The first step was only to see how it worked—to understand if he could will it out of his body at all.
And now, he had his answer.
The demonic energy no longer stayed locked within. It responded, came out as a cool, ghostly mist. But that was only half the goal. The real test—the next phase—was control.
He needed to move the energy out of his body like a liquid, not just as vapor. Not some hazy mist, but something solid, deliberate, and shaped by his will.
Alex narrowed his eyes, focused on his hand. The mist began to form again—blackish-white, curling lazily in the air. He clenched his fist and whispered to himself.
"Not mist. Liquid. Flow."
He visualized it. Energy like molten metal, pouring out in a stream. It wasn't just about power now—it was about finesse.
But nothing happened.
The mist remained... mist. It hovered, danced, then faded into the breeze.
Alex sighed and sat back down, frustrated.
"No shortcuts. One step at a time," he muttered, rolling his wrist and flexing his fingers. "The damn demon energy just worked a second ago… Now it's acting like a shy cat."
He didn't give up. He closed his eyes again, breathing slowly.
This wasn't just training. It was a ritual. A conversation between body, mind, and whatever strange force now lived inside him.
The foundation had been laid.
Now he had to shape it.
Days passed.
Alex returned to the same tree in the park, again and again. It had become his unofficial training ground—a sanctuary tucked away in plain sight.
Every morning, after a brief workout and a cold shower, he'd walk down the street with his devil cane, ignoring the wary glances from neighbors. He'd find his spot beneath the familiar tree, sit cross-legged, and close his eyes.
There, surrounded by the chirping of birds and distant barking dogs, he focused.
Each session began the same: drawing the demonic energy from the core within him—the eerie, pulsing orb near his heart. The blackish-white mist would curl from his fingers in tendrils, ghostly and cold.
But his real task was to shape it.
"Liquid," he whispered each time, narrowing his focus. "Flow."
At first, it refused.
The mist danced and dispersed, slippery and defiant.
But he didn't stop.
Day by day, the mist began to thicken. Its motion became slower, more cohesive, less like fog and more like oil gliding along invisible paths.
By the end of the week, he could produce a tendril of energy that held its shape for several seconds before dissipating.
On the ninth day, something changed.
Alex opened his palm, eyes narrowed. He willed the energy out—not as mist, but as liquid.
It answered.
A thick ribbon of ghostly, blackened energy emerged and dripped like ink into the air, hovering as if obeying gravity, but also fighting it. It pulsed, not unlike a heartbeat, tethered to his core.
Alex smiled for the first time in days.
"It's working."
The mist was evolving—becoming substance. Not just a sign of energy, but a form of it. A weapon in the making. His mastery was slow... but it was real.
Alex dispersed the energy with a slow breath, the ghostly tendrils fading into the warm air. He leaned back against the tree, sweat clinging to his brow, and glanced at the translucent screen only visible to him.
[ Evolution Progress: 46% ]
He exhaled slowly.
It had taken weeks of grinding effort—devouring every line of the Devil Book, meditating until his legs went numb, and relentlessly pushing himself to master the unstable demonic energy. Bit by bit, it had paid off.
"Almost halfway there," he muttered, his voice quiet beneath the rustling leaves.
The growth was slow, but it was steady. His body had adapted, inch by inch, becoming more compatible with the chaotic force that once threatened to tear him apart. And now, he was beginning to bend it—however slightly—to his will.
He looked down at his hand, still faintly tinged by the residue of energy. It felt more natural now. Less like something foreign invading his veins… more like something that belonged.
Alex closed his eyes and let his head rest against the tree.
Just a little more.
He could feel it—his evolution wasn't just a possibility anymore.
It was inevitable.
Days turned to weeks, and Alex's routine became ironclad.
Every morning, he returned to the same shaded tree in the park. While others jogged, played with pets, or lay in the sun, Alex sat cross-legged with eyes half-closed, hands rested on his knees, and ghostly mist swirling from his palms like smoke from a dying fire.
Each time, he pushed the black-and-white energy further—shaping it, molding it from a drifting mist into a syrupy, liquid form. It resisted him often. Slipped through his willpower like oil. But little by little, he learned to control it. To command it.
In the quiet hours of the night, he dove back into V's Devil Book. His reading progress was improving steadily as the cursed tome continued to respond more willingly each day. Now, it sat at 11%, and with that progress, he managed to unlock another skill—one he'd glimpsed in the madness of V's mind while reading: Shadow Shift.
It was the same teleportation spell from Devil May Cry V, where V would vanish and reappear next to his enemies, striking with his cane. For Alex, the skill allowed him to instantly teleport within a 100-meter radius in any direction. A powerful ability—his reward for pushing the book to 10% not long ago.
His body had changed too. It grew stronger, denser. His skin, once pale and fragile, now held a strange resilience. He didn't bruise easily anymore. He didn't tire quickly. For once, he felt… not powerful, but at least becoming a normal human again.
And then, one late evening, after another exhausting session of shaping his demonic energy into a sustained ribbon of thick, floating liquid, the familiar screen appeared before his eyes:
[ Evolution Progress: 50% ]
[ Proto-Demon — Half-Human / Half-Demon evolution is now possible ]
[ Will Host evolve? ]
A faint chime echoed in his mind as the screen shimmered in front of his vision.
"Huh… you're giving me a choice?" Alex muttered, eyes narrowing as he stared at the message.
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