There are a few things in this world that Havon would admit bring him joy. Fortunately for those around him, a good portion of those things aren't exactly legal.

However, despite the... societal restraints, he has dedicated himself to mastering these dark arts.

For instance, the fencing he was currently doing.

He couldn't very well go around swinging a sabre and stabbing people -despite the constant temptations from everyday encounters- so doing it as a 'sport' would have to do.... for now.

"You've got me beat," an old man sighed as he removed his fencing mask, his face completely drenched in sweat. "You've gotten even better... as crazy as that sounds."

"Thank you," a young man replied, before removing his fencing mask as well, revealing an intoxicatingly beautiful face that left even the old man staring for a moment too long. However, in deep contrast to that angelic face, was a sardonic expression, that seemed to shout 'stop drooling over me you pig.'

"Are you sure you aren't coming for today's tournament? It'd be an easy win for you," the old man asked enthusiastically.

Havon was his best student... a prodigy, if he could get him to join the competition, the dojo would receive a large influx of new students. An obvious ploy that Havon was well aware of.

"I have... other things to do today. And it- I mean... 𝘵𝘩𝘦𝘺 can't wait, " Havon replied, a glassy look in his eyes as he stared at the shadows that the sun painted on the floor.

"Th-That's a shame.... but perhaps you might reconsider. So I've signed you up as backup for Dimitri. If you come I'm sure he'll be more than willing to give up his spot," the old man replied with an awkward laugh, his eyes darting back and forth from Havon to wherever he was looking.

You see, Havon's strange tendencies were not a secret. It was known to all that he had a sort of... macabre aura to him. The sort of child you wouldn't be surprised to find cutting up birds for sport... 𝘺𝘦𝘴... that sort of child.

But one couldn't argue, he was perfection. In everything he did, he always seemed to put in inhuman amounts of dedication... in fact, sometimes one would be forced to question just how human he really was.

Nonetheless, his oddity remained in the realm of speculation. On the outside, he was a model citizen, and despite his sardonic expression, he always treated those around him with kindness.

"I'll let you know if I'm available," Havon replied, already moving to pack away all his belongings. As he stuffed his equipment into his duffle bag, the corner of a tarnished obsidian book poked from underneath it all.

"Though I doubt that even you will have the time for that," he whispered to himself, before pushing the book back underneath the equipment and leaving the dojo.

*

Havon's house was a ten-minute walk away, nestled in one of the district's less luxurious corners. With every step toward his dwellings the surroundings slowly deteriorated; the tranquil hush was slowly drowned by the moans and mumbles of the homeless, the neat and tidy houses were replaced by long forsaken structures, and the fresh air became plagued with the stench of piss.

Once he reached his house, he quickly checked if the tape he had attached to the bottom corner of the door had been breached. Before sliding his keys into the lock and rushing into the house.

"Again?" Havon whispered to himself as he took in the scene that lay in front of him; shattered dishes, cutlery sprawled all about, and water overflowing from the sink onto the kitchen floor.

You see, his home situation wasn't exactly the most conducive for a growing young man. However, it had gotten better over the past few years. After he had had his first 'awakening' and became aware of the world hidden behind the veils of our reality he quickly fixed his living situations.

But how had he done it?

"Gregory, if you want your medicine you best come clean up your mess. I've already warned you about this," he shouted towards the deeper areas of the house.

"Though I suppose keeping a tidy home won't matter after I'm done with everything," he whispered to himself, before walking down the corridor, towards his room.

However, to his surprise, he found his room cracked wide open, the hinges of his door ripped from their frame.

"Fucking drug addicts," he scorned under his breath, as he eyed an older man sitting at his workstation using his computer.

"It seems you don't want any more of this," Havon said, pulling out a bag with a brownish powder from his pockets. However, the man on his computer did not move.

Havon set his duffle bag on his bed, before moving to see what exactly the man was doing. 

He was currently fixated on an internet tab with Havon's Webnovel income statistics. It showed $3000 the last month, the sustenance that kept this household barely breathing.

"Gregory," Havon shouted, before shutting the computer and tossing the bag of brown powder in front of Gregory.

"S-Son, you're back. I hadn't noticed," Gregory replied, picking up the bag hesitantly. As he pocketed it, he had a sort of embarrassed expression on his face.

"Don't son me. I already got you your heroine, you don't have to act kind," Havon replied as he began undressing. To which Gregory quickly looked away.

"I-I saw what you were researching. I know I've not been the most remarkable father... but still, I care about-" Gregory began, before Havon's laughter interrupted him.

There was no malice, or ill intent in that laughter. It was pure, unbridled amusement. How could such a monster say such words?

"I believe this is your eighteenth recovery attempt. But it's the first time you've tried this method," Havon said, as he removed he unpacked his belongings from his duffle bag, his body still completely bare.

"But it's okay, I'll forgive you... again," he continued, to which Gregory's expression brightened for a moment, before seeing the book that Havon placed on the table. It was a tattered book, ancient looking, with an odd inscription on the centre.

On closer inspection, he realized that it wasn't actually a book, but a slab made from an odd paper-like material

"But you have to do something for me first," Havon continued, before going to his closet to retrieve a few items.

"W-What is this?" Gregory asked, his body having an adverse reaction to the book.

"Nothing you need to worry about. This'll hurt less than all the injections you've been giving yourself," Havon replied from his closet, dumping odd paraphernalia onto the ground.

"Son... I mean, Havon. I think we should talk about your interests. I know that you like these sorts of things but-"

Once again, