The demon, Kilihigo, springs out its colossal, membranous wings in the dim moonlight, each beat sending ripples of dark energy through the clearing.
The waves moved in a slow, predatory arc around him, the very air seemed to shake, and a dread realisation struck everyone watching him. Kilihigo has become an overwhelmingly powerful being. With barely a pause, the demon casts a spell on Winter and then charges at him.
"I can't kill you, winter, but I definitely can hurt you in many gruesome ways, and it does not require killing you."
Just then, Phill's bear—a massive creature with muscles rippling beneath its fur—springs from its crouch and crashes between Winter and Kilihigo. The bear's massive shoulders absorb the full force of the demon's initial strike, the impact left the ground shaking, and a huge gust of wind makes its waves felt throughout the forest. Shards of wood and leaves explode outward as the demon's fist slams into flesh and fur. But the bear stands its ground, baring its teeth in a snarl that reverberates through Phill's spirit.
Spincer, arms trembling with adrenaline, draws his revolver and fires a shot directly at Kilihigo's wing. The bullet punches through leathery flesh, but the damage is not enough to halt the demon's advance. Kilihigo snarls in pain.
Ever dutiful, the bear lowers Winter to the ground, nudging him behind a fallen log to take cover. Then, with a roar that echoes, the bear barrels back toward Kilihigo, determined to buy Winter time. It throws two savage slashes midair, piercing air—yet Kilihigo twists aside, evades them by inches. With a cruel, triumphant grin, the demon lunges at the bear and sinks his teeth deep into its flank. From the bear's quivering body, a luminous, spiritual aura begins to pour out in a steady stream of ethereal light.
Phill feels the pain the bear endures in an instant—a searing agony that races up Phill's spine and lances through his mind. Mind and body are connected as if one, and Phill screams in wordless torment, clutching at his chest even as tears spring to his eyes.
Kilihigo, sensing an opening, prepares to finish Phill off as he kneels, gasping and defenceless.
But before Kilihigo can strike, he pauses—something about Phill's anguished cry and the shimmering aura hanging over the bear reminded him of his primary target. The demon unfurls his wings, beating them, turns his cobalt gaze back to Winter, who huddles behind the log, trembling but determined.
Spincer, despite the pain screaming from his own side, takes aim once more at Kilihigo's wings. His fingers shake violently on the trigger, and the sight wobbles, but he steadies himself with a soldier's resolve. Taking position, and this time, his bullet finds its mark: it tears through the demon's wing near the joint. A black liquid sprays out into the air as Kilihigo howls in fury, momentarily losing altitude. With a sickening thud, the demon crashes to the ground, earth and debris flying in all directions.
Kilihigo struggles to lift itself, wings folding in misaligned angles as it glares up at Spincer.
Now, it is the demon's turn to bleed—but still, its gaze burns with hatred for the cowboy. Even as Spincer pants heavily and leans against a fallen tree for support, doubt creeps into his mind. He begins loading the last bullet into his revolver. "That was the final bullet of the set," he mutters under his breath, blood staining his shirt from the wound in his side. "Not getting the head was a blunder."
Winter watches Spincer carefully, noticing the blood on his shirt and the way his face contorts with pain. Phill remains collapsed beside the bear's fading aura. The entire scene feels like a twisted nightmare for Winter. Panic claws at his chest. He thinks, Mr. Spincer could die—what can I even do?
Suddenly, a lone voice—or maybe a thought—rises in the depths of Winter's mind, speaking in a whisper that sounds both foreign and intimately familiar:
"End that thing. Make me stronger. My life's purpose is destruction—the end of all who aren't human. Kill. Kill the demons."
Winter's heart hammers against his ribcage.
What was that? Why am I hearing this voice? He wonders, unease twisting in his gut. The demon I had in my mind—I cast it out. So why is this still happening?
A surge of cold realisation washes over him: No. These are my thoughts. A jolt of terror courses through Winter's veins as he realises he is losing control of his mind.
Meanwhile, Kilihigo launches itself at Spincer. Grabbing Spincer's trembling arm, the demon's jagged fangs sink deep into his flesh. Spincer screams in agony, blood spraying from the puncture wound as Kilihigo tears flesh from bone. For the first time this night, the most hardened among them is reduced to a quivering wreck, crying out in pain and certainty of death.
Winter, lost in his tumult of thoughts, watches helplessly as Spincer is dragged toward oblivion. His mind blurs with panic and confusion: What is happening to me? Wasn't I supposed to save Spincer?
The surrounding forest has fallen into an eerie hush. The darkness engulfs him from every direction, now, no longer able to tell a difference between reality and dream, Winter stood still, empty-headed.
Then, another figure materialises in Winter's mind, which reveals itself—a figure that looks exactly like him, from top to bottom. The figure's eyes gleam with excitement at meeting his lookalike. "This is your world," the figure declares in a voice that crackles like static. "You created me."
Winter blinks, struggling to understand. "Mr. Spincer, this is no time for hallucination."
The figure smiles, an expression welcoming no warmth. "I'm you," it says simply. Then, after a pause, "No. I am what you are not."
Across the battlefield, Winter's body rises to its feet, awake— his limbs moved without his will, as though guided by unseen strings or somebody else. The air around him crackles with demonic energy, and his muscles increase as if stirred by an ancient, forbidden power.
"You're weak," the phantom says to Winter's face. "I'm not." Winter's heart lurches, and panic overwhelms him.
His body moves forward, trudging step by step toward Kilihigo as if drawn by some magnetic force.
