Evil is stil Evil

"How much longer, Santa? I can't take it anymore! I can't feel my hands!"

Troy's voice was raw, barely louder than a wheeze. His entire body trembled as he clung to the rusted metal bar suspended between two trees. The biting cold gnawed at his skin, his muscles burned with agony, and if exhaustion didn't kill him, hypothermia would. That much was certain.

Dimitri, seated comfortably nearby with a bottle of vodka in hand, gave a dismissive snort. "Stop whining, boy. This is the best way to train your body right now." His gray eyes gleamed with something between amusement and cruelty. "You'll hang for an hour more."

An hour? Troy's mind nearly broke at the thought.

His fingers, raw and red, barely responded to his commands. Every time he thought he would pass out, Dimitri would place a rough, calloused hand on him and heal him—just enough to keep going. The pain would dull slightly, the fatigue would ease, but never fully. Then it would begin all over again.

Troy had never exercised a day in his life. Not once. And now he was enduring this madness.

Dimitri's voice cut through his suffering. "If you want your powers to grow, your body needs to be stronger."

Three Hours Earlier…

"Your powers will be back soon, boy."

Dimitri took a monstrous bite out of the meat in his hands, barely pausing to chew. Troy sat across from him, still trying to process what the old man had said earlier.

"Your powers were overexerted," Dimitri continued. "Your mind, too. That's why they shut down. It's like starvation. Just like you need food to replenish your body, an esper's soul needs time to recover. You can't force it—you have to let it happen." He leaned back, eyes distant. "That's the greatest flaw of espers. Overuse your power, and you die."

Troy swallowed.

Dimitri's voice lowered, almost nostalgic. "During the wars, most esper casualties weren't from enemy attacks." He tapped a finger against his temple. "They were from overexertion. Nonstop battles, life-or-death struggles… It burned them out. Their souls had no time to recharge."

"How long do I have?" Troy asked hesitantly.

"Four days."

"Ah?"

Dimitri's face twitched as he watched Troy casually push away the vodka bottle on the table. For a split second, he looked as if Troy had personally offended his entire lineage.

Then, something shifted.

His sharp gaze studied Troy with newfound interest. "You keep surprising me, boy." A slow, knowing smirk spread across his face. "It seems the gods aren't as merciless as I thought."

"What do you mean?"

"Your weak body…" Dimitri trailed off, shaking his head in disbelief. "It's been compensated with a powerful soul." He let out a low chuckle. "That recovery speed of yours… Even top espers only have half of that. And that is still considered fast."

Troy's lips curled into a smug grin. "So I can use my powers more?"

Dimitri leaned forward, his smirk turning downright sinister. "Knowing your recovery rate, combined with my healing…" His laughter was dark, wicked. "Your growth can be tripled."

Troy's grin faltered.

Dimitri slammed his hands onto the table. "Get ready, boy. We're going to train."

Present…

Troy collapsed onto the wooden floor of the cabin, limbs trembling uncontrollably. He lay there, gasping for air, his entire body numb from pain.

"You almost killed me, evil Santa," he wheezed, rolling onto his back. "Look at my poor hands."

His once-soft palms were now rough, calloused, and raw. He stared at them, almost not recognizing them as his own.

Dimitri scoffed. "That's the sign of a man, boyo." He stretched out his own hands—scarred, hardened, and as unyielding as steel. "Look at these."

Troy grimaced. The white-haired man's hands looked more like weapons than human flesh. The calluses on his palms were thick enough to look metallic.

Dimitri grinned. "You'll thank me later."

Troy doubted it.

"Now then…" Dimitri clapped his hands together. "Next."

Troy froze.

"Hold up. Next?" He sat up, dread pooling in his stomach. "What do you mean next? I thought we were done for the day!"

Dimitri took a long swig from his vodka bottle, wiped his mouth, and let out a satisfied sigh. Then, with a lazy gesture, he pointed to a dusty, ancient treadmill sitting in the corner.

"Run."

Troy blinked. Then blinked again.

"… Run?"

Dimitri tilted his head as if considering something. "Ah, right." His smirk returned. "Crawl, then."

Troy felt his soul leave his body.

"Until you can run on this thing, your training won't be over."

With that, the old man downed the entire bottle of vodka in one go and walked away, leaving Troy staring at the treadmill like it was some kind of ancient torture device.

"This has got to be a joke," Troy muttered, feeling a deep, sinking despair settle in his gut. "Am I getting punked?"

No answer.

"Old man?" His voice was a little more desperate now. "Come back. Old man!"

Still nothing.

Troy groaned, rubbing his hands over his face.

Then, slowly—painfully—he started crawling toward the treadmill.

At this point, crawling was second nature to him. That alone was a depressing thought.

Oh, how times change…

A single tear slid down his cheek as he mourned the warmth of his hospital bed. Even Nina's cooking—which he once considered borderline poisonous—felt like a sweet, distant dream compared to this hell.

