It was Sunday.
The kind of quiet, lazy morning where sunlight filtered through the windows and the house felt a little too big, a little too still. Mom and Snow had gone into town for groceries and other essentials, leaving me alone in the mansion.
After a quick breakfast, I settled on the couch in the drawing room and turned on the news. My eyes flicked across the screen, scanning for anything strange—any clue that the world had noticed what I had felt. That something ancient had begun to stir.
Mana.
But there was nothing. Just the usual noise. Politics. Weather. Another celebrity scandal. Reports about climate shifts, minor tremors, a few power outages—but nothing anyone would link to magic.
The people of this world were blind to it.
Blissfully unaware.
Maybe some higher agency knew—maybe the government had picked up subtle readings, anomalies they couldn't explain—but if they did, they weren't talking. Typical. Even in this world, those in power cling to secrets like dragons hoarding gold.
I turned off the TV, my thoughts simmering.
There's no point in obsessing over it.
The world would find out eventually.
When it was ready. Or when it was too late.
I walked back to my room, pulled the curtains to dim the afternoon light, and stripped down to my underwear. The air inside was cool against my skin, the wooden floor slightly chilled beneath my feet. I sat cross-legged in the center of the room, spine straight, breath steady.
Time to train.
I closed my eyes and reached inward, calling out to the mana once more. It came slowly, like fog rolling over hills, threading into me from the surrounding atmosphere—subtle, reluctant, but growing more responsive with each session.
I guided it through my limbs, across my shoulders, down into my legs. I wove it into the very core of my being, circulating it through my meridians—no, through what used to be my meridians. This body was still human, still limited, but with enough mana...
I could change that.
Mana strengthened flesh.
It sharpened senses.
It refined reflexes and rewrote limitations.
The more I trained, the more this vessel would evolve—until it could contain what I once was. Gusoyn, the Demon King, hadn't been born powerful. He was forged through ritual, battle, and mastery of mana. This world didn't have the tools I once used—but it had mana now. That was enough.
It will take time, I reminded myself as I opened my eyes. Not much, but still... time.
I looked down at my hands.
They were still slender, still too soft.
But soon...
Soon, they would shape power and fate alike.
For now, I had the luxury of patience.
A few hours into my training, the house was dead silent—perfect for focus.
I sat cross-legged in the center of my room, stripped down to just my underwear, beads of sweat trailing down my neck and back. The mana flowed quietly, pulsing through me in slow, disciplined circuits. It wasn't flashy. It wasn't dramatic. But it was effective. Bit by bit, I was reinforcing muscle, breath, blood—building a stronger vessel, a sharper edge.
Then, the door slammed open.
"Elijah—what the ACTUAL hell?"
My eyes snapped open.
Snow stood frozen in the doorway, her face scrunched in horror like she'd just walked in on a crime scene.
"You're half-naked. You're sweating. You smell like someone boiled gym socks in regret."
I didn't even flinch. "I'm meditating. Leave."
She stepped inside anyway, one eyebrow arched. "Meditating? Like that? Seriously? You look like a dehydrated swamp troll."
I slowly exhaled through my nose, trying to keep the mana flow steady. "It's called body refinement. I'm training my physical endurance by circulating—"
"I don't care what it's called, underwear gremlin," she interrupted, pinching her nose. "Why are boys like this?"
"Snow. Out."
"You could've at least lit a candle or cracked a window. You're baking in here like a rotisserie."
I opened my eyes and looked at her. "Last warning."
She smirked. "Fine. I'll just go tell Mom that you've lost your mind and turned your room into a sweaty man-cave."
She turned and bolted down the hallway, already yelling, "Moooooom! Elijah's marinating himself in his own sweat! He's sitting around half-naked and stinking like a feral goblin!"
I jumped to my feet, nearly tripping over my pants. "Snow! You little—!"
Too late. Her laughter echoed like a victory song.
I groaned and grabbed a towel. This was going to be a long afternoon.
I barely had time to towel off when I heard the unmistakable sound of footsteps—measured, firm, and fast—coming up the stairs.
Then came the voice.
"Elijah Everstone!"
The full name. Uh-oh.
I turned just as Mom appeared in my doorway, arms crossed, grocery bag still hanging from one wrist. Snow peeked from behind her, grinning like a gremlin who'd just detonated a prank.
Mom's eyes swept the room: the discarded shirt, the window fogged from heat, my very shirtless, very sweaty self.
"Would you please explain," she said, with the tone of a woman whose patience had been used up entirely at aisle three of the grocery store, "why your sister walked in on you looking like you just came out of a swamp sauna?"
"It's part of my training," I said calmly, towel around my neck. "Body discipline and endurance enhancement. Athletes do this kind of thing all the time."
Mom raised an eyebrow. "Athletes at least wear shorts."
Snow snorted behind her.
