Alex's instincts screamed. He dodged left just in time, Damon's fist cutting through the space where his head had been. In the same instant, Alex flickered behind him, aiming a strike at Damon's back.
But Damon chuckled and blinked out of sight. Alex staggered, thrown off balance.
"Show yourself, you coward!" Alex snarled, his voice raw.
"I'm right here, nephew." Damon's whisper came from behind, and before Alex could react, a sharp kick slammed into his thigh. Pain exploded through his leg, sending him to one knee.
Damon didn't pause. His fist drove into Alex's chest, blasting the air from his lungs and sending him sprawling onto the ground again.
"Get up!" Damon barked. His voice echoed with venom, sharp and unforgiving. "Get up and fight! You claim you want revenge for your parents, yet you crawl like a worm. Get up, damn you!"
Each word was a dagger, cutting deeper than the blows.
Alex's fists trembled against the ground. Rage boiled inside him, mixing with humiliation. 'Weak, that's all he sees in me.'
"I… am not… weak." His voice cracked, but his body trembled with conviction. He pushed himself up, his eyes glowing darker and darker until they were a piercing blood-red. His fangs extended, and his aura pulsed violently around him. "Don't you dare call me weak!"
The memory of his parents' lifeless eyes flashed before him. His voice broke as he screamed, "You killed them! I haven't forgotten!"
With a burst of speed, Alex blurred forward. Damon smirked, ready to intercept. He tracked Alex's movement—behind him. He spun to counter, but Alex vanished again, reappearing faster than before. His fist slammed into the back of Damon's head, forcing him a step forward.
The hit was solid, the sound echoing like a thunderclap. For the first time, Damon staggered.
Raphael and Klein gasped in unison.
But Damon straightened almost immediately, barely ruffled. He reached up and touched the back of his head, then laughed. "A neat trick. But useless. You'll need more than that, Alex. Much more."
"I'll give you more," Alex growled. 'Mere strength won't beat him… I'll use my demon powers.'
He darted forward, palm glowing with dark energy. Damon stood still, curious, watching. When Alex's hand connected with his wrist, a spreading blackness began to crawl across Damon's skin.
"Decay," Alex whispered, his voice echoing with power.
Damon's smirk faltered for the first time. His eyes narrowed as he pulled back, staring at the blackened patch that was spreading slowly across his arm. A faint burning stung his veins.
"What… the hell is this?" Damon muttered.
"One of my abilities," Alex said, panting but defiant. "Decay. Once I touch you, it spreads. You won't be able to shake it off."
Damon examined his arm, the darkness creeping upward. For a moment, real concern flickered in his eyes—then it was gone, replaced by that infuriating smile. "Impressive. But this? This won't kill me. I am not like the weaklings you've fought." His aura flared, dark energy burning away at the creeping decay. "And you… are still weak."
In a blur, Damon appeared before Alex. His fists became a storm, slamming into Alex's stomach and chest in rapid succession. The blows landed faster than Alex could register—each one stealing his breath, each one cracking his will. He lost count of how many times Damon's fists hammered into him.
Pain consumed him, but worse than the pain were Damon's words echoing with each strike: Weak. Useless. Disappointing.
A tear slipped down Alex's cheek. His body sagged, barely able to stand.
Seeing it, Damon halted. His lip curled in disgust. "Pathetic." He shoved Alex aside, letting him crumple. "Grow up, idiot. You'll never avenge them like this."
He turned, stepping into the shadows. But before his presence faded, his voice echoed one last time—words so sharp they cut deeper than his fists.
Alex's eyes went wide. His lips parted, trembling as if to speak, but Damon was already gone.
Raphael and Klein dropped from the invisible bind and rushed to him.
"Alex! Are you alright?" Klein grabbed his shoulder, panic in his voice. "Who was that man?"
Alex's chest rose and fell with ragged breaths. Pain wracked his body, but none of it compared to the weight of Damon's final words. He said nothing, his silence heavier than steel.
"Hey, answer us!" Raphael pressed. But Alex shoved them both away, staggering to his feet. He took a step and nearly collapsed, saved only by Klein's reflex.
"Don't touch me!" Alex snarled, shoving Klein aside and staggering forward on his own. "And don't think of following me."
Klein looked at Raphael, torn. "Should we follow him? I think he needs our help."
