Inner-Demons

The night had settled over the city, wrapping its skyline in a blanket of flickering lights and distant chatter. From the massive floor-to-ceiling window of his penthouse suite, Alex watched the neon-lit streets below, where crowds moved like an endless river, flowing through the veins of civilization, oblivious to the blood spilled just a month ago.

A glass of fine, aged wine rested in his hand, though he barely took a sip. It wasn't the drink that occupied his mind, nor was it the luxurious life he had indulged in for the past month.

It was the contrast.

The world here was full of laughter, trivial worries, and fleeting desires—so painfully fragile that it was almost surreal. One push, one disaster, and everything these people took for granted would shatter. It had already happened once, yet they moved on, ignorant of the cracks beneath their feet.

"I admit," Alex muttered, swirling the deep red liquid in his glass, watching as it clung to the sides before slowly falling. "The vacation was fun."

And it was. The expensive meals, the lazy mornings, the mindless entertainment.

But it wasn't him.

It felt like wearing another person's skin, pretending to be someone he wasn't, at least anymore.

Behind him, Nyxara lay sprawled across a velvet armchair, her silver eyes reflecting the dim golden lights of the suite. She had sensed his shift in mood long before he spoke.

She stretched lazily, her tail flicking in amusement before hopping onto the bed. "You're overthinking again."

Alex smirked slightly but didn't argue. He set the untouched wine on the nightstand before reaching the massive king-size bed, sinking into the plush mattress.

"I'm not brooding," he said, staring at the ornate ceiling. "Just realizing... this kind of life is no longer for me."

Nyxara let out a quiet sigh, watching as he folded his hands behind his head. She was about to say something else, maybe another joke to lighten the mood, but Alex spoke first.

And when he did, his voice carried a weight that made the air in the room feel heavier.

"Everyone has a demon."

Nyxara's ears twitched slightly. " demon?" she echoed.

Alex exhaled slowly, his gaze unfocused. "Yeah. The part of yourself that you fight against the most. The thing that whispers in the back of your mind, trying to take control."

Nyxara didn't interrupt. She just watched him, waiting for him to continue.

"For some, it's fear," Alex said, his voice steady. "Fear of failure. Fear of not being enough. Fear of losing everything they love."

His golden eyes darkened slightly.

"For others, it's rage. The kind that eats at them until they can't think straight. The kind that makes them destroy things they don't want to destroy."

He turned his head slightly, looking at her now. "And then there are those whose demons aren't just emotions. Some people have demons made of desire—power, ambition, control. Others have demons made of regret, haunting them until they break."

Nyxara flicked her tail, thoughtful. "So what's yours?"

Alex smirked slightly, but there was no humor in it. "I thought mine was laziness," he admitted. "That I just didn't care enough to have ambition. That I was drifting, waiting for things to happen."

His smirk faded. "I was so wrong."

Nyxara's silver eyes locked onto him, sharp and unblinking.

"The only person who ever understood what my demon was… was my mom."

A pause.

"And she never told me. She never warned me. Because she knew how twisted it was."

Nyxara narrowed her eyes. "Twisted how?"

Alex exhaled, his voice quieter now. "My inner demon isn't something stupid like fear or anger."

His hand rested on his stomach as he stared at the ceiling. "It's my mind itself, the joy I feel seeing people in despair and destruction"

….

A flash of memory.

The grand courtyard of Thunder Imperial Academy—pride of the Thunder Domain, the finest of its many institutions—was alive with energy. The clash of steel, the crackle of techniques, the sharp bark of instructors drilling students into warriors. Laughter and boasts filled the air, but beneath it all lay an unspoken truth:

This was no austere academy.

It was a battlefield dressed in the guise of education. A place where only the strong thrived and the weak were trampled beneath ambition.

And at the center of it all—him.

Radiant. Confident. Dripping in self-righteousness.

The so-called prodigy.

He had conquered the entrance exam, smashing expectations, shattering records, and carving his name into academy history. A beacon of hope for those without the bloodline of the Higher Gods. His name was on every tongue, his presence was worshipped by his peers.

A boy who, against all odds, had claimed first place in both the theoretical and practical aspects of the entrance exam. A holder of the Beast Taming god's bloodline. Even with more than five students carrying the bloodline of the Thunder God—one directly descended from the ruling family—he had surpassed them all.

