As an anti-hero, The Demon kept plenty of tabs on the Phantoms and what they were planning to do. It was why he sent out a tip to the Outlanders, he needed to distraction because he knew what was in the truck. He would do anything for his cause. Selfish, cruel and far from perfect was the reputation he built for himself. His hands traced the faint and faded black lines on his forearm that ran all the way up both arms. He tugged his sleeves back down. An experiment that had gone wrong and successfully failed. A false hybrid. He shuddered, the phantom feeling of chains on his neck. Never again would he be locked away but he was still being hunted so his fear didn't go away.

  This world was not made for someone like him. A monster of shadows, a creature driven by a hunger for flesh to keep the beast inside sated. Regret was a constant companion, though none of his actions could ever truly be undone.

  “You make mistakes, you don’t regret,” Oni, his demon hissed in his mind. a constant reminder of what he lost. The torture he endured. Every ounce of torture endured. His anger flared, and his claws slid out unbidden, sharp and dangerous.

  “Yessss ... give into your instincts, the rage,” Oni purred, a low, taunting voice that reverberated through his skull. He cast a wary glance at his shadow, the inky blackness that was Oni’s form. It didn’t move, but he could feel it waiting, coiled like a viper, ready for him to snap. Yet, he held back.

  Sometimes Oni whispered cruel truths; other times, he was an unbearable mockery, a bipolar specter feeding off his turmoil. But the path he walked was crumbling beneath him, and he knew it. He needed a new one. A better one. One that didn’t lead to ruin.

  “You think you can change?” Oni sneered.. “Look at the blood already staining your hands. Redemption is a fool’s dream.”

  He felt his Fate was not yet written and he could take the warning signs to change. There didn’t have to be just one path. There were no second chances for monsters like him but he didn’t agree, the show was his own making. He had a change of heart, he could be better.

  “It’s because you're guilty,” Oni muttered. He didn’t bother denying the accusation. The world was cruel but he was crueler. He would choose his own Fate. The darkness inside would not dictate his every step. His eyes flickered back to the scene before him and flinched when he watched Sora explode the damn truck.

  “Oh my god,” he muttered under his breath, and he began his descent toward the truck, pulling his hood up to stay concealed. The Illusion Rebel would strangle him if they ever found out what he was doing but he was willing to take the risk. Keeping to the shadows, he froze when he saw Sora start prying the truck open. He couldn’t let them take the vials. He clenched his jaw, conflicted. He didn’t want anyone to know he was here, but if it came down to it, he might have to risk exposure to steal the vials back. His reputation alone might be enough to cover him if things went south.

  His gaze flickered to his shadow that danced around; a timer for his power. Adjusting his demon mask, he began to move forward, pulling the shadows around him into a swirling mist. He crept closer, stopping just a few feet away as he saw her rummaging through the crates. Reaching into his pocket, he pulled out his last vial of thick, black liquid: substance Null. He was burning through them too quickly. Uncorking the vial, he poured the liquid onto his hand, watching as hints of silver and purple swirled within the darkness. Drawing the shadows closer, he let them merge with the substance until it hardened in his palm, shifting and morphing into a solid form. Its shape remained fluid, ready to change at his command.

  Draco had come to help her but got distracted when the leader of the Outlanders, Kashi, came to fight him. He moved forward on light feet and took his chance shaping the shadows into a whip. He managed to wrap it around Sora’s ankle and pulled her away from the truck and immediately gagged her so she couldn’t alert the others. She glared at him and the shadows that had bound her up. He just patted her head and moved to the unguarded truck. He let out some demon traits as his horns appeared and his tail snapping around, licking the ground as he moved to the crates.

  He supposed he could give the mayor props for trying to hide what they were trying to do. Trying to neutralize the threat. Neutralize hybrids. Somehow the Phantoms knew before anyone else but now, people would start to learn the truth. They were also unfortunately playing into the villains hands. Only so much could be done to try and stop a certain someone from getting their hands on the vials. Although it was probably already too late considering what happened to himself.

  He pushed aside the food, mostly fruits and canned goods, chosen for their longer shelf life and focused on what he was after. Pulling out a case, he clicked it open, only to find two vials inside. He frowned. There were usually more. Summoning his shadows, he let them slither through the crates, making the search faster and more efficient. One case per crate, it seemed. He wondered how the government produced this, maybe it was someone else who made the liquid.