I sighed. "It helps me circulate energy through my body. I can't exactly do that in jeans."
Mom held up a hand. "Pause. Rewind. Circulate energy?"
I froze.
Snow leaned around her, eyes gleaming. "Yeah! He said he's doing 'body refinement' or whatever. Like some sweaty martial arts monk!"
I shot her a glare. Traitor.
Mom stared at me for a moment longer. Then sighed and rubbed her temples. "Okay, you know what? Fine. I don't need all the details. But—new house rule."
She pointed a finger at me.
"If you're going to sit around half-naked sweating your soul out, at least put a towel down. And open a window. I am not letting you turn this place into a haunted locker room."
I blinked. "Wait… so you're not going to stop me?"
She shrugged. "You're not hurting yourself. Or others. I've raised weirder."
Snow frowned. "I'm right here, you know."
Mom smiled sweetly. "Exactly."
Then she turned to go. "Come down in ten. We're sorting the pantry."
Snow gave me a look of smug victory before skipping off behind her.
I sank back onto the floor with a heavy exhale. Maybe magical world domination could wait until after I survived my family.
And took a shower.
Oooo
It was well past midnight.
The house had settled into its usual silence—Mom was tucked away in her study, probably scribbling away in her journal by lamplight. Snow had gone to bed early, muttering complaints about school starting tomorrow. The air was still, the kind of quiet that makes every creak of the floor feel like thunder.
But I had other plans.
Moving like a shadow, I slipped out of bed, dressed in dark clothes, and eased the window open. The cool night breeze hit my face. I leapt down quietly from the first floor, landing with practiced ease on the grass below.
No alarms. No lights flicking on.
Perfect.
I made my way around the mansion to the northern edge of the estate, where the forest grew thicker. Here, the moonlight filtered weakly through the dense canopy, painting the world in shades of silver and shadow. This was far enough—far from town, far from anyone watching.
"Let's see if this works," I whispered, flexing my fingers.
The mana in the air was still weak, thin like mist clinging to the grass before dawn—but it was usable. Just enough for minor spells. I'd need much more for real work, but this… this would do for tonight.
I rolled my shoulders, loosened up my arms, and drew in a slow breath. Then I focused.
Mana surged, coiling in my veins like a waking serpent. I directed it toward my right hand, shaping it with sheer will.
With a sharp flick of my wrist, I lashed the air.
CRACK!
A long whip of inky black energy formed in my grasp and struck the ground, leaving a faint scorch mark on the forest floor. It writhed like it was alive, hissing faintly as it dissipated.
"Good…"
That spell—Shadow Lash—was one of the simplest dark incantations in my arsenal. Not particularly powerful, but cruelly efficient. Its energy didn't just bruise—it numbed, it stung, it lingered. It was like venom for the soul.
I centered myself again and cast the next.
Darkness slithered up my limbs and wrapped around me like a second skin.
Veil of Dusk.
The shadows embraced me, blending my figure into the night. To the untrained eye, I would vanish completely in the gloom. Even a trained observer would have to squint to track my movements. A perfect stealth spell—passive, elegant, and silent.
Then came the big one.
I reached downward, placing my palm to the cold earth.
The ground trembled slightly… then burst open with a sickening crack as a massive skeletal hand erupted from the soil. Long bony fingers closed around the trunk of a young tree—and with one horrible, deliberate motion—it ripped it free, roots and all.
The tree hit the ground with a crash, birds scattering from nearby branches.
I staggered back, panting. Sweat clung to my skin. That one had cost me more mana than expected. But it had worked.
I wasn't done yet.
I stepped over to a different tree, this one thick and old. I pressed my palm flat against the bark.
The mana turned foul as I concentrated, channeling it through my hand like poison through a needle.
The wood beneath my fingers began to blacken. Slowly, steadily, the bark withered, flaking away like dead skin. The decay spread in a circular patch, rot sinking into the core.
Decay Touch. Another success.
I withdrew my hand, watching the subtle but unmistakable signs of corruption take hold. This one would continue eating away unless stopped. It was a slow spell, but insidious—perfect for sabotage or torment.
I leaned against a nearby rock, breathing heavily.
"So it works…" I murmured to myself. "The conversion… it's possible."
This test wasn't just about spellcasting. It was about transmutation. In my previous world, the mana had always flowed rich and dark, already steeped in necrotic essence. But this realm… this world's mana was pure, raw—unformed. I had to bend it, twist it, mold it into something darker. Something that obeyed me.
And I had just proven that I could.
The energy responded. Slowly. Strainfully. But it responded.
I could reshape it into necrotic force.
"This world's laws are different…" I thought, wiping my brow. "But not incompatible. I'll need to expand my reserve. Refine the process. Scale the spells. But the foundation is there."
A smile crept onto my face. Not a smile of triumph—yet—but of quiet, dangerous satisfaction.
The path forward had just begun.