When Felix finally regained consciousness, confusion hit him like a wave.
His eyes fluttered open against the harsh, artificial light overhead. Everything felt sterile, impersonal. He lay on a metal-framed bed with a stiff mattress, the cold pressing into his back like unwelcome hands. Slowly, he pushed himself upright.
The room was bare. Unadorned walls. No windows. The air was stale, like it had been locked in here for days—or longer. A single, armored door loomed across from him, more prison cell than medical room.
His heart pounded.
"Calm down... just breathe..." he muttered, voice hoarse and echoing in the silence. "They must've moved me after I passed out."
He swung his legs over the side of the bed. The chill of the floor sent a shiver crawling up his spine. As he stood, his eyes landed on a small, metal desk affixed to the wall. On it sat a simple gray box with a card resting on top.
He picked it up and read:
Felix Fischer,
Due to a system malfunction, we regret to inform you that you could not be appropriately scored. Despite being drained of Dark Ether, you remain classified as a measurement of One.
We sincerely apologize for this inconvenience.
This will serve as your lodgings while at Cerberus. You are not permitted to leave unless escorted for meals, training, or horn examinations. Your door will unlock when it is time for training; please remain in your doorway and follow your instructor's commands.
Thank you for your cooperation.
—General Wilhelm
Felix stared at the card, brows drawn tight.
"General Wilhelm… that must be the scarred old man who addressed us all." He scowled. "But seriously? A One? That's it?"
He tossed the card aside with a heavy sigh.
"They said there was a malfunction. Doesn't that mean I was in there longer? Shouldn't that help my score?"
Frustration simmered under his skin. He turned back to the box, flipping open the lid.
Inside lay a sleek, black watch—futuristic in design. Next to it, a smaller note:
Standard Issue Smartwatch.
Wear at all times. This device will notify you when it's time for training and other activities.
He slipped it onto his wrist. It felt light—comfortable. He had never owned a phone before, but this was cooler. High-tech. Almost like something out of a spy movie.
A loud alarm blared suddenly from the device.
The door creaked open.
Felix blinked. "Guess it's time to train… yippee." Sarcasm dripped from his voice as he stepped into the hallway.
Left and right, Demonkin emerged from identical rooms, forming lines like soldiers. Instructors stalked the hall, their movements sharp, precise. Felix instinctively fell in line.
They were led into a vast chamber. Weapons lined the walls—swords, spears, axes, bows... even slings. But something was missing.
No guns.
Felix scanned the room again. Not a single one.
"Is this a medieval museum or something?" he muttered.
An instructor stepped forward, voice sharp.
"Choose a weapon. You have ten minutes to get familiar with it."
A hand shot up in the crowd. "Why aren't there any guns?"
The instructor scoffed.
"Because guns barely scratch most demons," he sneered. "We don't waste time training with toys."
That shut everyone up.
The room scattered into controlled chaos. Trainees rushed toward the racks like kids in a candy store—if the candy was designed to kill.
Felix moved with more caution. He passed rows of savage blades and maces, eventually stopping at a section filled with ranged weapons. One item caught his eye—a black longbow, elegant in its simplicity.
He reached for it, running his fingers along its smooth surface. It felt… right. Solid.
If I'm going to survive, I need distance, he thought. Better to hit them before they get close.
He tried drawing the string—it barely moved. His arms trembled.
Yeah… definitely gonna need to build up to this.
He grabbed a curved knife for backup and moved toward a practice dummy. Basic drills followed—stab, slash, dodge, repeat. Every move fueled by urgency.
I need to be ready. For anything.
The rest of training passed in a blur. Arrows flew. Blades clashed. Felix split his time between knife and bow, sweat dripping down his face.
Later, they were herded into a massive training ground for sparring. While the close-quarters fighters paired off, Felix and the other ranged types practiced with targets.
After sparring, came strength training. To his surprise, Felix could now lift nearly double what he could before. Eighty pounds had once been a struggle—now he hoisted one-sixty with ease.
By the time they were given schedules and shown around, the day had evaporated.
And so began the rhythm: wake, train, fight, sleep. Two weeks slipped by in a blur of repetition.
Felix rose from bed and rubbed his face, still aching from yesterday's drills. He shuffled to the sink, splashed water on his face, then stared into the mirror.
The transformation was startling.
His cheeks had filled out. Muscle defined his arms and shoulders.
A grin tugged at his lips.
"Finally, I don't look like a corpse… Dare I say even… kinda handsome?"
He chuckled and dressed. At his desk, he opened a drawer and pulled out a battered journal. He'd started it on Day Two—filled it with training tips, instructor advice, and observations about the other Demonkin.
One entry stood out.
Most people gravitate toward strength. Cliques formed fast, orbiting the strongest fighters.
The star siblings—both scored a Seven—were easily the most respected. Yet they kept their distance. No one dared approach them.
Then there was that dull-eyed guy. Scored an Eight. Highest in the batch. You'd think people would flock to him, but… something about him just gave an air of death. He didn't have to speak for you to feel it.
Then came Travis. Scored a Six. Already tall and built before the horn. Now? He was a monster. Also a total douche.
During one match, he cracked one of my ribs with a mace. I'm lucky our instructor had healing powers. It was the first ability I'd seen up close. It's safe to say I'm not particularly fond of Travis.
Felix closed the journal and tucked it away. From another drawer, he pulled out a small wooden block and his knife. Carving had become a habit—something to keep his hands busy and his mind off the dread.
He looked at the misshapen figure on his desk. It wasn't great. Actually, it was kind of terrible. But it was his.
Just then, his watch beeped. The door hissed open.
"First classroom session," he murmured. "Something about demon world structure."
