I woke up at the exact moment the Demon of War was about to let go of me and send me into a free-fall. My reflexes worked faster than my sleepy brain; I tucked and rolled, landing cleanly on both feet.

  The demons stared at me with a strange sort of delight.

  "Well, would you look at that," Poverty rasped. "You’re indistinguishable from an ordinary human now. Both eyes are normal, no mana leaking out... you even smell like ordinary, edible human flesh."

  I surveyed them in return. "Hey, look at yourselves. Poverty, what do you need a fourth arm for? And you, War... why have you become so 'refined'? Did your vessel finally digest your malice?"

  I turned around and ran into Mira’s gaze. She was standing nearby, smiling warmly—almost happily. My sister walked over and hugged me tightly, the way one hugs someone who has been in a coma for a long time and has finally opened their eyes.

  "Finally..." she whispered, and I heard tears in her voice. "Finally, I can see you, Zen."

  I didn't understand what she meant. What "me"? The one who can't teleport and gets tired after three hours of walking? Well, thanks a lot.

  We continued our journey. Without magic, the world became irritatingly logical.

  "Listen," I spoke up, wiping sweat from my forehead. "Since we’re such 'humans' now, can we at least steal some horses? Or Mira, conjure those fire phoenixes of yours. My legs are going to fall off!"

  "Oh!" The Demon of War clapped her hands mockingly. "It seems our great mage is starting to grow the beginnings of a brain. Welcome to reality, kid."

  An hour later, we reached a village. Mira ordered us to stay in the forest—our demonic entourage stood out far too much against the local scenery. I sat down under a tree, and those two immediately started pestering me.

  "Listen, Zenhald," War squinted. "Why is it that you really aren't growing? You say you’re a teenager, a hatchling... but the whole time, not a single millimeter. Why are you so small?"

  "I don't know," I grumbled. "Cycle quirks."

  "Someone's coming," Poverty suddenly interrupted.

  The demons bared their teeth instantly, but seeing ordinary villagers, they merely snorted in contempt and vanished into the thick foliage at the top of an oak.

  A group of local guys approached me. My age, or thereabouts. A big guy stepped forward—a typical village overgrowth with puffy eyes. He unceremoniously shoved me in the shoulder.

  "Hey, what are you doing here, beggar?" "Look at his rags," another laughed. "Where did you crawl out from, you weakling?"

  They began to surround me. An old rage pricked inside me, but there was no mana. There was only a body. I didn't wait. A sharp punch to the fat guy's nose, followed by an elbow to the one on the left.

  But I forgot that I was no longer protected by an aura.

  Someone swept my legs. I crashed down and immediately took a heavy blow to the face. ...It hurt.

  A hit to the cheek, right on the jaw, someone’s boot slammed into my back... I felt every blow, every tissue tear. New, forgotten sensations. The world became sharp and very cruel. They just started stomping me.

  I twisted away, sank my teeth into someone’s ankle—the guy wailed in terror and pain. With a sharp low blow, I got someone’s "family jewels," dodged another swing, and finally broke out of the circle.

  I scrambled into a stance. I picked up a heavy stone from the ground.

  The first one lunged at me with his fists. I met him head-on—the stone in my hand smashed right into his cheekbone. The guy fell, covered in blood. Someone grabbed me by the collar from behind and began methodically hitting me on the back of the head. My head spun; the world blurred. Barely oriented, I simply jabbed my fingers backward, hitting my opponent right in the eyes. He screamed and let go.

  I stood up, staggering. One of the boys, crazed with rage, drew a knife. "I'll gut you, freak!"

  He took a step... and froze.

  Directly behind his back, two figures materialized from the shadows. War and Poverty were no longer hiding. They just stood there, baring their non-human teeth and looking at the boys like a free buffet.

  This tale has been unlawfully lifted without the author's consent. Report any appearances on Amazon.

  The teenagers froze. A second later, they scattered with shrieks, abandoning their leader and the knife in the grass.

  I sank to the ground, exhausted. I looked "festive": blood was running from my nose, my lip was split, and bruises were blossoming across my face and arms. Pain pulsed in time with my heartbeat. I sat there, gritting my teeth to keep from whimpering.

  The demons sat opposite me and... laughed. "How pathetic you are, Zen!" War wiped away tears. "We thought you were going to die under that pile of kids."

  Poverty stepped closer. He took my hand and licked the blood from my broken finger. His eyes gleamed, and his hands trembled slightly. "Your blood..." he whispered, licking his lips. "It's so delicious. Nothing like a human's."

  The Demon of War sat down nearby too. She looked at my wounds with a gaze that suggested she was barely restraining herself from tearing my throat out right then and there. It became quite tense.

  I felt my strength finally leaving me. I curled up in a ball on the grass, burying my face in the crook of my elbow. "Get lost..." I muttered. And I slept.

