Morning light poured through the cabin windows, golden and calm—the perfect lie before chaos.
Reika sat cross-legged on the hardwood floor, brows furrowed, trying to recall Kaien's lesson from yesterday. Kaien lounged nearby, sipping something suspiciously fizzy. "So," he said with a lazy grin, "you got the memo on Ren yesterday, yeah?"
Reika nodded. "It's life force… can be white or black depending on purity… can power weapons, store energy, even bring stuff to life."
"Ten outta ten." Kaien clapped mockingly. "Well, Zariel," he added, voice dropping into a terrible impression, "said since you skipped training yesterday because someone was 'too tired,' today's all about sweat and suffering."
Reika groaned. "So no school?"
"Nope. Welcome to the Real Class 101." Kaien stood and cracked his knuckles. "Let's talk projection. Ren can be pushed into objects to enhance them—sharp becomes sharper, dull becomes deadly. If you've got the juice—and control—you can make a broom fight like a knight."
Reika's eyes lit up. "When do I get to use a sword like you or Zariel?"
Kaien smirked. "Later. First, you gotta tame a paperclip before you tame a blade."
He handed Reika a wooden ring. "Try to project Ren into this. Focus. Think of it like breathing into the object—but without lungs. Got it?"
Reika nodded. Kaien yawned.
"Cool. We're heading to the market square. Little cinema, little popcorn, little 'Zariel hating everything fun.' Be back in thirty."
Zariel stood by the door, arms crossed like a statue that hated joy. "He needs supervision."
Kaien leaned in, grinning. "Remember when we were kids and you locked yourself in the pantry thinking it was a demon cell?"
Zariel's eye twitched. "…Fine. Thirty minutes."
---
The cabin fell silent. Reika inhaled deeply, focusing his energy. The ring pulsed faintly—encouraging. But then… something shimmered.
Kaien's sword.
It leaned against the wall, practically humming. Reika stepped toward it, curiosity burning. Just a little test, he told himself.
He extended his hand, Ren swirling through his fingers, reaching into the sword.
And then—
BOOM.
A flash of blue. The sword trembled, warped, and exploded in size. In its place stood a monstrous creature—ten feet tall, blades for arms, its eyes glowing like molten steel.
Reika yelped and clung to the beast's hilt as it stumbled out the door.
---
Back at the market square, Kaien sipped on a drink as Zariel rattled off a list.
"…What if he overcharged? What if he reversed the flow? What if he—"
"He's fine, Zariel."
"WHAT IF HE TOUCHED YOUR SWORD?!"
Kaien blinked. "Oh… I left that home."
Zariel's face drained of color. "What if your sword turned into a monster?"
Kaien laughed. "Pfft, now you're being dramatic. Like that'd—"
Then came the screams.
They turned toward the commotion. A massive sword-creature lumbered into the square, civilians fleeing.
Perched atop it—Reika, gripping for dear life.
Kaien's laugh died instantly. "…That could be anyone's sword gone rogue."
Zariel had already drawn his blade. "You're an idiot."
"I'm an optimist."
Zariel charged forward, and Kaien, sighing, followed after. "This is why we can't have nice things."
---
Zariel appeared in a blur, landing between the sword beast and the panicking townspeople. His presence cut through the chaos like a blade through fog. Reika, still clinging to the monster's back, shouted down, "Zariel! It's me! I didn't mean—!"
"I know, idiot!" Zariel shouted back, before closing his eyes and focusing. A low hum built in the air. "You gave it life with Ren," he muttered, "so I'll take it back."
He raised one hand, and the other gripped the air like pulling invisible threads. With a sharp tug, golden energy surged from the creature's chest like vapor. The beast screamed, flailed, then collapsed into its original form—a sword clattering harmlessly to the cobblestones.
Zariel exhaled and flexed his fingers, glowing slightly. Kaien arrived, skidding to a stop. "Hey! Hey! What the hell was that?! Did you just absorb its Ren?"
Zariel wiped sweat from his brow. "I defeated the monster. I get the Ren."
Kaien stared, stunned. "That's not how training works."
Zariel shrugged with the smugness of someone who'd just made the rules up and won.
