Night fell quietly over the dense forest. Not far from the village, about a hundred meters away, stood a lone house. It was there, in this secluded place, that a fifteen-year-old boy named Michael lived. At first glance, it was just another peaceful night. But inside the house, something was wrong.
Michael lay in bed, covered in sweat. His face was tense, twisted in fear, as if he were trapped in a nightmare. Suddenly, he jolted awake, gasping for breath.
"Huff… Huff… That nightmare again," he muttered, trying to calm his racing heart. "Why do I keep having the same dream every night? When will it finally stop?"
He sat for a moment in silence. Across the room, a mirror hung beside his wardrobe. As soon as he finished speaking, he glanced at it—and froze. The reflection no longer looked like him. It was calm. Cold. Sinister. The face staring back at him wore no fear. Its eyes glowed bright red, filled with a strange, cruel intensity. It looked less like a reflection and more like someone else entirely… someone inhuman.
Startled, Michael turned toward the mirror. But now, it only showed his usual reflection, mimicking his every move like normal.
"Was it just my imagination?" he asked under his breath.
No sooner had the words left his mouth than he felt it again—a presence. A gaze, sharp and heavy, full of malice and madness. A shiver ran down his spine.
Then, laughter. Low, dark, and echoing through the room.
"Who are you!? Where are you hiding?!" Michael shouted, standing up.
The laughter continued, louder this time.
"You're such a weakling," the voice taunted.
"What do you mean?" Michael asked, searching the room. But no answer came.
"Answer me, please!"
The voice fell silent.
For a while, everything was still. Michael hesitated, then slowly lay back down, closing his eyes and trying to push the fear away. He hoped, somehow, that sleep would come and the nightmare wouldn't return.
Meanwhile...
In one corner of Michael's inner world, darkness stretched endlessly in every direction. Amid the void stood a figure—identical in appearance to Michael, yet unmistakably different. This was Demon Michael, a manifestation of all that was twisted and dark within him.
He stood before a damaged book lying on the ground. Its pages were torn out and scattered. His eyes narrowed in frustration.
"What a problem..." he growled. "That clever little mage made sure I couldn't take control. He deliberately ripped out all the pages, drawing power from me while keeping me trapped."
Demon Michael paced slowly, voice rising with bitter amusement.
"He wants him to fulfill those dreams, not me!"
Then, suddenly, he froze, a grin curling across his face.
"But no... that won't do."
His eyes flared with manic light as he laughed.
"I'll find every last page. I'll break the chains. And when I do... I'll seize his body forever—and complete everything in his name. All for that weakling!"