Surviving in the Demon's Academy as a Human

Aiden sat on the edge of his bed, staring at the cold, dimly lit room that served as his temporary prison. What am I supposed to do? he thought, his head in his hands. The weight of despair was suffocating.

Everything felt hopeless. How could one insignificant teenager, ripped from his world and thrown into a realm of horrors, ever hope to become someone powerful—someone capable of standing up to demons like Lilith? It was laughable. He let out a bitter chuckle, one that quickly turned into a sigh.

He thought back to the stories he had read in the books. Heroes blessed by divine power, wielding strength and wisdom that could shape worlds. They were larger-than-life figures, legends meant to inspire. But the gap between those heroes and him felt infinite. Aiden had no secret strength, no guiding prophecy. All he had were questions, fears, and the nagging feeling that he was utterly out of place.

He clenched his fists. I'm a pawn. That's all I am. The thought ate away at him, making his chest tighten with frustration and despair.

Then, as if sensing the depth of his hopelessness, the whispers began.

At first, they were faint, almost indistinguishable from the creaks of the mansion's wooden beams or the distant hum of the wind. But they carried a strange cadence, an almost rhythmic quality that made Aiden's skin crawl. He froze, straining to listen.

"You don't belong here…"

His heart skipped a beat. He looked around the room, his pulse quickening. "Who's there?" he asked, his voice shaking.

There was no answer, just silence. He shook his head, rubbing his eyes. "I'm losing it," he muttered. "This place is messing with my head."

But the whispers returned, a little louder this time.

"You're weak. She'll never see you as an equal."

Aiden's breath hitched. The words felt like needles, piercing the insecurities he tried to bury. He stood up, pacing the room. "No. It's not real. It's just stress," he told himself, trying to sound convincing. But deep down, the words were cutting into him, tearing apart his already fragile sense of self.

The whispers grew louder, more insistent.

"There is power waiting for you… if you dare to take it."

His steps faltered. Power? The word lingered in his mind, tantalizing and terrifying all at once. He clenched his fists, shaking his head. "No. I'm not listening to this," he said firmly. But the whispers didn't stop.

They tugged at his thoughts, his doubts, his fears. They painted vivid images in his mind—of him standing tall, wielding unimaginable strength, looking down on those who once made him feel small. They whispered of freedom, of purpose, of becoming more than just a helpless pawn.

Aiden pressed his hands to his ears, trying to block out the sound. "Stop it!" he shouted. But the whispers weren't coming from the room—they were inside his mind.

The longer he resisted, the more persistent they became. They echoed through his thoughts, filling the silence of the night with their seductive promises. Aiden felt like he was being pulled in two directions. One part of him screamed to ignore the voices, to cling to what little humanity he had left. The other part—the desperate, broken part—wanted to listen.

He collapsed onto the bed, his body trembling. The whispers faded slightly, but they didn't disappear. They lingered at the edges of his consciousness, waiting.

As the hours dragged on, Aiden couldn't shake the feeling that something was watching him, waiting for him to make a choice. The mansion felt colder, darker, as if the very air was charged with anticipation. He closed his eyes, trying to block it all out.

But even in the darkness behind his eyelids, the whispers remained.

"Take it. It's yours. All you have to do is reach out…"

For the first time since arriving in this hellish realm, Aiden felt truly alone.

The night had been long and restless, Aiden tossing and turning as the whispers bombarded his mind. They crept in from every corner of his consciousness, relentless and inescapable. When he finally drifted into a shallow sleep, it was haunted by fragmented voices and indistinct visions. By the time morning came, he felt as though he had barely rested at all. His limbs were heavy, his eyelids drooping, and a dull ache throbbed in his head.

Dragging himself out of bed, Aiden stumbled through his morning routine, fueled only by the quiet hope that the whispers wouldn't return during the day. He made his way through the mansion's labyrinthine hallways, his steps slow and unsteady. The grandeur of the surroundings—intricately carved stone walls, glowing chandeliers, and ornate furnishings—felt like a mockery of his current state.

