I was pinned to the wall.
Couldn't move.
The pressure didn't increase—it didn't need to. It held me there. Absolute. Unyielding.
So Greenly wasn't trying to kill me.
He was watching.
Waiting.
For me to break.
A quiet, disappointed sigh.
He stepped closer.
I couldn't see his face through the warped flow of his power—but I didn't need to.
I could hear it.
This wasn't what he expected.
"I thought the director found something rare," he said. "Fire element and all. But this…"
A pause.
"…this is just pathetic."
He reached straight through his own power like it didn't exist.
Cold metal snapped around my wrist.
"What are you—" My voice came out raw.
"We're done wasting time," he said, locking the last shackle around my ankle before letting his power dissipate. "Second stage."
The pressure vanished.
"Let me go!" I snapped, jerking hard against the restraints.
I reached for my power—
Nothing.
Empty.
"What the hell—?!"
"These restraints are designed for Specials," he said quietly, leaning in close to my ear. "We use them before executions."
A pause.
"If you want to live—release the demon."
He stepped back.
Spread his arms.
And his warped "glass" spilled out—
crawling across the walls—
the floor—
the ceiling—
until it swallowed the entire room.
"What are you doing?!" I barked, wrenching against the chains.
"Your demon power, Alan," he said calmly. "Now. Or you drown."
Cold.
It hit my back first.
Then movement.
Water.
It poured down the walls, fast, flooding the room.
Too fast.
My ankles vanished.
My calves—
"We'll both suffocate! Stop this!" I shouted, ripping my wrists raw against the metal.
"Release it."
Flat.
Unmoved.
I clenched my teeth.
Rage surged.
The fire answered—deep inside me, rising, spreading—
But I'd buried it too long.
Locked it down too deep.
It wouldn't come out.
"Damn it!" I snarled.
The water climbed higher.
Cold.
So cold it felt like my bones were splitting.
Inside—fire.
Burning.
Raging.
The clash tore through me.
I tilted my head back.
Water hit my lips.
"Stop—!" I choked.
Then my mouth—
my nose—
Only my eyes stayed above the surface—
Then—
nothing but the top of my head.
Hold—
Don't breathe—
Not like this—
Not again—
That moment—
When water fills your lungs—
When your body forces the breath—
When everything goes black—
No—
I thrashed.
One last time.
Nothing.
My strength collapsed.
Why—
Why like this—
And then—
dark.
I opened my eyes slowly.
Everything hurt.
My body was stiff, locked in place.
Still chained.
Clothes soaked.
Hair stuck to my face.
The room was empty.
The torches were out.
For a second—
I thought I was blind.
I reached for my power.
Nothing.
I focused inward.
Searching.
There.
A flame.
Small.
Faint.
But alive.
Burning somewhere near my core.
I tried to move it.
Guide it.
Force it—
Nothing.
It flickered.
Flared.
Dimmed—
but never went out.
And wouldn't move.
I don't know how many times I tried.
"Could've at least told me how to use it…" I rasped.
The door creaked open.
A thin blade of light cut through the dark.
A silhouette stepped in.
Slow.
She lit the torches one by one.
"You're awake?" the girl said—the same one who bet I wouldn't last three days. "Fast. Eight hours."
A pause.
"You cost me my bet. So don't expect mercy."
"Good," I muttered. "Then take these damn things off."
I yanked at the chains.
She laughed.
"You had your chance without them. You wasted it. From now on, you don't leave this room until you get out on your own."
"You've got to be kidding—"
"My element is earth," she said.
The concrete beneath me trembled.
"What now…" I muttered.
This wasn't training.
It was slaughter.
Water.
Earth.
Metal.
Ice.
Wood.
Every time I woke up—
someone else came in.
And broke me again.
Precise.
Methodical.
Relentless.
They didn't let me die.
Kept me right there—
on the edge.
Sometimes they brought food.
Water.
Just enough.
My wounds healed.
Slow.
Never fully.
That's when I understood—
even demons needed food.
Water.
Without it—
the body doesn't recover.
Doesn't restore strength.
My fire still wouldn't come out.
It burned inside me.
Slow.
Constant.
Like it was eating me alive.
I screamed.
Broke my own bones trying to get free.
Tore my skin open down to raw flesh.
Nothing worked.
I don't know how many days passed.
For the first time—
I understood it.
The urge to die.
Not fear it.
Want it.
Need it.
Crave the end.
"Morning, kid."
That voice—
I flinched.
The rabbit-faced one.
"Can I get someone else?" I rasped.
"You think you're funny, you useless little freak?" he snapped.
"Your face does more damage than the torture," I muttered.
"You mouthy piece of shit—" he stepped in and grabbed my chin hard.
I jerked away—
His grip tightened.
"Even like this…" he murmured, eyes dragging over my face. "Still pretty."
That smile—
Wrong.
Sick.
His teeth pushed forward under his lip.
"I like them like this," he said quietly. "Defiant."
He leaned closer.
Too close.
"Especially when they break."
"Go to hell," I spat.
He slammed his knee into the wall between my legs, pinning me in place.
"The director didn't set limits," he said slowly. "So today—I enjoy myself."
His knee pressed closer.
"Don't touch me," I hissed.
"Scared?" he chuckled. "Good. Makes it better."
He leaned in, almost face to face.
"Bastard!" I spat—
right into his face.
For a second—
he froze.
Then—
his fist slammed into my stomach.
Hard.
Air ripped out of my lungs.
"If you like it rough," he said, wiping his face, voice dropping lower, "I can do rough."
He grabbed my hair and yanked my head back.
"Look at me."
That face filled my vision.
"My name is Morgan," he said quietly.
A pause.
"Remember it."
His grip tightened.
"I like it when they say my name…"
Another pause.
"…when they're begging me to stop."