Our devils, p.1
Our Devils, page 1
Copyright
Copyright © 2026 D. L. Berger All rights reserved
The characters and events portrayed in this book are fictitious. Any similarity to real persons, living or dead, is coincidental and not intended by the author.
No part of this book may be reproduced, or stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise, without express written permission of the publisher.
Written by: D. L. Berger
Cover design by: D. L. Berger
Disclaimers
This work contains depictions of intense violence, drug use, and sexual content. It is intended for mature readers.
This story is a work of fiction, written by an actual human who refuses to apologize for his excessive use of em dashes.
Our Devils is part of an ongoing series. Look forward to Our Devils 2 in 2027, and Our Devils 3 in 2028.
Visit DLBerger.com for updates, supplemental content, and to stream the accompanying playlist.
Contents
Copyright
Disclaimers
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Chapter 24
Chapter 25
Chapter 26
Chapter 27
Chapter 28
Chapter 29
Chapter 30
Chapter 31
Chapter 32
Chapter 33
Chapter 34
Chapter 35
Chapter 36
Chapter 37
Chapter 38
Chapter 39
Chapter 40
Chapter 41
Chapter 42
Chapter 43
Chapter 44
Chapter 45
Chapter 46
Chapter 47
Chapter 48
Chapter 49
Chapter 50
Chapter 51
Chapter 52
Chapter 53
Chapter 54
Chapter 55
Chapter 56
Chapter 57
Chapter 58
Chapter 59
Chapter 60
Chapter 61
Chapter 62
Chapter 63
Chapter 64
Chapter 65
Chapter 66
Chapter 67
Chapter 68
Chapter 69
Chapter 70
Chapter 71
Chapter 72
Chapter 73
Chapter 74
Chapter 75
Chapter 76
Chapter 77
Chapter 78
Chapter 79
Chapter 80
Chapter 81
Chapter 82
Chapter 83
Chapter 84
Chapter 85
Chapter 86
Chapter 87
Chapter 88
Chapter 89
Chapter 90
Chapter 91
Chapter 92
Chapter 93
Chapter 94
Chapter 1
I gallop on my knuckles where the bone white windmills loom large, somewhere on the outskirts of town. Time is fading fast. I clear the tan grassy hills in heartbeats each, their shadows ripping past like waves at high tide. Still I pick up my pace. No, not me. Something else, lean and lithe and brutal, its breaths hot and fast and deep. A flash of fangs and fur and teeth. It leaps with grace and lands with violence, tearing the landscape on impact. A maw opens wide, full of fury, but there is no roar. Only silence. It fades all too fast.
“Uhm, excuse me?”
At first, Aaron didn’t know where he was. He blinked his way through the fog, still not quite conscious. The early evening sky came into slow focus, glowing bright. It was only minutes after sundown. Seagulls cast hazy silhouettes as they dipped on the shrill spring breeze, fighting over the garbage below. Aaron felt the seat below him and found the old, familiar wood of his regular park bench. It wasn’t the first time he had fallen asleep there—or even the weirdest dream he’d had there.
“You need to put that away.” A woman with a tight blonde ponytail loomed over him. Her posture was arrow straight.
“Sorry, what?”
“That,” she repeated with disdain. She was staring at the vape pen on his lap. While many other stoners and delinquents called their vape pens “Penjamin,” Aaron called his “Penny.”
Aaron took a drag. “What?”
The woman gasped and leaned in closer. Her tiny dog whimpered on its leash, testing its limits. “There are children here.”
Aaron looked out past her, down the gentle green hill and the park below. Bugs flocked to the street lights as they flickered to life, one by one. Most of the people had left by then, driven away by the evening chill, but a few stragglers folded up blankets and threw frisbees as night rolled in. It would have been a nice view without the distraction. “Uh, no?”
The woman’s little white dog sniffed at his hand and gave it a tiny, tentative lick. Aaron pet it once before she jerked the leash away. The woman looked incensed. “No what?”
“I don’t see any kids.”
This set her off. “Uh, HELLO? There’s a child right there!” She gestured wildly towards the nearest toddler, at least a hundred feet away. The kid was playing with their dad and a dog, blissfully unaware of anything wrong in the universe. But despite that, they were somehow close enough to become permanently and hopelessly addicted to drugs. How tragic.
“Oh.” Aaron spoke flatly and gave her a big thumbs up. “Sure thing.” Then he took another drag.
“Do I have to start making calls?” Her phone was in her hands and her thin fingers were already twitching.
“Yeah, you should call the doctor.” Aaron stood up and cracked his back with a grunt. “Maybe they can surgically remove that stick.”
“Excuse me?” Her bony fist clenched at her side. “Are you threatening me?”
The man smiled. “I think you’re old enough to know that expression, ma’am.” Aaron turned and plodded downhill as her threats bounced harmlessly off his bulky back. She shrieked the words “Disturbing the peace” loud enough to turn heads, but his was not among them.
