The horrified young man remained rooted to the ground. He could have run. But right then, at that very moment, his mind was completely short-circuited—he didn't even remember how to run. All he knew was that the tall, hulking figure before him looked frightfully dangerous, like a modern-day gladiator summoned straight from the pages of some ancient nightmare.
And even though the Daemon wore the appearance of a man, the young man saw through it. He saw past the disguise, straight into the true identity of the creature before him. How he knew what he was seeing—he didn't know. Couldn't say. He just... knew.
"I'll tell you how," the Daemon rasped, as if hearing his thoughts. The voice came hollow, void of warmth, soaked in something not of this world. "You are who you are, and there's no escaping your identity."
"And what's that supposed to mean?" the young man projected, trying to summon courage—anything—to understand why he could perceive something so deeply hidden behind the Daemon's human guise.
"You've been a long way away from home, child," the Daemon replied cryptically. "A long way away."
"I have no freaking idea what the hell you're talking about, man," the young man replied.
"Oh, you will, child," the Daemon replied, detached, as if he was speaking from a place above reality. "You will."
"Who are you?" Somehow, the young man already knew what the Daemon was. The creature's essence was too powerful to be mistaken. But who he was... that remained a mystery. One that the young man burned to unravel.
"Who am I?" the Daemon asked with dry arrogance, as though amused that his true identity remained just out of reach. "You don't remember me?" he added mockingly. "Of course you wouldn't. Your father wiped every single memory of me from your mind."
The young man's forehead creased with confusion, a thousand questions rising like static behind his eyes. "What the hell are you talking about?"
"Hell, indeed, is where I came from," the Daemon said with a dark chuckle. "But that's by the way. The last time we met, you were so incomprehensibly unstoppable that I, as mighty as I was, couldn't even approach you in strength."
"Do you mind translating that in English, please?" the young man jeered, trying to mask his disbelief. "Because I don't understand gobbledygook."
"Oh, you've grown a sense of humor now, have you? Interesting," the Daemon mused. "What I mean is—you beat the living hell out of me. So viciously, I had to discard my body like a shattered shell and take this new one." He gestured at his hulking black-hued form.
"I'm sure you have no freaking idea what I'm talking about. But it'll come to you—trust me. As for who I am... that doesn't matter. It's who you are that truly matters."
"And..." the young man hesitated, throat dry, "who am I?"
"You, child, right now, are the most powerful being on Earth."
The young man burst into laughter, half-disbelieving, half-mocking. "Yeah, right!"
"You don't believe me, child?" asked the Deamon.
"Let me think... No!" replied the young man.
"Then believe this." Without warning, the Daemon let out a guttural howl, one not of this world. His breath twisted into a mystic wind, and from it, a cold surge of dread swept toward the young man—its essence morphing in mid-air into a small, teleguided missile.
Instinct kicked in. Though he didn't understand what it was, the young man ducked—and at the same time, without knowing why, reached up and caught the flying missile with his right hand.
He didn't know how. He just did.
But before he could truly realize what he was holding—
The missile went KA-BOOM!—exploding right in his presence.
The sensation was unlike anything a human could describe. It was as if he was shattered and yet still whole—obliterated without pain.
When the smoke cleared, he was still standing—barely. His body had been flung down the tarred road, slammed hard against the surface multiple times. But not a single scratch marked his skin. Somehow, he was still alive. Covered in black soot, his clothes in shreds, coughing out clouds of smoke—but untouched.
"Now the secret of who you are is revealed, child," the Daemon's voice echoed through the thick air. "You are untouchable. Unmovable. Indestructible. Unless—"
Too enraged to consider what those words meant, the young man's eyes burned with fury. His irises glowed a pure crimson hue. Without thinking, he yanked his right hand backward. The very force of the motion levitated the Daemon from the ground and flung him violently toward him.
The young man dropped into a Tiger Claws kata. His right hand pulsed—charged with a blinding sapphire-blue glow, hot and alive like plasma.
The Daemon hurtled forward.
And just before impact, the young man shot his glowing hand straight into the Daemon's chest—his arm tearing through flesh and armor with impossible ease. The blow sent a shockwave as his fist burst through the Daemon's back, clutching a still-pulsating, blackened heart. Thick, dark blood dripped freely to the ground.
"That was... classic," the Daemon said with a devil's grin, no pain in his voice, no fear in his eyes.
The young man noticed something else. The Daemon's eyes were completely dark. Was it a trick of the light?
But then, the creature looked away. With one final breath, he exhaled—releasing a thick, black demon-smoke from his mouth. The ghostly form shot upward into the air, streaking into the distance, leaving behind a lifeless shell. The once-black blood of the corpse slowly turned red.
And then— "That was... clumsy," a new voice said calmly behind him.
Still standing there, hand buried in the dead man's chest, the young man could barely think. The glow had faded. The body in front of him was human now. Exorcised. Dead.
How could he have done this? He wasn't a warrior. He wasn't a killer. This couldn't be real.
This is impossible! he thought, overwhelmed.
"But you did the impossible, all the same," said the voice again, as if reading his thoughts.
No, this can't be happening, he trembled in thought.
In a panic, he dropped the heart as if it were burning him. He pulled his blood-smeared hand from the man's chest and laid the corpse gently on the ground, then turned—slowly—to face the speaker.
But no one was there.
I'm going crazy, he thought, backing away from the gory scene. I must be.
"No, you're not," the disembodied voice replied calmly. "You're just experiencing—"
"Freeze!" A forceful bark of authority cut through the night.
Without thinking, the young man froze. The last thing he wanted was a bullet from a trigger-happy officer.
"Don't even shiver!" the voice roared. "Or I'll drop you dead in cold blood!"
He didn't need to see the man to know—
It was the police. And he was in deep trouble.