But as his hands gripped the edges of the treadmill, Dimitri's words echoed in his mind.

"Your training won't be over until you can run in this."

What the hell did that even mean?

Troy exhaled sharply. He didn't know.

But one thing was certain.

This was just the beginning.

The clock struck four. Dimitri stepped into the training room, his boots creaking against the wooden floor. His sharp gaze softened when he saw Troy sprawled across the cold ground, fast asleep from exhaustion.

With a sigh, Dimitri bent down and carefully lifted the boy, cradling him like a fragile ember in a raging storm. As he carried Troy to bed, he murmured, "You have to go through hell, boy. This will be your foundation if you want to survive the true hell that's coming. I'll make sure you're ready."

But before he could leave the room, a voice cut through the air.

"Dimitri, it's rather unpleasant seeing such a soft look on your face."

Instantly, he reacted. Even before the sentence was finished, stone walls erupted from both sides, slamming together like a bear trap around the intruder.

A chuckle followed. "You don't recognize your own sister now, brother? Has the dull snow made your senses weak?"

She had blocked the attack—but her hat hadn't survived. The womean was wearing thick black glasses, covered in fur that looks like polar bear, and intricate silver ornaments in her ear. The lady had a slight resemblance to Dimitri.

Dimitri's jaw tightened. "I knew it was you, Irina. I just don't like you showing up unannounced." He placed Troy into bed, pulling the blanket over him before turning to face her.

Irina smirked. "Unannounced? Why should a younger sister need permission to visit her older brother? And how do you survive here? This cold, i hate this cold" she said reminiscent about something.

Dimitri snorted. "Your acting needs work. Where did the innocent little Irina go? And when did this hateful creature replace her?" His gaze sharpened. " 26 guards? That's too low for a Seer of your caliber, sister., and do they think they can protect you from me? If i were to truly attack you?:

Irina shrugged. "The leader insisted I bring them." Then, her smile faded. "Your bad blood with the leader still isn't settled yet?"

Dimitri scoffed. "Settled? Bastion isn't even a shadow of what it used to be. What Father built was hope—for espers and humans alike. Now, it's just a circus run by clowns., clowns that fein righteousness"

Irina's expression darkened. "You're living in the past, brother. Bastion may have fallen from grace, but it's what's left. It's the only thing preventing another war, we have stopped many uprisings, revoults, revolutions, bastion has protected the world's peace, our ways may not be pretty, but its effective"

Dimitri narrowed his eyes. "Preventing it? They intervene only when it suits them. The revolutions you stopped? You spilled blood of innocents, evil is evil sister, lesser or greater. Enough pleasantries—why are you here?"

"The boy."

Dimitri chuckled, already piecing it together. "You're afraid of him, aren't you? Bastion fears another storm?"

Irina hesitated. "His future is… muddy. I can't see what he will become, what he will do. You must understand brother, uncertainty will cause deaths, the future needs to be stabe, There's interference. That has never happened before."

Dimitri laughed—a deep, knowing laugh. "So, that's why you sent me the news about his powers. You wanted me to judge him. To see if he'll be a threat to espers… a threat to Bastion." His amusement faded, replaced by cold fury. "Is that why you sent spies to watch me?"

The room trembled. Stone cracked.

Irina remained still. "Precautions must be taken. Bastion ensures balance, neutrality, and the lowest possible casualties."

Dimitri's voice turned to ice. "The boy is mine to train. Bastion has no say in that. In five months, if he comes to you willingly, take him—do whatever you need. But don't forget this, Irina—he may not be pure-born, I saw it the moment I healed him. He wasn't natural born, his soul was too new but The storm, strom of our father runs in his veins."

The ground rumbled violently.

Irina took a step back. "We do what we must to maintain peace—even if blood must be spilled."

Dimitri's lips curled in a snarl. "Bastion was the first to start those prototype experiments, werent you? With the Pendragons. Don't think I don't know, sister. Your organisation ,you hypocrites, although the pendragons took it far, you never stopped them, you knew and still didd nothing" His power surged, shaking everything except one room—Troy's.

With a quiet exhale, Dimitri let his rage subside. "Out!. The next time I sense your spies, they will die. The only reason Bastion still stands is because of balance. The moment you cross that line, I will bring it down myself."

Irina hesitated, then nodded. "The same as always, brother., you fail to see the bigger picture. Take care."

She disappeared into the night.

Dimitri sat down, rubbing his temples. "What would you have done, Father?"

Silence.

Then, he sighed and turned toward the door.

"Eavesdropping isn't a good habit, boy."

With a flick of his power, the door swung open. A figure tumbled forward, landing face-first near the doorway.

Troy blinked up at him, feigning innocence. "I have no idea what you're talking about."

Dimitri smirked. "Brat."