  I woke up because the world was rhythmically swaying, and someone was arguing fiercely over my ear. It turned out I was lying across a saddle, and the Demon of War was giving the Demon of Poverty a masterclass in field medicine.

  "You idiot! Who bandages like that? You're going to cut off his circulation and his leg will just fall off!" the demoness hissed. "You're one to talk! I have three arms; I know better how to tie knots!" Poverty snapped back, frantically tightening a dirty rag on my arm.

  I cracked an eye open and groaned: "Mira... seriously. Why don't you just heal me? Why this circus with the bandages?"

  My sister, riding on the neighboring horse, turned and smiled warmly. She walked over and placed a cool palm on my forehead.

  Zink.

  The pain vanished instantly. The bruises dissolved, the wounds closed, and my jaw snapped back into place with a pleasant click.

  "I was just waiting for you to ask," she replied imperturbably.

  "WHAT?!" I sat up in the saddle, ripping the stupid bandages off. "So these two were practicing on me like a crash-test dummy for half an hour just because I stayed quiet?!"

  Mira ignored my outrage and pointed to the side of the horse. There, in leather sheaths, hung weapons. "I bought them in the village. A pair of daggers and a short sword. It’ll be enough for self-defense. While you're a 'human,' you need iron."

  She informed me that the City of Alchemists was two days' journey away. "By the way, Zenhald," Mira squinted. "Conjure some water." "What? You’re the one who forbade me from using mana!" "Conjure it. Just don't overexert yourself."

  I sighed and concentrated. It was surprisingly difficult. The mana resisted, flowing reluctantly like thick tar. After a minute, a small water sphere finally wavered and formed over my palm.

  "Listen, Mira..." I drank the water, feeling it barely quench my thirst. "Why is it so hard now? Before, I could pull an ocean out of the air without blinking."

  "Because you got too used to using 'cores'," she explained, looking at the road. "Your own human core was almost never used. You simply forgot how to walk on your own because you were always flying on jet engines. You'll have to learn again. From the very bottom."

  We rode the whole way. Well, the horses rode, and I conscientiously napped in the saddle. At the next rest stop, Mira pulled heavy tomes out of the bags and handed them to the demons.

  "What?" Poverty sniffed the cover suspiciously. "What do we need this scrap paper for?"

  Mira coolly explained that in the City of Alchemists, they would stand out far too much with their current faces. Therefore, they would stay here in the forest to wait for her. Along with me.

  "Mira, are you really trusting me with these two?" I asked, watching the Demon of War try to read a book upside down. My sister nodded silently. Her faith in my survival skills (or their sudden common sense) was truly boundless.

  The next morning, the jagged walls of the city appeared on the horizon. Mira left us at the edge of the forest, telling us not to show our faces and to wait for her return.

  To my surprise, the demons stayed quiet. They sat under a tree and actually started reading. Apparently, Mira's words about them being stripped for parts in the city had hit home.

  I got to work—trying to make friends with my "human core." I decided to fill a nearby pit with water. Slowly, drop by drop, I squeezed mana out of my system, turning it into liquid. It was exhausting. After an hour, a pathetic puddle had formed at the bottom of the pit.

  The demons looked up from their books and walked over to me. "How do you do that, Zenhald?" Poverty asked, eyeing the water. "You know, the magic?" "I don't know... it just happens," I said.

  I wanted to explain the theory of the elements to them... But as soon as I tried to delve into the theory, a sharp pain flashed in my head. The memory was there, but it seemed to require a massive amount of mana just to unlock. With my current strength, I could only see the "table of contents."

  "Well..." I barely squeezed it out. "Everyone has mana inside. A certain amount of it. And you can... turn it into something else." "And that's it?" War frowned. "Where are the details? How exactly do you turn it? Teach us!"

  I struck a "teacher" pose, though I felt like an idiot. "Look. You take the energy from right here—and push. Imagine it's water. And... shhh." A thin, weak stream of water flowed from my hands.

  The demons looked at my hands, then at me. Sincere disappointment was written in their eyes. "What do you mean—that's it? Where are the formulas? Where are the explanations?" Poverty protested. "I don't know!" I snapped. "Right now, it's as natural to me as breathing. I just do it. You don't think about how to contract your diaphragm when you inhale, do you?"

  We spent the rest of the day on a magical literacy lesson. I made those two monsters strain over their palms until sweat broke out on their foreheads. By the end of the evening, they finally managed to squeeze one tiny, murky drop of water out of reality.

  They were ecstatic. And me... I was drained. "I’m not cut out to be a teacher," I muttered, collapsing into the grass. "Too many words for such a tiny result."

  I fell asleep before the sun touched the horizon, listening to the demons behind my back joyfully arguing about whose drop was "wetter."