"You can never decide. I can." The phantom's voice echoes through Winter's mind. "You have no dreams, no goals. I do."
Winter, trembling but defiant, forces himself to speak. "What are you?" he asks, even as his body continues walking of its own accord.
"Can you perform demonic chants?" the phantom challenges, cocking its head.
Winter's throat constricts. "I ... I sure can," he admits, voice shaking. "I got programmed by Kilihigo himself. "Wait... what's happening? I was able to perform it minutes ago," Winter murmurs in confusion.
"Your mind created me—to use those demonic memories," the figure explains. "Because I'm born from it, I am a better user of it than you are."
"But my mind is mine," Winter protests, his voice cracking. "Why would it create you?"
"To survive. To stay alive," the phantom replies, stepping closer in the warped dreamscape. Its eyes glint with merciless intent. "You're unfit, Winter. Give me your body."
Winter, with a sudden wave of his hand. "Never," he speaks with trembling defiance. "This is my body. You're just a fusion of my thoughts with demonic residue."
"Maybe," the phantom concedes, "but I'm already using your body right this very moment." Its tone is eerily calm, composed of chilling certainty.
Winter's entire being shudders. "What?" he whispers, eyes widening in shock.
Outside in the physical world,
"Kilihigo," Winter's doppelgänger calls out aloud, arms raised with power surging around him.
Kilihigo, landing on its feet in a flurry of agony and rage, stares at Winter's transformation. "What verse did you just recite?" the demon snarls, claws digging into the earth beneath his feet. "Haha! You've become like me."
Now fully hostile, the new Winter strides forward in a deadly dance of demonic energy. In a blur of motion, he punches Kilihigo's face with brutal force—every sinew in his arm coiling like a spring before the blow. The impact squeezed Kilihigo's face, leaving his jaw broken and cheekbones pulverised.
The demon is thrown backwards violently, and the trees that made contact with him cracked, their trunks destroyed under the shockwave.
Winter's green eyes now are glowing red, and his uncombed orange hair stands as if it got charged by lightning. An angry, low, predatory growl rumbles from his throat.
In front of him lies Spincer, who's stunned at what he witnessed. Spincer's wide eyes fix on Winter's new form, disbelief etched into every line of his face.
Winter reaches down, grips Spincer by the back of his bloodstained coat, and hurls him aside like a rag doll. Spincer crashes into a twisted root, rolling until he slides to a halt against a shallow hillock.
Clearing anything between him and his prey. His voice is cold, emotionless. "All demons must die."
In the hidden realm of Winter's mind, the landscape shifts to a dark void, where the phantom and Winter confront each other face-to-face.
Winter's newfound power collapses, leaving him naked and vulnerable in that mental expanse. "The power that I somehow got is immediately taken away from me. What can I do to stop being useless?" he asks himself, voice trembling with self-loathing.
His alter ego steps forward. "You think you're special? You have nothing to offer this society—and you know it."
Winter turns his head away, closing his eyes, refusing to meet the accusing gaze of his other self.
The alter ego reaches out, holding Winter's head with an icy hand. "Running won't help. The one who understands you most in this world... is me." He smiles, a gesture that chills Winter's blood. "I am you. I know everything about you. I am your big brother, Winter." He leans in, whispering: "I won't let anything harm you. I will destroy every demon from this world."
Winter feels tears spring to his eyes. He hears Spincer's voice echoing in the back of his mind: You're weak.
He remembers the bear's sacrifice, Phill's agony, the humans he swore to protect. Guilt and rage flare in his chest. "I am weak," he repeats to the phantom. Then, gathering every shard of self-respect he can muster, he continues: "Am I no good to this world?
I'm better than average at memorising chants. I now know summoning—why did I refuse to be a summoner until now? Trying to do something cool—an adventurer—I might have never tried to find myself, something I'm good at. But that time is now."
He takes a ragged breath. "No. I have a mission—to defeat all demons. I have a goal—to protect everyone, even if my power is only level 200. I will find a way to utilise my limitations to my advantage. You or anyone else is not allowed to look down on me."
The alter ego tilts its head, studying him. Winter continues, "You're wrong. There are people who love me—Uncle Tim, Aunt April. They took out loans to pay for my education. I am the only one who knows everything about demons. No one else is like me. If I don't help the kingdom with what I know, then civilians will die not only because of demons, but somewhere in that entire fiasco, I will be a contributing reason as well, and I cannot stand it. I have dreams too—to do something no one else can."
Winter's alter ego takes a step back, folding its arms. "Your body wants survival. If you won't give it with love, I'll take it by force."
Winter clenches his fists. "This assertion—that survival is the main goal of all living things—I studied it in school," he says pointedly. "My brain isn't doing this. You are just a human thought formed with demonic influence. You're crafting your identity and creating reasons out of thin air just to justify your existence. You're learning from me. You will always have less knowledge than I do at any given moment."
The alter ego lets out a low, mirthless chuckle. "Is that so?" it replies. Then, without warning, it reaches toward Winter, attempting to seize control of his mind once and for all. But Winter digs his heels into his resolve, resisting with every scrap of consciousness he has left.
In the physical world, Winter's body shudders as the two halves of his psyche battle for dominance. His eyes flicker between green and crimson, a storm raging behind his gaze. Kilihigo, groaning from the massive punch, stumbles back to confront the new Winter.
—But it is uncertain who will emerge victorious from this clash, both within Winter's mind and in the clearing where beasts and demons clash.