  His shadows located another case, this one holding six vials. Perfect. Carefully, he retrieved them, slipping each one into a pouch that vanished into the void for safekeeping.

  He continued sifting through the crates to find more and get his worth, all while his shadow danced around. In the end, he had managed to secure five cases, with thirty total vials of bright neon blue liquid. The distant commotion outside hadn’t subsided but he could sense his time was almost up. It was time to leave.

  He heard a click and whirled around seeing Sora free of her bonds meaning….he looked to his shadow that was unmoving apparently, he had miscalculated. He looked at her, seeing a bomb in her hand, a pretty long string but it was lit.

  “Are you really gonna blow this truck up? You need the vials.” He spoke, his voice distorted from the mask. He needed them more and would do anything to keep them.

  “Exactly, give the vials up boy and I'll stop the bomb.” She said, smiling but the look in her eyes said otherwise. A look of insanity, one he knew all too well from his father. He took a step back.

  “I’d rather not. So move.” He said.

  Her smile morphed into a sneer and she charged him. He slammed into her, tumbling out into the road. He needed to leave now but Sora was not one to give up so easily. She shrieked and slammed her foot into his chin making him let go. She looked at him, then at the bomb that was very close to detonating and glanced at where Draco was with Kashi and someone else. She tossed it over before scrambling away. The Demon had no power to stop it as it exploded.

  He moved without thinking through the smoke and stopped short when he saw Kashi wasn’t dead. Good but he needed to leave. He pulled out a disk provided from the Illusion Rebel and threw it as far into the city as he could. He was no help here anymore and Kashi wouldn’t be too keen on seeing him. He made it back to the Outskirts of Amshire with little hindrance and saw hybrids of all ages running around. Laughter was a precious sound to hear and he was glad most hybrids were becoming comfortable again. They were forced out of the main city because of their eye color, the main thing that gave away hybrids. The violence still didn’t stop which is why they would protect them from raids.

  A few people waved at him as he passed, and he gave them a small nod, weaving his way through the grimy streets of the outskirts. It wasn’t much, but it was home. The houses here were a patchwork of old, abandoned crates—leftovers from supply shipments that once brought hope of rebuilding Amshire. Those shipments had long since stopped, leaving the community to fend for itself.

  The anti-heroes guarded this place, a rare beacon of protection in a harsh world. After all, no one deserved to be left cold and starving. The food, though, was another story. Most of it consisted of poorly grown vegetables and bitter plants, barely edible even on good days. They’d managed to create some kind of vaguely nutritious sludge out of it all, but just the memory of choking it down made him shudder. Hunting wasn’t easy either and with supplies being scarce, it made survival a constant struggle.

  He stopped at the base of a large tropical tree that twisted and warped, branching out. Thick, knotted roots erupted from the earth, spreading outward like the tendrils of some ancient creature. The branches arched high above, weaving together to form a natural canopy that filtered the light in shifting, dappled patterns. Vibrant green vines hung down, stung with glowing orange beads. The beads emitted a soft, warm glow, casting the surrounding area in an otherworldly light. It had been grown from the last mage many years ago; their last gift.

  This content has been misappropriated from Royal Road; report any instances of this story if found elsewhere.

  He looked at the few platforms situated in the tree; it also provided a home to the anti-heroes. A crow flew down to land on The Demons shoulder, cawing loudly. A clear signal his partner in crime was pissed. Oh boy. He teleported with the remaining power he had at the moment to their living space. He didn’t stick the landing, ending up on the ground instead and just laid there accepting his defeat. The familiar white and black rabbit mask appeared in his vision. It only covered the upper half of the Illusion Rebel’s face and amethyst color eyes studied him.

  “What were you thinking?” He said sharply.

  “I was low on supplies.” It was the truth and he thought he would have time to put away the evidence before his partner returned from patrolling. “Nothing else happened Trickster, it was simple.” He sat up and shoved Trickster away.

  “Erebus.” Trickster said.