It was a nice night for a walk—even Karen couldn’t ruin that. The late spring weather was perfect for Aaron’s baggy black “Cool S” hoodie and his cargo shorts. He breathed deep, taking in the sky’s fading glow, the soundtrack of distant subwoofers and sports bar cheers, and the dreamy haze on the suburban landscape below. This was one of the few times he got his steps in, and he liked to savor them. Aaron worked from home, so there wasn’t much commuting. He ordered most of his necessities online, or bought them from the corner store, so there wasn’t much driving. Occasionally he would buy groceries, or do laundry around the corner, but most days his dusty hatchback sat idle in the driveway as he sat idle inside.
But on days like today he had a ritual: he would pick up from the dispensary, buy a coffee or a boba, and walk to the park for a smoke or a vape. This ritual was called “Payday.”
This weekend he had a Street Fighter tournament to look forward to, a season of My Hero Academia to start, and a Civilization campaign to finish. Chances were good that he would spend half the tournament arguing with strangers in the chat about the finer points of Street Fighter technique, like frame traps and delay tech. Chances were very good that he would challenge a stranger to 1v1 him and never follow through. And chances were pretty much absolute that he wouldn’t put pants on again until Monday. Or so he thought.
Not far from the bottom of the hill, a couple was having a heated fight outside a bar as a loose crowd of smokers watched. The words came and went on the breeze, “Never listen” and “Something something stupid sister,” and “Get your fucking coat.”
Aaron recognized the couple, but it took a moment for him to place them. The last time Aaron had spent any time with the two of them was in chemistry class, over a decade ago. Danny and Megan (was it Megan?) were too busy making goo-goo eyes at each other to put any work in on the group project, leaving Aaron holding the bag. He aced it, begrudgingly. The only hard part was keeping his mouth shut.
The argument ran out of words and Megan started throwing hands, landing several hits directly on Danny’s face. He grimaced and tried to push her away but she kept on wailing, drawing jeers and cheers from the otherwise indifferent onlookers. Aaron watched on as the woman went for blood. The larger man tried to wrap her up and contain the punches, but he wasn’t doing a very good job. Danny yelled behind him, apparently looking for help and getting none. Meanwhile, Aaron took a hit from Penny and tried not to enjoy the show too much. Some sick part of him was happy to see that they peaked in high school.
A police siren roared to life behind Aaron—he slipped Penny into his pocket as a shiver ran down his spine. The big man jogged down the hill to get clear of it, hoping the police would care too much about the fight to spend any time harassing another innocent stoner. Unle ss Karen had followed through on her threats and called him in, of course.
He reached the bottom of the hill and took a hard right into some alley he had passed a million times before. He had never been down that particular alley, but he could make a good guess where it came out. And as long as the cops didn’t follow him, there was no rush.
His stomach thought otherwise. A gurgle ran through his gut like thunder, demanding food. Maybe it was time for another detour.
Aaron pulled out his phone and started browsing through dinner options. Hongo Ramen got his attention. Their prices had gone up yet again, for the second time in a year, but a bowl of black garlic Tonkotsu was calling his name. And after all, it was payday. Live a little, right?
He went through the mental gymnastics of justifying the expense as he rounded a corner, plodding through a viscous puddle. He dragged it with him for a few steps as the sound ahead swelled, a dull thunk, thunk, thunk in the darkness.
The smell hit him first: blood and piss and shit. The sound came next: meat smacking concrete, over and over. Aaron held his phone to his chest to block out the light as he peered out into the dark. A silhouette came into slow focus. It was a creature, nearly eight feet tall and slick jet black. On its head sat a crown of rotten yellow ram’s horns, sturdy and ancient. It looked like it was eating a large mouse until the light hit it just right. Mice don’t wear khaki slacks.
The monster shook the body a few times and slammed it on the ground again. Then the creature stepped on the corpse with a massive talon, ripped off an arm, and horked it down. The sound that came from it was deep and guttural, resonating in Aaron’s chest like a subwoofer.
The man froze in place. It hadn’t noticed him. One step at a time, backwards. Then another. He fought to resist the urge to clear his throat, or shout, or run. On the third or fourth step, Aaron’s ankle popped like bubble wrap.
The creature’s head swiveled towards him. It gazed at him with three bright violet eyes the size of basketballs. Its pupils dilated. Its face was bone white, a spooky skull mask perched on an oil slick cloak. Its beak dripped with viscera, casually snacking on human fingers as it stared him down with all three eyes. The creature swallowed the remaining body parts and crouched its head low, facing him in full. Then the beast unfurled its impossibly large wingspan and judged the distance between them.
“Shit!”
Aaron was not a fast man, but he would have to be. With each step, the beast cleared twice as much distance towards him. The gap closed too quickly and the alley wouldn’t last long. The man suddenly doubted his sense of direction and the terror hit him fast.
As soon as he escaped the alley, Aaron spotted a building under construction. Whoever was working on it neglected to fully secure the chain link fence. He squeezed through the narrow opening, thinking skinny thoughts. A few steps later and the beast plowed into the fence. The links tore into its body as it struggled, drawing bright violet blood that perfectly matched its eyes. It roared, hungry and frustrated, its beak snapping like a bear trap.
