Training With Demons

Ethan had always believed that some people were born with fire, and others had to walk through it to learn how to burn. He was no longer waiting for someone to hand him strength. He had been lit from the inside now, forged in pain and pulled backward through time. If this city thought it could break him again, it would have to try harder.

By the time he reached his house that evening, the skies had darkened, but the rain still hadn't come. The clouds just hung there, heavy and tense, like they knew what was coming. The hallway light flickered when he entered. Same broken bulb that had never been replaced in this timeline. The familiar sound of the TV buzzed from the living room, and his mother's voice called faintly from the kitchen.

"Ethan? That you?"

"Yeah," he answered, toeing off his shoes.

"Dinner's on the stove. I'll be back in a bit, I'm covering for Lorna tonight."

He caught a glimpse of her slipping her jacket on, tired eyes and that same smile she always wore no matter how exhausted she felt.

"You good?" she asked, pausing by the door.

He looked at her for a moment too long before nodding. "Yeah. Better than I've been in a while."

She gave him a strange look but didn't question it. Just offered a quiet, "Alright, baby," before stepping out into the night.

He stood in the doorway for a few seconds longer, watching her disappear down the street. The familiar ache returned to his chest, but it wasn't weakness. It was memory. It was fuel.

Back in his room, he sat at his desk, flipping open a notebook that hadn't seen ink in years. He turned past the empty pages, past his old class notes, and finally stopped on a blank one. He stared at it.

Then he wrote:

Bones. Malik. Jaylen.

He drew a line beneath their names.

Weaknesses. Loyalty structure. Leverage.

He knew their habits. Where they hung out after school. Who supplied their fake IDs. Which teachers looked the other way. Which girls they pretended to care about and which ones they actually feared. Ethan's advantage wasn't strength. It was information. And now he had it in abundance.

He remembered Bones used to hang out behind that liquor store on Grant Street, the one with the broken camera on the west corner. He remembered Malik had a cousin who worked at a mechanic shop, where he sometimes disappeared during the week. Jaylen, always the loudest, had a short fuse and a desperate need to prove himself. Ethan didn't need to confront them yet. He just needed to dig.

But before he could go further, his phone buzzed. A message.

Unknown number.

You always walk away that cool, or was today special?

He stared at the screen, a smirk tugging at his lips.

He typed.

That depends. You always sketch people without asking?

The response came quick.

You were interesting. I draw interesting people.

Sierra, right?

And you're Ethan Blackwell, the boy who vanished and came back acting like he's got secrets.

He paused.

Then typed:

Maybe I do.

Three blinking dots.

You planning on punching anyone else tomorrow, or should I pack my lunch in peace?

He laughed quietly, then typed:

No promises.

After a moment, he added:

I'm building something. Not sure what yet. But if you're serious about not pretending anymore, you might be the first person I trust with it.

A long pause.

Then her reply.

I don't scare easy. You'll learn that.

He locked his phone and leaned back.

The first seed was planted.

The next morning arrived with the kind of air that made your skin itch. Like something big was waiting just out of reach. Ethan stepped onto the bus, his hoodie drawn up, earphones in, but no music playing. He didn't need distraction. He needed focus.

He made a mental note of who sat where. Travis was missing. Probably still embarrassed after yesterday. Bones and his crew were near the back again, quieter this time. No laughter. Just glances. They were watching him now.

He found a seat near the front, close to the emergency exit. Strategic. Easy to move. Easy to escape if needed.

As the ride dragged on, a thought formed slowly in his head. If he was going to challenge Bones, he couldn't do it alone. And not with fists. That would come later. Right now, he needed something more dangerous than fists.

He needed information.

He needed a demon.

And there was only one person in this school who fit that title.

Marcus Vane.

He was a senior now, barely hanging onto that title. Wild reputation. Got suspended twice in one semester for fights no one ever got to see. No one messed with him. Not even Bones. Vane didn't care about social ladders or territory. He lived in his own warzone.

Ethan remembered him from his past life. Quiet kid. Always had bruised knuckles. Rumors said he trained in a basement gym where street fighters sharpened their edges. Said he slept in a car for months and fought in underground rings just to pay for gas.

People called him a lunatic.

Ethan called him useful.

He found Vane behind the school gym during third period. The older student was seated on a bench alone, hood low, cigarette between his fingers, staring at the gravel like it held answers.

Ethan approached without hesitation.

"You're Marcus Vane."

The older teen looked up slowly, unfazed. His eyes were cold, unreadable, the kind that measured everything before reacting.

"Depends," Vane said, voice rough. "You a cop?"

Ethan cracked a faint smile. "Do I look like one?"

"No. But you look like trouble."

"I'm building trouble," Ethan replied. "Need someone who's good at destroying things."

Vane studied him for a long moment.

"You're the Blackwell kid," he said finally. "The quiet one. Heard you clocked Jaylen in the face last week."

"That's old news."

"Word is Bones is watching you now."

Ethan nodded. "Good. Let him."

Vane took a drag from his cigarette, exhaled slow.

"You want something from me."

"I want to learn," Ethan said. "Not how to swing fists. How to win."

Vane's eyes sharpened. "You don't win by learning. You win by surviving."

"I've already done that part," Ethan said.

The silence that followed felt like a test. Vane tapped ash to the side, then stood.

"You show up tomorrow morning. Real early. Eastside warehouse gym, next to the scrapyard. No questions. If you're late, don't bother coming back."

Then he walked off.

Ethan watched him disappear around the corner.

The next stage had begun.