴏɴɢɪɴɢ ᶠᵒʳ ʜɪˢ ᴘʀɪᴅᴇ╏
╏ᴅɪɢɴɪᴛʏ ʏᴏᴜʀ ᴡᴀʏ╏
╏ᴳʳᴇᴇᴅ ᴏᶠ ʟᴏᴏᴋɪɴɢ╏
⎯⎯ ୨𝐎𝐜 𝐈𝐧𝐟𝐨𝐫𝐦𝐚𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧୧ ⎯⎯
╏ᴘʀɪᴅᴇ ᴀɴᴅ ᴘʀᴀɪˢᵉ╏
╏ᴅɪɴɴɪɴɢ ᴡɪᴛʜ S̴I̴N̴╏
╏ᶠᵉᵃˢᵗ ᴏɴ ᴘʀɪᴅᴇ╏
╏ᴜˢᵉᵈ ɢʀᴇᴇᴅ ᶠᵒʳ ᴘʀɪᴅᴇ╏
╏ˢᴄʜᴏᴏʟ ᶠᵒʳ ᴛʜᴏᴜˢᴀɴᴅ ᴀɢᴇᴅ ᴅᴇᴍᴏɴˢ?╏
╏ᴺᴏʀᴍᴀʟ ᴛʀᴏᴜʙʟᴇˢᵒᵐᵉ ᴍᴏʀɴɪɴɢ'ˢ╏
╏ᴅɪᴀᴠᴏʟᴏ & ᴀɴɢᴇʟꜱ ᴇɴᴄᴏᴜɴᴛᴇʀ╏
╏ᴜɴᴅᴇˢɪʀᴇᴅ ᴅɪˢᴘᴜᴛᴇˢ╏
╏ɴᴇᴡ ᴜɴ-ᴀᴄqᴜᴀɪɴᴛᴀɴᴄᴇˢ╏

╏ᴡʜɪᴛᴇ ᶠᵉᵃᵗʰᵉʳ╏

2K 57 7
By CrimsonSplatterFrog

1| CHAPTER ONE

──────




│Tʜɪʀᴅ Pᴇʀꜱᴏɴ ᴾᴼ




DEAD bodies lay still on the ground, lifeless, even those who were innocent and had nothing to do with the one who had caused this mess.

One of them was still breathing, albeit it was not their choice to breathe; rather, the person who was putting the dagger to the living one's neck chose to do so.

Nevertheless, they were treated like animals and slaughtered like cattle.

"AUGH..! WAIT!! You mentioned something about an A-Angels feather! I-I could give it to you! Bu-But you have to free me because only I know where it is. You-! You need me...!"

He hollered in fear, knowing that he was simply a low-grade demon and that the demon holding a knife at his throat worked for or with the higher-ups.

Though the last sentence became cocky and confident, a nervous grin crept across his face as he gazed up at the stranger who was wearing a cloak and a hoody over their head, making their appearance more menacing.

However, that anxious grin did not persist.

"Don't fret any longer, your suffering will come to an end and I'll set you free as you've requested"

As the pleading man turned to look at the enigmatic figure, his hopes were shattered.

A white slash fills his vision, much to his confusion, but his confusion quickly turns into terror.

"Ack-!"

His throat had been sliced open, and scarlet blood streamed hysterically from his gaping mouth and neck while his hands futilely reached for the gushing wound to stem the bleeding.

The cloaked man standing over the body of the dying man observed the situation before him and noted that he and the poor old worker had completely different interpretations of letting someone free.

With exhaustion, he threw his head back and closed his eyes. The once silent room, which had only heard blood dripping and whimpers, was suddenly filled with chokes and frantic shrieks.

He dipped his head back down to the scene of the awkward position the man died in when the noise subsided, signalling the low-grade demon's death. He gave it one more glance before kneeling down and patting the dead man's corpse in an effort to find something.

After pausing his progress after feeling something in one of the dead demon's pockets, just before he drew it out, there rested in his hands a pouch that he was pretty certain was what he was seeking for.