At breakfast, the chefs once again presented him with an extravagant feast, a meal fit for royalty. The flavors were divine, almost too rich for his palate, but Aiden ate mechanically, barely tasting the food. The mansion's eerie silence during the day was a small comfort. For a moment, he convinced himself that the voices had been a figment of his imagination, a product of stress and fear.

After finishing the meal, he headed to the library, his daily sanctuary. He buried himself in books, trying to distract his restless mind with stories of heroes, ancient conflicts, and the history of Hell. But as the hours passed, the whispers returned.

This time, they were louder.

"Aiden…"

He froze, the book slipping from his hands and landing on the table with a thud. His heart pounded in his chest as the sound seemed to reverberate in the air around him. He looked around the library, but there was no one else there.

"Come to me…"

The voice was clearer now, its tone almost melodic, yet it sent chills down his spine. He shook his head, trying to dismiss it. "It's not real," he whispered to himself. "I'm just hearing things."

But the whispers persisted, growing louder and more insistent. They weren't random murmurs anymore; they were deliberate, purposeful.

"You've heard me before. You cannot ignore me forever."

Aiden clenched his fists, his pulse racing. He tried to focus on the books, on anything that would drown out the whispers, but it was no use. The voice burrowed into his thoughts, threading through his fears and doubts like a needle.

"You are lost. Weak. But there is strength waiting for you… if you are willing to seek it."

He slammed the book shut and stood up, pacing the library. "This isn't real. This has nothing to do with me," he muttered, his voice trembling. But deep down, a part of him was curious. Where was this voice coming from? And why did it feel so… familiar?

He told himself he would find the source of the voice, not because he believed in it, but to prove to himself that it was nothing—just an echo in the vast emptiness of the mansion. That was all. Nothing more.

Following the whispers, he left the library, his footsteps echoing in the grand hallways. The mansion's design seemed to twist and stretch as he moved, the shadows growing longer and darker. The whispers guided him, growing louder with each step, until he found himself standing outside.

The cold air bit at his skin as he looked up at the building before him: a chapel, its towering spires piercing the ashen sky. The whispers were louder now, almost deafening, and he felt an inexplicable pull toward the chapel doors.

"This place is supposed to be off-limits," Aiden muttered. He hesitated, his hand hovering over the door's ornate handle. If Lilith found out he had been here…

But the voice inside his head changed.

"Aiden…"

His breath caught in his throat. It wasn't the same whisper. It was his mother's voice.

"Aiden, please… come inside."

His body moved before his mind could process what was happening. His hand reached for the door, but he stopped himself at the last moment. "No," he said aloud, shaking his head. "This isn't real. My mother isn't here. This is just some trick."

But how could a demon mimic her voice so perfectly? He gritted his teeth, his mind racing. Every instinct told him to walk away, to turn back and forget this ever happened. But his curiosity burned brighter than his fear.

He cracked the door open, just enough to peek inside. The chapel was dark, its vast interior shrouded in shadows. The whispers were no longer there, it was quiet and it proved to Aiden that all of the things he have heard was merely a figment of his imagination. Aiden was now able to calm down and thought that it was kind of anti-climactic.

And that is until what happened next... nothing happened.

The day passed, and Aiden returned to the mansion, shaken but unharmed. The whispers didn't return that night, and he found himself able to sleep for the first time in days.

But the next morning, they were back.

Every day, he visited the chapel. Every day, he convinced himself that it was just a precaution, that he was only checking to see if the whispers would stop. And every day, they did.

With each visit, his confidence grew. The chapel was harmless, he told himself. Just an empty building.

But the more he visited, the more he felt the pull. The air in the chapel seemed to hum with life, an invisible presence pressing against his skin. And the whispers began to change. They weren't fragmented anymore. They became a singular voice—enticing, commanding, and disturbingly familiar.

