In many fantasy stories, there's always that familiar trope—a weak protagonist who starts off as a victim of bullying. After gaining some mysterious power, they inevitably challenge their tormentors in front of the entire school. The crowd jeers, background characters mock him, whispering about how foolish he is, predicting his humiliating defeat.
But, as the plot goes, the protagonist miraculously defeats the bullies. Victory seems sweet—until one of the bullies runs crying to someone stronger. That stronger person comes seeking revenge, only to be beaten as well. Just when it seems over, the defeated enemy is revealed to be part of some larger gang or faction, and the cycle repeats. More enemies are sent. More fights happen. Eventually, the gang leader himself steps in, only to meet the same fate—defeat at the hands of the protagonist.
It's a predictable pattern, dragging on as one pointless fight after another unfolds.
Daemon had no intention of following that script.
Why waste time with this endless cycle of revenge and escalation when it could all be dealt with at once? Instead of inviting retaliation, Daemon aimed to instil something far more powerful in his enemies: fear. Fear so deep and overwhelming that the mere thought of opposing him would paralyze them. Fear so crushing that the bullies wouldn't dare think of revenge.
That, Daemon thought, was how you end things properly.
Daemon stood there, hands and face smeared with blood, gazing down at the three broken figures sprawled on the ground. They lay motionless, barely clinging to consciousness. If it weren't for the faint rise and fall of their chests, anyone would have thought they were corpses.
Their faces were swollen and bruised, smeared with dried blood. Red welts and dark bruises covered their bodies, while splatters of blood marked the dirt around them. It was clear—they had been thoroughly beaten. Were they ordinary humans, they'd have died several times over by now. Thankfully, their status as awakeners ensured they clung stubbornly to life.
The outcome of the fight was painfully obvious.
With a cheerful tone that didn't match the brutal scene, Daemon said, "Good. It looks like we're on equal footing now." His voice was disturbingly light, as though he were chatting about something mundane.
It wasn't that Daemon delighted in the violence. He wasn't some bloodthirsty psychopath who enjoyed inflicting pain for its own sake. No, his current mood had everything to do with the quest he'd just completed. The reward—Sword Mastery—was now his, and after seeing the description of the skill, he was more than satisfied.
'With my main objective accomplished, only the clean up remains,' he mused, his eyes sweeping over the beaten trio. A calm smile played on his lips.
Daemon crouched down beside the unconscious trio, carefully rifling through their pockets. He wasn't feeling particularly generous, but leaving them in such a pitiful state without any means of recovery didn't serve his purpose. As he searched Dylan, his fingers closed around a small vial tucked in the boy's pocket.
'Makes sense,' Daemon thought, inspecting the potion. 'He's the weakest of the three. He probably keeps this around in case he gets hurt.'
Without hesitation, Daemon removed the lid, the faint scent of herbs and magic wafting into the air. Rather than using the entire potion on one person, he decided to share it among all three of them. Carefully, he administered a few drops to each, watching as their wounds closed slightly, enough for them to regain consciousness and stand, albeit shakily.
It wasn't a perfect recovery, but it was enough. The bruises faded somewhat, and their breathing steadied. Now they could at least stay on their feet without collapsing.
Satisfied, Daemon straightened up, his cold gaze sweeping over them.
Daemon's expression shifted suddenly, the cold edge in his eyes replaced by a cheerful, almost carefree smile. His abrupt change in demeanor was unsettling, and as they watched him, a single thought echoed in the minds of Ren, Dylan, and Amy: 'This guy... he's not normal.'
With a voice that now carried an unnerving lightness, Daemon spoke, "It looks like you guys are healed, right?"
The trio flinched at his words. 'Like hell we are,' they all thought in unison. While the potion had helped a little, their bodies still ached with pain, their faces and limbs marred by bruises. It was painfully clear just how badly they had been beaten.
Despite their thoughts, none of them dared say anything other than what Daemon wanted to hear. Fear had gripped their minds completely, and they stammered out a weak response, "Y-Yes."
Their voices trembled as they replied, betraying their anxiety. Though their wounds still hurt, none of them dared complain. Right now, their only concern was not provoking Daemon further.
"I'm glad," Daemon said with a bright smile, as though they had just finished a friendly chat instead of a brutal beatdown. "You see, now that all the debts are settled, how about we become friends?"
"F-Friends?" Ren stammered, his voice trembling with confusion. His mind struggled to process the situation. Daemon had just beaten them senseless, then partially healed them, and now he was casually suggesting they become friends. The absurdity of it left him speechless, and the others wore the same bewildered expressions.
"Yeah, friends," Daemon repeated, his tone light and casual, as if nothing unusual had happened. "I mean, I've been here at the academy for a month, and I haven't made any friends. I guess I have to blame my gloomy atmosphere for that, don't I?" He let out a small laugh.
Ren found himself nodding unconsciously, too scared to do otherwise. He didn't know what Daemon was thinking, but right now, all he wanted was to get away from this unpredictable person as quickly as possible. The word friends felt more like a trap than a genuine offer, but none of them dared voice their doubts.
"Great, but there's a slight problem," Daemon said with a playful grin. "You see, right now, I only need one friend. But there are three of you, aren't there? So... who wants to be my friend?"
A tense silence filled the air as Ren, Dylan, and Amy exchanged nervous glances. None of them wanted to be the first to speak, unsure of whether this was some sort of twisted joke. After a brief hesitation, Amy stepped forward, her voice trembling but firm. "I… I want to be your friend."
Ren and Dylan stared at her, wide-eyed and stunned. Even though Ren was the strongest and their leader, but it is Amy who is the mastermind behind most of their 'acts'.