Gently reaching into the pouch and pulling out a soft, delicate white feather that belonged to a diseased angel, but not just any angel, it was Lilith's; the dead man that lay before him had stolen her wings when she fell and planned to sell them at the auction house that the mysterious man was currently in.

Outis Whitlock is a name that not many people are familiar with, but those who do know him refer to him as Lucifer's most devoted pet, and as a devoted pet, he is to follow out any orders.

This time, Lucifer gave him instructions to look for Lilith's last remaining feathers because they had been taken by an auction house host demon who had reached her first.

It's been such a long time since he's seen his beloved. Hypothetically, if he had come back with nothing but a solemn face and no feather, he would have taken his own life, as he cannot bear the thought that someone as useless as him could not follow out simple commands standing- NO! standing by Lucifer's side is something he would never want.





































"̴̹̣̽͗͒̆̌́͑̍̂̂J̷̢̖͋͛̿̐u̸͔͕̭͋̓̂̾s̴̲̠̬͚̲̰̣͈͖̼̃̉̕t̵̺̼͔͓̭̼͙͓̣̑̇̕͘ ̵̫͖͇̥̤̓̈́̿͑̅̏͐͘b̸̨̟̗͉͚͋́̈̄̕e̵̼̦͉͌̈́i̸̛̛̬̺̝̯͐͋̓͋̇̆͝͝n̵̙̔̋̒͝ͅg̸͍̮̝̈́̍͑ ̵̥͎̅̏̿b̵̢͙̩̫̯̑̽͆͂͘̚͝e̴̲̭͚̟͓͇̘̅̾͑́̇̽̏͗͝n̴̼̺̠͙̈́͝e̴̘͔̒̈́͒͒̍͑̈́̄͘a̶̺̩̗̻͍̙̿͆͛͗̈́͗͘t̴͓̘̻̪̫̰͉͍͆̓ḩ̸̩̩̠͍͍͉͎͕̮̿̒̒̏͑̓́̆̚͝ ̷̯̲͓̥̪̫̱͓̪̟͒h̷̠̎̌̈́̈́i̵̳̰̜̯͂̄̃̅͌̋͘m̸̨̢̠̩̠̺̼̥̔̃̐́͑̚ ̷̼̺̀̅̆̈͘m̸̢̢̰̯̹̗̞̤̘̖͌̈́̽̍͝ǎ̴̡̝̖̲͉͇̙͎̿͠ǩ̸͉̂͛́̑̋͗̑͝ě̷̢̛͉̲͓̖̠̿̊̄̐͗̕͝s̷͇͔̆ ̶̛̦̙͈̺͛͗͑̇̚͜ṃ̶̧̖͊́͆͑́̒͘y̴̙̣͛̏̂̚ ̵̮͚̃̽͑̊́̀̀̑l̸̦̥͇̽ị̷̧̯̿͑͒͑̂̋f̸͙̬̻̪̣̟̥̹̦̾̍̆ē̵̢͖͍̙͚̗̟̝̮̳͆͑̈́ ̷̡͎̣̖͇̹̱̟͇̟́̋̆h̵̢̪̯̮̟̗̙̀̋͆̌̅͆͑̒̚͝a̵̗̞͕̳̮͕͇̒̓v̶͈̻̹̝̍̎́̐̐͗͗̃͋ḛ̴̢̤̤̱̌͆̽̄̄͑̒͝͝͝ ̷͚͈̭͉̮͚̤̤̋̃m̸̨̭̳͍̣̟̪̞͓̍̏͂è̸͕̟͉̹̋̈́̇̈́̊̚͝ȁ̷͕̺͖̲͕̣̘̬͍̩̍̍͂͛͝ņ̸̛̗̯̠̫̻̲̮̩̜͒̐͒̔̽ḭ̷̞̦̞̝̻̩͈͉̮͂̍̔̽̀͌̍͘ņ̸̩̗͛g̶̡̺͔̟̫̩̘̏̓̏́͝ͅ...̷͗͊̔̒̾̄̍̍͂̒ͅ"̸̬̝̠͆̑̑̆̑̕̕

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