  “Nicknames?” He questioned. They usually do it when they're trying to be serious and because they're anti-heroes. They were trying to stay in the mindset of who they played at night.

  “You started it.” Trickster pointed out moving away. “I’m worried about you galivanting, your laminating at night is already concerning.” Erebus watched the shorter pull of his cloak, hanging it up. “How many vials did you acquire?”

  “Thirty, which is the most I've ever gotten,” He said standing. “The Outlanders provided the perfect distraction.” He didn’t miss the way Trickster tensed up.

  “Tell me you stayed away from him.”

  “Yes.” Erebus said but the guilt didn’t leave. “I can’t avoid him forever, you know.” Although he had been trying to, he didn’t think he could ever face the consequences of his actions. “Terrible, selfish and cruel,” his demon mocked from the corner of the room. Perfect mirror of himself, just with black hair and red eyes instead of silver. Erebus ignored him.

  “We need to focus on our task and that is to figure out who is ordering the vials and stop them.” Trickster said. The crow flew into and landed on Trickster’s shoulder while he continued to lecture. Erebus realized it was Ace, the patron and healer for Trickster’s power. Magic. Real Mytherion. Anyone who has seen the Illusion Rebel in action assumed it was trickery or Phantom craft but he was one of the most powerful hybrids to exist. He was also now the last mage or at least that's what Trickster said. There had been a few but a phantom member got the jump, slaughtering them for their essence of Mytherion. It's why Erebus stayed, he kept Trickster safe.

  “And you're not even listening….once again.” Trickster said, shaking his head.

  Erebus shrugged. “I’m tired…..”

  Trickster sighed and finally took off his mask, placing it out the counter, shoulders slumping. He was so young and Erebrus couldn’t imagine what would happen if he hadn't saved him from the Hellhounds. Ace cawed flying to a perch while Trickster focused on making food or the nutritious sludge. Trickster wiped his black hair out of his eyes before growling and tying his front bangs up. It looked like he had a sprout on his head. Erebus chuckled.

  “Shut, I hate our genetics.” Trickster muttered. “Don’t you have shit to do?”

  “Yep.” Erebus said moving past. “You’ll get used to the way our hair grows fast.” He made his way to his room, setting the bag down on a long table. He’d made his own makeshift alchemy set, ranging from herbs to oils and his favorite, potion making. He took a seat, pulling out the vials making sure none of them broke before setting them in test tube racks. He’d learned from a young age how to make potions if he did good enough on his testing, a reward for being the perfect subject. He pulled out a rack of other vials he made for the sake of creating substance Null.

  He’d made a copy of a file when he broke into the Phantom's lair when he realized he couldn’t keep his power up. He was created to be dependent on a higher up and serve them as a perfect weapon. The ingredients had been difficult to make and find but somehow he figured it out.

  The formula detailed in the file had been nearly impossible to decipher. The ingredients were rare, the process convoluted, but through trial and error, he’d pieced it together. Somehow, he’d figured out how to replicate what had been used to create his power.

  Pulling out his guide, he recalculated the adjusted volumes, scribbling down notes with quick precision. After setting a large beaker on a metal frame over an open flame, he began carefully assembling the base. He poured in half a red potion, then the newly acquired blue vials, followed by a full purple potion. The final addition made his hand pause; a black vial containing his own blood. He tipped it in, watching the dark liquid swirl ominously before he began to stir.

  As the mixture heated, its surface began to ripple, a sure sign it was nearing a boil. He turned to his shelves, grabbing a granite mortar and pestle. Selecting a jagged shard of obsidian, he broke it apart and ground it into a fine, inky dust. Once ready, he added the dust to a second beaker and poured in the final ingredient: acid seeds harvested from a rare plant that only Trickster had managed to grow. The seeds hissed and fizzed as they dissolved into the liquid, releasing faint trails of vapor that curled upward like ghostly fingers.

  Bit by bit, he began combining the two mixtures. The liquid from the first beaker hissed angrily as it touched the second, bubbling violently before finally calming. Even though he had followed the steps meticulously, the unsettling reaction always made him pause. It looked right. The liquid, now stabilized, shimmered faintly with silver wisps swirling through its depths. Now, all that remained was to wait. The liquid needed time to thicken and settle.