In the low light, Aaron took quick stock of his surroundings. The work site was sheeted over and dimly lit, with only odds and ends left behind. He barreled past paint brushes and caulking guns and tile samples before finally locking his eyes on a stray piece of rebar. As he reached for it, the beast slammed into his back, sending him sprawling into a concrete column. The impact hit him square in the solar plexus, jarring his bones and knocking the wind out of him. He swore under his breath and scurried as fast as the adrenaline would carry him. The beast prowled around, almost toying with him. Then the thing roared, silhouetted by the dim street lights outside, its three huge eyes almost glowing in the half-light. Aaron threw his hands around him, scrambling for absolutely anything at all. A sob caught in his throat.
The beast reared up and roared one last time before plunging down.
But a moment before it connected, something happened. The three-eyed owl lurched sideways with a roar of pain. Then it lurched up and backwards, and again to the side. Something was striking it. Another beast, lithe and lean and brutal. It moved with grace and lashed with violence. It was too dark, too blurry. It kept hitting, again and again.
Aaron took the moment to scramble away. He bounded towards the stairwell and found a fire axe leaning against the wall. He snatched it and pivoted. He could hear the smaller thing as it attacked—it was higher pitched and made a wide range of sounds, like a fox or a coyote. In moments it seemed almost bipedal. It was smaller than Aaron, whatever it was, just flashes of fangs and fur and teeth in the gloom.
Aaron held the axe in both hands and fumbled with the grip, terrified that he would have to use it. He widened his stance, in case he had to hold his ground or move quickly, before circling for a better angle. He eyed the tattered gate where he had entered—if he could get to it, he could make a run for it.
The three-eyed owl ducked away from the smaller monster’s attack, catching it off guard. The big beast headbutted the smaller creature and sent it flying past Aaron, completely airborne. He only caught a quick glimpse of the little monster’s emerald green fur and long ears. To his surprise, a tattered red headband ripped through the air behind it.
As the creature flew past, one of its hands raked Aaron’s left shoulder, leaving shallow tracks that cut straight through his hoodie. The man hissed with pain and nearly dropped his axe. But he fought to push it out of his mind and kept his eyes on the birdie.
The big monster didn’t hesitate. The thing lunged at him and Aaron swung with both hands. The axe glanced off its beak with a spark. It was a lucky shot—a split second later and it would have gone the other way. The big beast lurched and twisted, recovering before the man could react. With a brutal headbutt it sent Aaron flying into the wall.
When he landed and looked up, the smaller beast had sunk its claws into the owl’s nape. It ripped like it was burrowing a hole, bright violet blood spraying against the lamplight in a wide and messy arc. The three-eyed owl roared and writhed in pain, desperately trying to buck the other beast off. From there, Aaron could only see their silhouettes at war, and the frayed ends of that red headband streaking through the lamplight.
Aaron recovered to one knee, and then to both feet. His breathing was reaching its limit—a troubling burn welled up in his overweight chest. But the owl was distracted. This was his best chance, and maybe his only one. He ran at the owl and swung the axe with his full weight, sinking it deep into one of the three eyes. Torn between both attackers, the two-and-a-half-eyed owl reared back, slamming the other beast into a column. Aaron followed, somehow yanking the axe from its face. Then he plunged it into the beast’s neck and swung until his arms went completely numb, screaming bloody murder. Bright purple blood soaked his face and buckets flowed onto the rough concrete below.
The man’s temples pulsed with dangerous pressure from the workout. He wasn’t used to this kind of action and his body knew it all too well. He celebrated his victory by vomiting, hard. It was not his first choice. But in the end, he was still moving and the other creature was barely twitching. He fell to all fours, gasping with relief. He wiped the violet blood away with his big forearms, shaking it off onto the ground. It was sticky and smelled like human blood with a hint of cinnamon. The smell made him gag.
The beast was dead or dying, but there was another sound. Heavy breathing, higher pitched. The other, smaller beast was pinned between the owl and the wall, suddenly looking even smaller than it did before. It turned its head to follow Aaron as he stood, mouth open and panting, watching him with two shiny black insectoid eyes that squinted with pain. Then it did the last thing Aaron ever expected: in a small, gummy voice it grumbled “Thank you” before losing consciousness.
Chapter 2
Aaron stood there panting as his brain struggled to sort everything out. If things had gone any differently he would be dead. And not just dead, but splattered against the wall, or torn in half, or even eaten alive like that other poor bastard. He looked at what was left of the owl’s face, its beak slack and slathered in purple blood. The longer he stood there, the less it looked like an actual owl. Between the two and a half eyes, the rotten ram’s horns, and the sheer size of the thing, it was a legitimate monster, in all meanings of the word. Now it was crumpled on the ground before him, its wing twitching lightly. The axe was lodged deep, the head completely submerged in the monster’s neck. Soon it would bleed out. The man trembled with adrenaline, cautiously proud of the damage he did.