One day, against his better judgment, Aiden stepped fully inside. The moment he did, the door slammed shut behind him, and the air grew thick with an almost suffocating energy.

The whispers coalesced into a single word: "Welcome."

Aiden stepped inside the chapel, the heavy wooden doors groaning shut behind him. The moment he crossed the threshold, the air seemed to shift. It felt alive, charged with an eerie energy that prickled against his skin. Dim light filtered through narrow, blood-red stained glass windows, casting unsettling patterns on the stone floor. The chapel, while majestic in its architecture, exuded a malevolent aura that made the hairs on the back of Aiden's neck stand on end.

The intricate designs of the walls and ceilings rivaled even the grandest cathedrals Aiden had seen in books. Gothic arches stretched skyward, adorned with carvings of serpentine figures coiling into impossible shapes. But the beauty ended there. What stood out most were the horrifying statues and grotesque murals that dominated the space.

Aiden tried not to linger too long on any one piece, but the sheer number of depictions overwhelmed him. The artwork seemed to celebrate chaos and destruction, portraying demons as unstoppable forces of nature, towering over piles of bodies and burning cities. Each image seemed to mock the feebleness of mortal races, their expressions frozen in terror or despair.

In the center of the room, a massive altar loomed. Black as obsidian and engraved with glowing red runes, it radiated an oppressive energy. Around the altar were strange symbols—circles within circles, interconnected by lines that pulsed faintly like a heartbeat. Despite his fear, Aiden couldn't help but feel a pull toward the altar, as though it were calling to him.

He tried to shake off the unease as he walked deeper into the chapel. He told himself he was only exploring, that he could leave anytime he wanted. But the deeper he went, the more he noticed something strange. Some of the objects and symbols seemed to resonate with him. A particular rune engraved on the wall caught his eye—it was simple, a circle surrounded by jagged lines—but looking at it made his chest tighten. He felt a strange connection to it, as though it were meant for him.

"What is this place…?" he muttered under his breath. His voice sounded hollow in the cavernous space.

As if in response, a faint glow emanated from the altar. A single rune appeared on its surface, glowing faintly like a dying ember. Aiden hesitated, his instincts screaming at him to leave, but his curiosity—and the whispers that had led him here—urged him to stay.

The whispers coalesced into a single voice, low and seductive, resonating in his mind rather than his ears.

"Do not fear. Touch it, and you will understand."

Aiden clenched his fists, his heart pounding in his chest. "This is insane. I don't even know what this is." But even as he said the words, his feet carried him closer to the altar.

"It's just a touch," he rationalized. "I need something to protect myself. It's not like I'm becoming one of them."

His hand hovered over the glowing rune, his fingers trembling. The air around him seemed to thrum with anticipation, like the chapel itself was waiting to see what he would do. With a deep breath, he pressed his fingers against the rune.

The moment he made contact, a surge of energy shot through his body. It wasn't painful, but it was overwhelming. His vision blurred as he felt an immense clarity flood his mind, like a thousand thoughts clicking into place all at once. Strength coursed through his limbs, making him feel invincible, as though nothing in the world could harm him. For a fleeting moment, he felt powerful—more powerful than he'd ever imagined possible.

But just as quickly as it came, the sensation vanished, leaving him gasping for air. He stumbled back from the altar, his legs weak, and fell to his knees. His body felt heavier than before, as though the strength he'd felt had been ripped away, leaving him hollow.

The voice returned, softer this time, almost gentle.

"This is only the beginning. Come back when you are ready for more."

Aiden stared at the glowing rune, which had dimmed once more. His mind was a whirlwind of emotions—fear, confusion, and a dangerous glimmer of hope. He knew he shouldn't come back. He knew this was dangerous, that whatever power this place offered came at a price. But a part of him—the part that felt powerless and desperate—was already craving that feeling again.

He staggered to his feet and made his way out of the chapel, the voice's final words echoing in his mind. "Come back… when you are ready."

As he stepped back into the mansion's hallways, Aiden tried to convince himself that he wouldn't return.