Alex closed his eyes.
The basement was silent except for the hum of idle electronics and the faint buzz of neon lights. The cold mist still danced faintly around his fingertips, but it wasn't stable. It felt like trying to catch smoke with bare hands—shapeless, elusive.
Step one... feel the flow. Easier said than done.
Alex took a slow breath, sitting cross-legged on the cold floor. He focused inward, trying to sense where the energy was. He knew it was in him—he'd seen it manifest, felt it flicker at the edge of his nerves—but understanding how it moved?
Nothing.
Minutes passed. Then an hour.
He tried again. Deep breaths. Mind clear. Feel the energy.
Still nothing. Or at least, nothing distinct. His limbs tingled, sure—but was that the energy or just bad circulation?
"Damn it," he muttered, opening his eyes. The mist was gone now. Dissipated. Like it was never there at all.
Frustrated, Alex stood and began pacing. "Come on… what am I missing?"
He tried again. Sat back down. Focused. Waited.
Still nothing.
He tried forcing it—mentally pushing the energy to his hand like he'd done the first time. It worked… kind of. The mist appeared briefly, then sparked and fizzled out, followed by a spike of pain shooting up his arm.
He hissed and shook his hand, flexing his fingers.
"Okay. Don't force it."
Again.
Silence. Nothing.
It went like this for the rest of the day. Hour after hour, failure after failure. His head started pounding. His back ached. Even his breath felt heavy from the sheer frustration.
By the time night fell, Alex collapsed back on the bed, drenched in sweat.
"This is going to take longer than I thought…"
The mist didn't answer. It only curled faintly once more, mocking him with its ghostly touch, as if to say:
Not yet.
***
Three...
Four...
Fi...ve...
Pant... pant...
"Just five push-ups and I'm panting like a damn dog," Alex muttered, collapsing onto the cold basement floor.
It had been days since his last attempt at controlling the demonic energy. Each failure had chipped away at his patience, until now, he knew he needed to start somewhere simpler—his own body.
That morning, he'd forced himself into a routine. No more lying around. No more sulking. If his mind couldn't connect with the energy yet, then at least he could begin trusting his physical form.
At first, he couldn't even manage one push-up without collapsing. But his willpower kept him going—and more importantly, his newly evolved body responded in kind. The regeneration and resilience built into it meant he could push himself far beyond normal limits without damaging himself.
Little by little, the effort paid off. His muscles burned, but didn't tear. His bones ached, but didn't crack. His breath came in ragged bursts, but his heart kept pounding strong.
"Not there yet," he whispered to himself, staring at the ceiling, sweat dripping down his temple. "But I'll get there."
He clenched his fists. If nothing else, he was done failing without trying.
Alex rolled onto his side, wiping the sweat from his brow with the sleeve of his hoodie. The cold concrete bit into his skin, but he welcomed it. It reminded him he was still alive, still human—mostly.
His eyes trailed down to his hand, where the faintest trail of that ghostly black-and-white mist curled from his fingers. It wasn't stable. It flickered like a dying flame. But it was there.
"I can feel it... barely," he whispered, voice hoarse. "Like it's watching me from inside... testing me."
He closed his eyes again and sat upright, legs crossed, palms resting on his knees. He focused, breathing slow, steady. Inhale... hold... exhale. Over and over. He imagined the energy, not as some wild beast inside him, but as part of his bloodstream—thicker than blood, colder than ice.
Still, the flow eluded him.
[Calm the host's thoughts. Emotional turbulence disrupts demonic energy flow.]
Stem's voice echoed gently in his mind, as if it were seated beside him, offering quiet advice.
Alex grit his teeth. Calm? How do you stay calm when your life' suddenly turned upside down?
But he tried.
Again.
He pictured a river inside his body—black and silver water weaving through his veins, moving at its own rhythm. Not something to force, but to follow.
He reached out with his mind.
...Nothing.
Again.
...Still nothing.
Again.
This time, a faint sensation—like frost creeping along his spine. Cold. But not painful.
His eyes snapped open, and the mist around his hand twitched, pulsed once, then faded.
A tiny success.
A drop in an ocean.
But it was something.
Alex let out a long breath. "Okay. You wanna play hard to get? I'll play."
He glanced toward the devil book resting on the shelf, almost like it was silently watching. Maybe it was. But it didn't matter.
He would master this energy. Slowly. Painfully. But surely.
After finishing his basic exercises, Alex stood up, body aching but just a little less than yesterday. He walked into the bathroom, flicked on the dim light, and stepped in front of the cracked mirror.
His reflection stared back—thin, wiry, a pale shadow of what he used to be.
"I look like an overabused sick guy," he muttered, letting out a breathless sigh. "Pathetic."
His ribs still showed, his arms were lean more than strong, and with the outline of visbile bones, he looked more like someone recovering from illness than training for power.
Still, it was progress. A few weeks ago, he couldn't even walk a straight line without coughing.
He splashed cold water on his face, watching the droplets trail down the mirror like cracked tears. Then, with a deep breath, he grabbed a towel and started cleaning up.
A new day.
A long road ahead.
But at least now... he was on his feet. Ready to walk it.
Coming out of the house, Alex turned the key in the lock with a soft click and took a deep breath of the chilly morning air. He stepped onto the worn-out sidewalk, steadying himself with the silver devil cane—a silver rod etched with faint white runes that shimmered faintly when touched by sunlight.
*******
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