He made his way to the auditorium and found a seat alone, toward the back. As always, he kept to himself. It wasn't that he disliked the others—he just wasn't good at… people.
Everyone filed in, joining their cliques. Nobody sat near Felix. He could feel the distance between them—both physical and social.
"What's it matter anyway?" he muttered. "Half of them probably won't survive long enough to matter."
Just then, the star siblings walked in, followed by the dull-eyed Eight. Felix's gaze lingered on the sister.
Maybe she'll sit—
Her brother's glare cut through the crowd like a blade. Right at him.
Felix looked away.
Got it. Message received.
The siblings took seats near the front. Of course.
And then, like some cosmic joke, the Eight sat right next to Felix.
Perfect. Just perfect.
The instructor walked into the auditorium and took her place at the podium. Felix immediately recognized her as the same instructor from the Dark Ether evaluation—he recognized the purple hair. It was an unusual shade, not exactly natural. She had to have dyed it, or perhaps it was some sort of magic. There were also the spiraling horns on her head. But as Felix focused more closely, he noticed something else: a deep, jagged scar running down the side of her neck. It looked more like a burn than a regular wound.
She spoke, snapping him out of his thoughts.
"I'm Instructor Madison. I'll be teaching you the basics of becoming a Demonkin, what we know about our kind, and what we've discovered about the Demon World. But before we start, let me ask you a question: has anyone here been feeling a strange compulsion to do something you'd normally never care about? Or maybe you've picked up odd new habits? If so, raise your hand."
A few hands went up, followed by a few more, and eventually nearly the entire class, including Felix, had their hands raised. Madison scribbled something down on her notepad before continuing.
"The reason for that change is simple: your horns are entering the next stage. The first stage is when the horn starts to emerge—bulging, showing itself. The second stage is what we call the 'waning.' That's when you start picking up strange new habits and desires. It's like a signpost for what your ability might be, or perhaps a clue about the nature of your demon."
A hand shot up in the back of the room. A boy spoke up. "What do you mean, 'our demon'?"
Madison raised an eyebrow, clearly surprised. "Ah, I see. I should've started further back." She cleared her throat before continuing. "Every Demonkin has a demon dwelling within their mind. That's how the horns form. A demon's essence, or the ether of a demon creature, has been lingering inside you since you were young—festering, waiting for the right moment to emerge. When the time is right, it manifests as your horn. That is the source of your power. You've inherited your demon's dark ether, and along with it, what's left of their psyche."
A thick silence settled over the room. Felix sat still, processing the weight of Madison's words. He had his own theories, had heard whispers about such things, but hearing it laid out so plainly—a demon in your head—was jarring.
Madison broke the silence with a dismissive wave. "Yes, it's terrible. Now get over it. This is your life now, so get used to your new... roommate." She sighed, as if the whole thing was a minor inconvenience. "Now, where was I? Ah, yes—the stages. These new habits? They might help you figure out more about your demon or your ability. For example, if you've started to feel unusually competitive, it might mean your demon is aggressive. Or maybe someone who's suddenly into drawing might have a mental-based power—something to do with their mind."
She paused before continuing, her tone turning more serious. "Stage 3 is the pivotal moment: this is when you find out if you're truly a Demonkin. You'll begin to lose focus more often, zoning out or losing direction. When that happens, you'll know you're getting close to meeting your demon face-to-face. Your demon will drag you deep into your subconscious where it resides, and you'll have to face it. How you deal with that meeting will determine everything. Some new Demonkin don't have to fight their demons—they pass through it smoothly. But more often than not... your demon will try to kill you and take your body for itself."
Felix thought to himself, That really inspires confidence, lady… Guess I'll have to hope my demon's in a pacifist kind of mood.
He paused, then let out a dry snicker. Yeah right—with my luck, it'll try to devour me the second we meet.
Madison turned to the massive screen behind her and started drawing. It wasn't impressive. What appeared was a rough sketch of some horned creature baring its fangs at a stick figure.
"This is you," she said, tapping the stick figure. "Try not to get eaten, alright? And if you can, give your demon a good whack and tell it to behave. Easy, right?"
She flashed a sly grin like she hadn't just implied they were all going to die horribly.
The auditorium responded with a chorus of irritated stares. Felix didn't blame them. Instructor Madison definitely had a few screws loose.
After that, she shifted gears and started droning about the Demon World itself—the different territories, what little was known about them, and how it "occasionally shifts for reasons we don't understand." The lecture dragged on for the next couple of hours. Most of it was the same half-baked info wrapped in vague warnings.
If Felix had to summarize, it boiled down to: We know jack, everything wants to kill you, and the place might just rearrange itself while you're in it.
So yeah—class was going just peachy.
Eventually, their watches buzzed, signaling the end of the day. Most of the class bolted for the exits, wasting no time. But Felix noticed that the guy sitting next to him hadn't moved. Since it was just the two of them now, Felix gave him a quick glance. He had shoulder-length light brown hair, dull amber eyes, and a skinny frame. He was also a bit shorter than Felix—not something Felix got to say often.
Then the guy turned and caught him staring.
Naturally, being the great socialite that he was, Felix bit his tongue trying to say hi.
"Ghk—!"
While Felix winced through the pain, the boy spoke first, voice soft and measured.
"…My name is William. Let's… get along."
He gave a small, almost sad smile and held out his hand. His voice was quiet, but there was something pleasant about it. Not at all what Felix expected.
Felix coughed, straightened up, and took the offered hand.
William nodded and sat up a little straighter.
"I'm going to get lunch… want to come?"
Felix hesitated for a second.
Ah, what the hell. Might as well try to socialize before I get eaten by a demon.
He stood, stretching a little.
"Sure, I'll come. I was getting hungry anyway."