  He remembered being forced to drink the vials until his power had become stronger to kill. He shook his head of the memories and set up another tube rack with empty vials. A clawed hand grabbed his throat from behind causing him to freeze.

  “Oni, what the fuck are you doing?” He grit out.

  The other claws stroked the side of his fast. “Oh hush, I just came by to say hi. Can I not come out from your shadow?” He snipped.

  He knew his demon wanted something, he never came without a reason or it was just to taunt him. “I’m hungry.” He hissed.

  “We can go hunting if you-” His demon disappeared and he shook his head, always confused by his demon's antics. His demon had been created by his father, a way to still be tormented. When he had been younger and stuck in his cell all the time, Oni was the only one who kept him sane. He supposed it was because he considered his friend as he had been constantly isolated. Until he was old enough to transform into the “true demon” his father wanted. There were plenty of time he was stuck in his mind while Oni did whatever for days, sometimes months till he got his body back.

  But then there came the time he began to resent his demon who seemed to constantly mock his actions and his past, especially once he escaped from the lab. Oni was just a reminder of what he had to endure. As much as Oni enjoyed pissing him off but there were some rare moments he could be….kind. He at least helped with the hallucinations.

  He turned his attention back to the beaker, carefully pouring the finished solution into each waiting tube. When he was done, he had forty-five filled tubes. Satisfied, he grabbed one and slipped it into his pouch.

  Just as he was about to leave his room, his vision glitched—a sudden flash of purple that made him stumble. Shadows surged around him, curling at the edges of his sight as faint whispers echoed in his mind. He froze, heart pounding, as a vivid image of his father materialized before him, sharp and undeniable. Then, as quickly as it came, the vision dissolved, leaving him standing there, breathless and shaken.

  He blinked rapidly, forcing the lingering haze from his mind, and gave his head a quick shake. It’s fine. I’m fine, he told himself, though the weight of the moment clung to him.

  Exiting his room, he found Trickster lounging on the couch, casually munching on a granola bar. They glanced up, eyebrows raised in curiosity.

  “Where are you going?’ He asked.

  “Hunting.”

  “Be safe.”

  “No promises.”

  He stood on the platform, gazing out over the small, dimly lit town. In the distance, the bright, sterile glow of Amshire pierced the night like a beacon. Reaching into his pouch, he poured the liquid onto his shadow, which eagerly absorbed it, rippling as his power roared to life. He felt the familiar hum in his chest.

  Without hesitation, he teleported to the edge of the woods. As soon as he arrived, his demon materialized in front of him, its form twisting out of the darkness. Shadows coiled around its hands, and its glowing red eyes locked onto his. For a brief, tense moment, the two stared at each other before Oni broke away, dashing off into the trees.

  He exhaled sharply, pulling the shadows toward himself. They surged around his body, encasing him in their cold, familiar embrace. He shadow-traveled to a familiar room on an impulse decision.

  The shadows cleared his vision and was greeted with a dark room which his eyes adjusted easily. He froze when his eyes landed on Kashi and cautiously approached the bed and crouched. The blanket moved and The Voidling he rescued stared at him with beady black eyes. “Brrr?”

  “Oh, hello,” The Demon whispered, his voice low and sly. “I see you’re still taking care of him for me.”

  The Voidling nodded, a flicker of pride lighting up in his expression. He leaned into The Demon’s hand as he scratched under its chin, a soft purr rumbling in response. Definitely cat-like.

  He hadn’t seen Kashi up close for awhile now, always keeping distance between them but the guilt only got worse. He didn’t look too injured though considering how close the explosion had been. The years and the weight of leadership seemed to take their toll, because Kashi looked older than he really was. The city seemed to do that with every hybrid but he knew that Kashi was also pissing Fate off. He had a feeling the prophecy was untouched still and he left Kashi to deal with it on his own. He was a shit partner.

  He resisted stoking Kashi’s hair and took a step away. He shouldn’t be here. The Voidling chirped at him sensing his heartache. He shook his head moving farther away from the bed. “I can’t.” He did not deserve to be standing in the base. He was a monster. He chose his path and it hurt just a bit more. He glanced at The Voidling. “Keep him safe, will you?” The shadows snapped out and he vanished.