Raphael's face darkened with worry. "No. Let him be for now. I'll check on him later. "
Alex reached his dorm like a shadow dragging itself across the ground. The moment the door shut, rage exploded out of him. He tore through his room, smashing glass, ripping sheets, overturning the table. His eyes glowed blood-red, and shards of broken glass tore into his hands and feet, but he didn't care.
When there was nothing left to break, he collapsed in the wreckage. Tears streamed down his face, hot and unrelenting.
"Dad… Mom…" His voice cracked as he buried his face in his bloodied hands. "What do I do? I can't even stand on my own. Was he right? Is everything he said… the truth?" His cry broke into a scream. "Tell me! Please!" He slammed his fists into the shattered floor, cutting himself further.
"I'm weak, so weak. I thought I'd grown stronger, but I've been lying to myself. Always lying to myself…" His sobs filled the room, raw and broken.
Then, suddenly, a sharp pain pierced the back of his skull. His vision blurred, his body slumping. His eyelids grew heavy.
Seconds later, Alex collapsed unconscious on the floor, surrounded by blood, glass, and tears.
*****
Throughout the whole day, Alex didn't show himself. He didn't come to the dining hall, didn't attend lessons, didn't even walk the corridors. His absence gnawed at Raphael, who had been watching his friend sink deeper into silence since the encounter with that mysterious man. They had bled together, fought together, survived monsters side by side—yet Alex had withdrawn completely into himself, building walls where once there was trust.
The next morning, Raphael couldn't take it anymore. 'He's my brother in arms. If I can't stand with him when he's breaking, then what the hell am I worth?'
He left his room and strode to the one next door—Alex's. He knocked once, twice, then a third time. Silence. A cold prickle of dread climbed his spine. He tried the handle; it didn't budge. With a sharp exhale, he pushed harder until the door swung open with a loud creak.
"Alex—!" His voice froze.
Alex was sitting on the floor, surrounded by wreckage. Broken glass glittered across the ground like spilled stars. Books and furniture were overturned. The curtains hung half-torn, and faint streaks of blood dotted the floor near Alex's bare feet.
The boy didn't even look startled. His tired gaze lifted to Raphael. "What is it? You should knock before entering," Alex muttered, his voice hoarse, like he hadn't spoken in hours.
Raphael closed the door behind him, his chest tightening at the sight. He stepped inside carefully, glass crunching beneath his boots. "But I did knock. You just didn't answer me," he said quietly.
Alex dragged a hand through his messy dark hair and sighed. "Next time, knock louder."
There was no strength behind the words, only weariness.
Raphael's eyes flicked around the chaos. "What the hell happened here? Did you fight him again—that man from yesterday?" His tone sharpened with both worry and anger.
"No," Alex said flatly, rubbing his temple. "I did all this by myself." He pushed against the bed to stand, but his legs trembled, and he collapsed back onto the floor with a frustrated groan. "I was just about to clean it…"
"Hold on. Let me help you." Raphael carefully avoided the shards, crossing the room. He crouched, slid an arm under Alex's shoulder, and helped him up. His friend felt lighter than he remembered, drained of the vitality that usually burned behind his restless eyes. He guided him to the bed. "Sit. I'll clean this up."
Alex slumped against the sheets, watching as Raphael set to work. He swept glass into a pile, his movements quick but precise, as though tidying chaos was second nature. He wiped the floor clean of blood with a discarded shirt, then began righting overturned furniture. His expression stayed focused, jaw clenched, not a single complaint leaving him.
For a long moment, Alex only stared. The knot of guilt in his chest tightened. Then, in a voice too dry to sound serious, he said, "You look cute while doing that. I'm certain your girlfriend will love you wholeheartedly."
Raphael froze mid-swipe. His head turned slightly, his sharp features illuminated by a slant of morning light. He gave Alex a brief look, unreadable, then turned back to his task without answering.
"Hey," Alex frowned. "Didn't you hear me?"
"I did."
"But you didn't say anything."
"What's there to say?" Raphael countered calmly.
"At least something."
"Fine. Girlfriends are boring."
Alex scoffed, though a faint smirk tugged at his lips. "Or maybe you're the boring one."
"Say whatever you want," Raphael shot back without missing a beat, "I still won't waste myself on things that will hold me back from strength."
"Tsk. You're gonna die a virgin."
"It's better than dying powerless."