"A genius among geniuses."

"The hope of the people."

Alex had watched from the shadows, arms crossed, listening to their mindless adoration. Not out of jealousy. He had no interest in fame, no desire for recognition.

It was the way the boy carried himself.

Like he was born for greatness. Like fate had already chosen him.

The way he stood on the academy's stage, his eyes filled with unwavering certainty, basking in praise as though it were his birthright.

Alex said nothing. Did nothing.

He tried his best to enjoy the academy for what it was—to find something worth remembering in this place.

But it felt like fate was against him.

Until the boy came to him.

He challenged him to a duel, standing tall, righteous as if declaring a divine decree.

Alex had seen the look in his eyes.

This wasn't just a challenge. It was a statement.

A declaration to the world.

The prodigy wanted to use him—to humiliate him.

To show that the Higher Clans were not untouchable and solidify his reign over the school.

Alex could have ignored it.

Could have walked away.

But the challenge had been issued before the entire academy.

If he refused, it wouldn't end there. The boy would come again. And again. A persistent, buzzing insect that would ruin his peace for the rest of the year.

So he decided to humor him.

He didn't care if he won or lost.

He just wanted his quiet days to remain undisturbed.

The academy had watched, eager, hungry to witness a battle between the so-called 'next hero' and the infamous 'lazy genius.'

But it wasn't a battle.

It was a slaughter.

Alex didn't just win—he dismantled him.

He tore through the boy's summoned beasts as if they were paper, crushed every strategy he attempted, and shattered his illusions piece by piece until there was nothing left but defeat.

The prodigy who had never tasted failure lay sprawled in the dirt, his breathing ragged, his hands trembling—broken.

And the whispers changed.

"Was Alex jealous?"

"He didn't have to go that far."

"But I thought he was third in the school ranking, how was he able to beat him"

The lie that strength was granted to those deemed worthy. That anyone could stand before a higher clan was immediately shattered.

But what truly satisfied him...

Was the despair in the boy's eyes?

The moment he realized the truth.

Power was never his to claim.

Alex stood silently among the crowd, watching as the so-called prodigy drowned in his weakness.

He felt a rush of emotions he had not felt before.

And for the first time that day—

He smiled.

....

The memory faded, dissolving like smoke in the back of his mind, leaving only the weight of its presence behind. Alex exhaled slowly, his gaze fixed on the ceiling, tracing invisible patterns in the dim light.

It had been years since that fight.

And yet, the memory had slipped away, buried beneath countless others—until now.

His fingers twitched against the sheets, a phantom ache lingering in his bones.

"I see the world differently," he murmured at last. His voice was steady, but there was something distant in it, something hollow. "I see destruction, and I find beauty in it. I see chaos, and I don't fear it—I embrace it. It's not that I hate peace. It's not that I crave war."

His voice dropped lower, quieter—almost too calm. "It's just the way I am."

Nyxara lay curled near the foot of the bed, her silver eyes reflecting the soft glow of the city lights beyond the window. She studied him, not with judgment, nor pity—just understanding.

She knew.

There was no need for dramatics, no need for justification. Alex wasn't trying to convince anyone, least of all himself. He was simply stating a fact.

"I'm not a hero, Nyxara," he said. "I never was. And I never will be."

He turned his head slightly, resting against the cool fabric of the pillow.

"I could have walked a different path," he continued, his voice almost contemplative. "If I exposed what the Higher Clans did—if I played the role of the righteous avenger—the world would have supported me. I could have been the kind of hero people write stories about."

A wry smirk touched his lips, but there was no real amusement behind it.

"But that's not my style."

Silence stretched between them, heavy and absolute.

Finally, Nyxara exhaled through her nose, her tail flicking lazily against the blankets.

"Twisted or not, it doesn't matter to me," she murmured. "You're still my partner."

Alex's smirk lingered, but it was brittle at the edges. "Even if I decide to burn the world down one day?"

Nyxara cracked an eye open, her expression unreadable. "I'll bring the oil."

A quiet chuckle escaped him for the first time in what felt like days, —soft, fleeting.

Then he closed his eyes.

The vacation was over.

It was time to move forward.