Daseos strolled back into his room, the scent of lavender soap clinging to his skin, a satisfied smile curving his lips,
'Is this what normal feels like?'
The towel around his hips felt like a victory banner.
The steamy events in the bathroom with Trixie danced in his mind, and he felt an unfamiliar lightness in his steps.
As he dried himself off, his eyes caught something on the bookshelf—a worn, leather-bound book that seemed to pull him in.
The title was embossed in dark ink: Demon Codex of Physical Mastery.
The moment his fingers touched the cover, his smile vanished.
It was like someone had drained the color from a painting, leaving it dull and lifeless.
He hung the towel over his head and gripped the book with one hand, his other hand instinctively going to the pendant that always rested against his chest.
It was a strange double gesture—as if by touching these two items, he could bridge the gap between who he was now and who he had once been.
His mind flung itself back to a much simpler time, a colder time.
He was just a kid, no more than five or six, left abandoned at the steps of the L.U.S.T Inn.
His small, pudgy fingers clung to a backpack—his only possession besides the clothes that barely clung to him.
He remembered the weight of it, the way it pulled down on his young shoulders as if filled with bricks.
'Bricks... they felt like bricks, the type no child should have to carry. What the hell were you thinking, leaving me like that?'
When he finally got the courage to open it, he found two things— a sealed envelope and the very same book he now held in his hand—the Demon Codex of Physical Mastery.
His parents had left him with these three things: a letter he was too young to read, a book he was too young to understand, and a pendant he was too young to know the significance of.
That was his inheritance.
That was all they'd left him with before they vanished.
As Daseos stood there, towel hanging over his head like a shroud, he felt a mixture of emotions.
Anger, hatred, determination, but most of all, an aching emptiness that no triumphant moment or intimate encounter could fill.
Taking a deep, shuddering breath…
Daseos's fingers traced the archaic symbols and illustrations as he leafed through the first few pages of the Codex.
Each line was a puzzle, a lock to which he had painstakingly found the keys over years of trials and errors.
As Daseos's fingers brushed against the worn leather of the Codex, a silence seemed to swallow the room.
Time itself paused.
His emotions, no longer hidden, roared to life.
It was a collision of his past and present, each second stretching longer than the last.
He closed the book softly and looked up, his eyes misty but unyielding.
"It's taken me more than a decade to grasp these first few pages,"
He whispered to the room, as if speaking to his captured or fallen family.
"Please wait a little longer… whatever the cost, I will save all of you. If not, I'll bring you home for a proper burial. I mean it. Every single word. You hear me, Universe? I'll rip through space and time if I have to. Just watch me."
You didn't need to hear him say it to know: the steely resolve that gripped him was unbreakable.
His jaw tightened, muscles coiling like a spring wound up too tight, ready to release its pent-up force.
A pulsating vein in his temple twitched.
He breathed in, each inhalation stoking the fires of anger and hatred smoldering in the depths of his eyes.
And then there it was—a momentary flash, a glint that came and went so quickly you'd think you'd imagined it.
His eyes, usually a light gray, flickered to a deep, unsettling red.
For that briefest of seconds, it was as though something suppressed, something monstrous and primal within him, leapt at the bars of its cage, hungrily waiting for the moment to surface and wreak havoc.
It was a fleeting but profound glimpse into the inferno that raged inside him.
A fire fueled by anger, hatred, and an ironclad resolve that would not be quenched until justice—his brand of justice—was meted out.
With the lightest touch, as if setting down a newborn, Daseos placed the Demon Codex back onto the table.
It seemed to merge with the darkness of the room, yet it was anything but forgotten.
Then, he turned towards the mirror that hung on the wall, his reflection staring back at him—a map of battle scars, a testament to struggles past and battles yet to come.
For a heartbeat, his gaze met the eyes of his reflection, and in that silent exchange, promises were made, vows renewed.
Then, slowly, he raised his arms to his sides again, taking another steadying breath.
What he was about to do was more than just a physical feat; it was a testament to a decade of grueling work, of finding control where others found chaos.
His eyes seemed to bore into his reflection as if he could manifest his will into the very air.
'Ten years. You've got this, Daseos. Show yourself what ten years of dedicating almost every free waking moment earned you.
His hands initiated the sequence.
Fingers tensed in perfect pairs, right mirroring left, a duo of strength and skill.
A symphony of muscular control played out, traveling up from the pairs of muscles in his palms to the ones in his forearms.
Every fiber of muscle tightened one after another, not a single one skipped over.
'A decade, it took me years to finally be able to get this right.'
The paired muscles of his biceps and triceps coiled like pythons, ready to strike.
The sensation rolled upward, climbing to his shoulders, where muscles tensed in harmony.
This moved seamlessly to the symmetrical muscles lining his neck, each side answering the other in a tight, choreographed dance.
'You're doing it, Daseos. Concentrate. Every muscle, no stone unturned.'
His body tensed, each muscle locking into place as if he were turning the gears of an intricate machine, designed to perform one perfect, impossible act.
His face was next, a landscape often thought to be beyond voluntary control.
But Daseos had conquered even this frontier.
It was an uncanny display of control—each side of his face flexed in perfect mirror imagery, from the creases around his eyes to the contours of his mouth.
The spectacle didn't stop there.
It flowed like a cascading waterfall down to his chest and upper back, each muscle in these areas also partaking in this intricate ballet of control.
His pectorals tightened in tandem, followed by the symmetrical muscles of his upper and lower back.
It was as if he was a conductor of a fleshy orchestra, each section responding flawlessly to his commands.
'They are counting on me… I will build the sturdiest foundations for my Villain Ascendency this world has ever seen! To take back what was stolen, to exacting the revenge that's a decade overdue'
His abdomen was a spectacle in itself, each side of the oblique muscles joining this magnificent dance.
Then it was down to his thighs, the bulging quadriceps and hamstrings responding to his iron will, tensing in perfect pairs.
Calves followed, their muscles clenching like fists.
Finally, even the muscles in his feet and toes sprang to attention, each tiny muscle pair completing the extraordinary sequence.
For a moment, he stood there, every muscle in his body tensed in unison.
A feat that would let him would not only help physically but prepare him to be able to channel dark energy more efficiently when the time came.
It was an impossible mastery achieved through ten years of relentless, grueling practice.
'I DID IT! Finally!!!'
Then, just as systematically as they had tensed, Daseos began to relax each set of muscles, beginning from his toes and working his way back up.
It was as if he were conducting a reverse symphony, each section of the orchestra falling silent one by one until only a single, unified peace remained.
As the last muscle—the ones in his fingers—unclenched, a feeling of satisfaction washed over him.
But it was not a satisfaction born of completion; rather, it was the satisfaction of a waypoint reached, a sign that the path he was walking was the correct one.
Every tensed muscle was a conquered challenge, a brick in the fortress he was building for his impending Villain Ascendency.
Mastery over his own body was the first step toward mastering his destiny.
"This is not just flesh and bone; this is the vessel of my vengeance,"
He whispered aloud, each word tinged with a gravity that made the air in the room feel heavy.
He met his reflection one final time.
The resolve there, born of a decade of blood, sweat, and tears, was unmistakable.
For Family.
For Vengeance.
For Destiny.
This is mastery. This is control. And this is just the beginning.
Daseos glanced at the Codex again.
It was as much a relic of his past as it was a signpost to his future.
"The next chapter waits, in both the Codex and my life…"
He whispered…
"Get ready, world. Daseos Demon is just getting started."
He turned toward you, yes, you that's reading this and smirked,
"And trust me, you won't want to miss what happens next."