There was a heavy pause before Ren's expression shifted, anger flashing in his eyes. He clenched his fists tightly, glaring at Amy. "You… you bitch! This whole mess is because of you!" he spat furiously. His voice grew louder as he turned to Daemon, desperation and spite mingling in his tone. "It was her idea to bully you in the first place, Daemon. She's the one who dragged us into this!"
Amy flinched at Ren's words but didn't step back. Though her face was pale and her hands trembled slightly, "Daemon he is lying, this was never my idea, the only reason I bullied you was because they forced me to."
Daemon watched the unfolding scene with an amused expression, as though he were merely a spectator in some theatre play.
Ren stomped forward in rage, his fists clenched, ready to lash out at Amy. But before he could take another step, the sound of clapping echoed through the quiet forest. Everyone instinctively turned toward Daemon, who stood there with a calm, almost playful expression.
"It's okay, Amy," Daemon said, his voice light and reassuring. "I believe you. So now, we're friends, right?"
Amy blinked in surprise, caught off guard by his sudden kindness. "R-Right," she stammered, but inwardly, her thoughts were different. 'Hmph, I don't know how you got this strong, but men are all the same. A few sweet words, and they come wagging their tails'.
Daemon's smile widened. "Good choice. Since we're friends now, how about granting me a little request?"
Amy answered quickly, almost too eagerly, her voice adopting a more seductive tone. "Yes, of course."
In her mind, she was certain of her assumption. 'Like I thought, you're no different from the rest'.
But Daemon's smile didn't waver, and there was a glint in his eyes that made it clear—this wasn't going to go the way she thought.
Daemon's smile didn't falter, only growing wider, and in his eyes gleamed something unsettling, something dark. "Alright then," he said in a cheerful tone. "Kill Ren and Dylan."
The words hung in the air like a heavy fog, suffocating them. The forest, already dim and silent, seemed to grow colder. All three froze in place, staring at Daemon in disbelief. Amy's bruised face twisted in shock, her eyes searching his expression for any hint that this might be a cruel joke.
"W-What?" Amy stammered, her voice trembling. "C-Come on, Daemon, stop joking… This isn't funny."
Daemon tilted his head slightly, as if he found their reactions amusing. But when no laughter came from him, only silence, a pit formed in their stomachs. They waited, hoping he would say something to ease the tension.
Instead, Daemon let out a quiet sigh. Without warning, something changed. His expression remained calm, but an invisible pressure filled the air.
['Predator' has been activated.]
A sudden wave of fear crashed over them like a tidal force, pressing down on their chests. Their bodies felt weak, their strength draining away as though something had sapped it from them. Their legs trembled uncontrollably, and before they knew it, they were on the ground, unable to stand.
Daemon walked forward, his steps slow and deliberate, each one echoing in their ears like a death knell. His calm demeanour only made the growing fear worse. He moved past Ren and Amy without sparing them a glance, heading straight toward Dylan, who lay trembling on the ground.
With every step Daemon took, their hearts pounded faster, like a frantic drumbeat echoing inside their chests. They couldn't run. They couldn't fight. All they could do was watch in terrified silence as Daemon closed in, his presence suffocating, like a predator circling its helpless prey.
Daemon reached Dylan, his footsteps slow and quiet. Without hesitation, he drew his sword from its sheath, the blade gleaming dully in the dim forest light. According to the academy's rules, students were forbidden from using weapons outside the designated training grounds unless given explicit permission during class. Violating this rule could lead to suspension or even expulsion. Because of this, most students never dared to draw their weapons, even during heated fights.
But Daemon didn't care about the rules.
With the sword unsheathed, Daemon stood over Dylan, who lay trembling on the ground. The oppressive aura of his activated skill, 'Predator,' continued to weigh heavily on Dylan's already fragile mind. The skill didn't just weaken the body—it planted pure, unrelenting fear into the hearts of those caught in its grasp. And Dylan, already terrified beyond reason, could barely breathe, let alone move.
"P-Please… I don't want to die…" Dylan stammered, his voice quivering, tears welling in his eyes. He was helpless, fear etched onto his pale face as he stared up at Daemon. Every part of him screamed for mercy.
Daemon didn't respond. His expression was unreadable, cold and distant. Without a word, he raised his sword, the sharp tip aimed directly at Dylan's chest. Then, in one swift motion, he plunged the blade into Dylan's heart.
The sword pierced through flesh and bone effortlessly, the sickening sound of metal tearing through a body echoing faintly in the quiet forest. Blood splattered across Daemon's hand and face, warm and vivid, staining the silver of his blade. He felt the resistance give way as the sword sank deeper, stopping only when the hilt touched Dylan's chest.
'So, this is what it feels like… to pierce someone. To kill someone,' Daemon thought, his mind strangely calm despite the brutality of the act.
Dylan's eyes widened in shock, his mouth opening slightly as though he wanted to say something, but no words came. For a brief moment, he seemed unable to comprehend what had just happened. Then, slowly, his eyelids fluttered and closed, his life slipping away. His body fell limp, and a dark red pool of blood began to spread beneath him, soaking into the earth.
Daemon withdrew his sword, the blade glistening crimson in the dim light. He glanced down at the lifeless body without a hint of emotion.
'I don't feel any disgust... it's nothing like those stories where the protagonist kills for the first time and feels sick or guilty.' The thought flickered through Daemon's mind as he stared at Dylan's lifeless body. There was no queasiness, no regret—just cold detachment. Killing had turned out to be far less dramatic than those novels had described.
Breaking away from his thoughts, Daemon turned his head slowly toward Ren and Amy, blood splattered across his face like a grotesque mask. His expression remained eerily calm, but his eyes carried a chilling intensity that made it clear he was completely serious.
"Do I still look like I'm joking?" he asked, his voice low and steady, each word laced with cold finality.