Every day was pain.
Not metaphorical. Not emotional.
Real pain.
Raw skin tearing beneath old wraps. Muscles so tight they buzzed with static. A constant throb in my joints that let me know I was still alive—though sometimes, I wished I wasn't.
I trained like a soldier in a forgotten war. Ate like a starving dog. Slept for four hours and woke up with my body still screaming.
Damien Ryker made no apologies.
He only made monsters.
The gym's walls bled history. The heavy bags still carried the scent of those who'd sweated their dreams into them. The floor was scarred with decades of effort—some of it mine now.
It was August 11th.
Two and a half weeks since I signed that waiver.
I'd gained nearly five kilograms of lean mass. My footwork had sharpened. My core tightened. My shoulders thickened.
But it was more than that.
My mind was sharper.
I didn't flinch anymore.
Didn't hesitate.
Didn't care.
"Again."
Ryker's voice was a low bark as I hammered the pads.
Left hook. Right cross. Elbow to the target.
My body moved like a storm caught in rhythm.
"Again."
Left. Left. Right. Knee.
"Again."
Each strike echoed like thunder in the hollow gym. Sweat stung my eyes. My breath was harsh and controlled. I didn't grunt. I didn't scream. I just hit harder.
"You breathe like a killer now," Ryker muttered.
I didn't answer. I didn't need to.
That night, I skipped dinner. My stomach was too twisted from fatigue.
At home, Cale was playing a rhythm game on his phone in the living room.
When he saw me, he sat up. "You look like you just got out of a war zone."
"I did," I said, tossing my soaked hoodie onto the floor.
"You stink."
"War zones don't have showers."
He grinned. Then his expression shifted, more hesitant.
"You okay, Kai?"
I blinked.
That name. I hadn't heard it in years.
Not since I'd died.
Kai. That was me.
Kai Mercer.
Something twisted in my chest.
"Yeah," I said. "I'm okay."
Lie.
I wasn't.
I was a ghost in my own body. A corpse on a borrowed timeline. I hadn't told Cale I loved him. I hadn't told him I missed him. I hadn't told him what he would become if I failed.
Instead, I nodded and walked to the shower.
Steam and scalding water became my only comfort.
The next morning, I woke before sunrise.
Ryker had left a note taped to the gym door.
"Rest day. You're gonna need it. Go test yourself."– R
It wasn't a suggestion.
I took a walk down to the riverfront district—the place where lowlifes roamed like hungry wolves. The place where police sirens were ignored and broken bottles lined alley gutters like breadcrumbs.
There, in an overgrown parking lot behind an abandoned factory, I found them.
Three of them.
Older teens. Tattoos. Vapes. Cigarette burns on their sleeves. The kind of kids who beat up freshmen for "fun."
They had a girl cornered.
Fifteen, maybe sixteen. Backpack clutched to her chest. Breathing heavy. Eyes wet.
"Don't scream," one of them said, stepping forward.
She looked at me.
So did they.
"Walk away, kid," one of the punks growled.
I stepped forward.
He scoffed. "You stupid?"
I said nothing.
My silence spoke for me.
He moved first. Sloppy. Overconfident.
I ducked his swing and buried a straight jab into his gut. Air rushed out of him like a deflated balloon. He dropped, coughing.
The second one didn't wait.
He rushed me with a rusted crowbar.
I stepped into him—close enough to remove leverage—and drove my elbow into his jaw. Bone cracked.
He stumbled back, dazed.
I kicked out his knee.
He screamed.
The third hesitated.
Good.
I wanted him to.
I wanted him to think he had a chance.
He rushed me. I pivoted. His punch grazed my cheek—but I grabbed his wrist, twisted, and slammed my forehead into his nose. Blood exploded from his face as he collapsed.
I stood there, breathing hard.
Three bodies writhing in pain around me.
My fists were swollen. My knuckles bled through the tape. But I was calm. I was clear.
Not proud.
Not angry.
Ready.
The girl backed up. Scared of me now.
I didn't blame her.
I wasn't a hero.
I wasn't saving her.
I just needed to know.
To know that I could destroy people again. That all of this—the pain, the training, the fury—it meant something.
She whispered a thank you and ran.
I let her.
Later that night, Ryker stood over me as I iced my wrists.
He grunted. "Did you win?"
"Yes."
"Did you feel it?"
"Feel what?"
"That switch in your brain. The one that says, 'I belong in the dark now.'"
I looked up at him.
"I never left it."
That night, Cale burst into my room holding a box of instant noodles.
"Kai! Dad says we can use the stove again. You want some?"
There it was again.
My name.
Kai.
Kai Mercer.
Once a forgotten dropout.
Now a ghost sharpening himself into a blade.
I looked at my brother.
The one they took from me once before.
This time, I would become the monster in the dark.
The one who hunted them.