As I finish the training session with a sword, I end up again with bruises, small cuts, and muscles screaming from the extensive work. The teachers were not nice either; they would often complain. "Why did the gods give someone with such a weak body this amount of focus?" they’d say. "It is just being wasted on Dragoth."

  It was just another dagger stabbing me every day.

  I walked to the popular inn called the Drunken Bison. I needed some place where I could just forget about the world, at least for a few hours. After I arrived, I sat in a less populated part of the inn, hoping to sway the memories away and wait for the rage to fade. But it wasn't helping. All the faces—the disappointment, the disgust, and the pity—were just rushing back to my head, infuriating me.

  I slammed my fist into the wall, brimming with rage.

  "Fucking bastards," I spat on the floor, recalling the last few hours. I trained so much harder than any one of them. I watched my diet, practiced specific forms, conditioned every muscle, and sought out instructions, spending more time mastering the blade than anyone else. And they... they just somehow had it. With almost no training and nights spent in bars, they could still outperform me. And then they fucking dared to laugh.

  My blood boiled, filling me with a fresh wave of cold rage.

  Not only did my body lack natural talent, forcing me to gain everything the hard way, but it was also fucking diseased. I can’t even sleep in my bed without the feeling of needles creating fire inside my body. I can’t even breathe normally for the same reason. As if that wasn't enough, for thirteen years, I’ve been forced to endure nightly demonic attacks on my mind. Sometimes it’s like sleep paralysis; I have to fight to seize control of my own body from them.

  It is easier now because, after a decade of pain, I realized I have more power in my mind than they do. I can kill them. When I first started, it was a struggle, but eventually, I began consuming the demons I defeated. I ground them into a pulp of plasma and connected it to my own being. Since I had already killed the previous owner, the energy was formless and easy to assimilate.

  I say this like it made me a god, but the truth is that even though I felt myself becoming stronger and more ruthless, I still couldn't use that power. I felt it sitting there, just out of reach, and it drove me mad. I remember being young—an age people usually call a time of happiness—but I experienced nothing but pain. People abused the fact that I was easily driven to anger. Demons ripped at my mind every night, making my soul itself suffer. My mentors seemed to inflict pain for no other reason than the fact that I couldn't sit still.

  I remember being on my knees, praying to God for help. It never came. The only thing that followed those prayers was more pain, as if the world wanted to punish me for begging for mercy.

  That was when I realized: no one is ever going to help me. If I want anything, I have to take it. So that’s what I tried to do. At least now my mind is free; the demons are afraid to confront me unless they are incredibly arrogant or stupid. They aren't scared of death—they’re scared of having their souls ripped apart. They’re scared because I win every single encounter.

  As I came back to my senses, I noticed a person in dark robes sitting at the edge of the bar. He seemed cold, but not with the "I’ll kill you for fun" kind of cold. It was more like: "If you cross the line, you will die, and how far you push will determine how much you suffer."

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  I found that... very similar to where I was in my life.

  I approached the figure. "Can I join you? Drink’s on me."

  He nodded, and I sat across from him. "You’re not from around here. Are you looking for something?" I waved to the bartender. A few seconds later, we both had a mug of beer. I added a splash of juice to mine; I don’t really like alcohol, I just drink it for the social aspect. "If you’ve had a hard day, I can show you a quiet place later. Not many people look there. You don’t seem to talk much, so I figure you're tired."

  "I don't talk much when there isn't much to talk about," he replied. "It is rare that someone approaches me and feels so... at home. What if I told you I am a demon in human skin?"

  "Not really an issue," I said. "As long as I’m not trading my soul, even a conversation with a demon can be interesting. Life isn’t pretty, and I just like to talk."

  "Oh, really?" He lifted a brow. "And how is it that a mortal is not afraid of a demon? Talking to me could lead to damnation. Your God won’t look at it kindly."

  "God doesn't look at anything kindly. Either you have everything and gain more, or you have nothing and have to fight to the death just to keep it."

  "Interesting..." he mused. "Regarding your previous offer, I actually do need a quiet, depopulated spot. Also, if you are so free-minded, why don’t you try working for the Mages Guild or learning magic? Few are smart enough not to be terrified of demons and skeletons."

  "I would have if I could," I said, spitting to the side. "They only take nobles or people who already have money and magic. I wasn't allowed."

  "Why? You seem to have a certain strength of mind. It isn't hard to activate the soul's capabilities for one who is already awakened. It seems like a waste."

  "I have it," I snapped, "but they don't care. All I see in my mind is the power, but I can't reach it. I’d take a job at the summoning circle in a heartbeat if they’d let me."

  "And what if I gave you a chance? You could break the lock yourself. But it will be painful. I will not do it for free either; I need an assistant for now. After I will complete my journey you can go, but not before that. You will die if you fail the awakening, and the demons will ravage your body and soul. That would be quite a sight to see. Give me your answer by the time we reach that place you wanted to show me."

  A small chill ran down my spine. But this wasn't my first time fighting demons. If I die, at least the worst of it won't happen; I know how to survive their attacks. The soul doesn't die with the body, and even if I’m vulnerable, I’ll survive.

  As I was leading him toward the inn, four thugs with knives surrounded us. The dark-robed man looked at me with eyes that could kill.

  "They aren't with me," I said quickly. "Do you know how to fight?"

  I pulled out my sword and moved toward one thug who had stepped away from the group. A second later, the air turned bone-chillingly cold. I watched as the man I was facing rotted from the inside out while demons from a portal beneath him began ripping his body apart. I looked back and saw another thug choking to death. A third was turning black, dissolving into mud. The last one tried to run, but a black blade suddenly erupted through his back.

  Silence returned to the alley.

  It wasn't a pretty sight, but I preferred this to us dying—or losing my only chance to open the door to my being.

  "That was a lot easier than I expected," I said, hiding my sword. A few minutes later, we arrived at the inn where I was staying.

  "Do you have an answer?" he asked.

  "Yes. The demons are dangerous, but they aren't unknown to me. And I can stand the pain, as long as there’s a reason for it."

  "We will see how much of that is true. Tomorrow at noon. The same place I killed those worms."