---
Later that evening, back at the cabin, Kaien was slumped in a wooden chair, arms crossed, face pale. The cabin owner stood at the door, holding up a scroll—tallying the destruction caused by the rogue sword-beast.
"Roof damage, window replacements, structural enchantments, emotional distress fees, AND demon beast insurance surcharge," the owner said.
Kaien looked at the total, jaw dropping. "This number has commas in it!"
Reika sat silently, shoulders slouched. "I'm sorry. I didn't mean to... it was just your sword was glowing and—"
"NEVER TOUCH MY SWORD AGAIN," Kaien cried as he tearfully dropped a handful of gold into the man's palm. "I worked hard for that money! That was my festival fund!"
The owner walked off humming, leaving Kaien to collapse back into the chair like his soul had left his body.
Reika got up quietly. "I'll go back to training now."
Kaien groaned. "Yeah. You do that. You Ren-magnet, you."
And as Reika stepped back outside, the broken remnants of the day still fresh in memory, he felt a grin tug at the corner of his lips. Maybe this demon-in-disguise thing wasn't going to be so boring after all.
---
Two weeks passed in relative calm. Reika had settled into the strange rhythm of training, scarred eye and all. The carnival had rolled into town that evening, and he'd planned to go with Vivi. Despite telling both Kaien and Zariel to stay out of it, Reika knew better. Zariel never missed a chance to watch him—like a silent hawk in the shadows.
He didn't mind.
The lights of the carnival danced over the night sky, laughter and music spinning in the air like cotton candy. Reika and Vivi wandered toward the haunted house, its crooked walls lit in eerie purples and reds. The sign above the entrance flickered: "Face Your Fear."
Fitting.
They stepped inside.
That's when he arrived.
No warning. No sound. Just presence.
The Puppeteer stood at the end of the hallway like he'd always been there—long limbs, masked face, cloak fluttering in a wind that didn't exist. He stared at Reika. Expecting fear. Anticipating it.
But Reika didn't flinch. His gaze was calm. Cold.
Fear didn't exist here. Not anymore.
The Puppeteer twitched. Uncertain. Intimidated.
Then—rage.
With a flicker of movement, he appeared before Reika and slashed across his face, from brow to cheek. Blood spilled. Pain bloomed.
Reika staggered back, one eye stinging. The world tilted. That's when he felt it—fear. Real, raw fear. It clawed up his spine.
The demon smiled.
And then the walls exploded in white light—Zariel descended like judgment itself, sword flashing. In one clean motion, he sliced the Puppeteer into pieces.
Silence.
But then… those pieces moved.
Regrew.
Laughed.
Zariel's blade dropped half an inch. His voice was hoarse.
> "That's not possible. No demon survives an angelic cut…"
But the Puppeteer only smirked and melted into shadow, his voice echoing:
> "He belongs to us."
Reika gripped his bleeding face.
> "How the hell did he get past the wall without getting torched?! How did he survive your sword?! What the hell is he?!"
Zariel had no answers. None.
He turned sharply.
> "Vivian. Go home. Now. It's not safe anymore."
Vivi, shaken but composed, nodded. Before leaving, she whispered into a magical transmission:
> "Master Elias, the Puppeteer showed up. May I engage?"
A calm voice responded:
> "No. Do not proceed."
---
Far below, in the pit of Hell, fire cracked stone as Asmodai erupted with fury.
The Puppeteer knelt, shaking.
Asmodai's massive hand closed around his throat, lifting him with terrifying ease.
> "How dare you lay a finger on my son?"
The demon whimpered.
> "I—I didn't mean—he didn't fear me—I couldn't—"
With a growl, Asmodai ripped out his eye, then shoved it into the demon's mouth.
> "Eat it. And remember. You were to watch him. Protect him. Not harm him. He knows nothing of this world yet… and you bring pain to my blood?"
The demon coughed, swallowed, and vanished in terror.
Asmodai stood alone now, walking the blood-red halls of his throne. He paused at a portrait.
A human woman. Smiling. Beautiful. Fragile.
He touched the frame, eyes dark.
> "He'll be back with us, Clara. Soon."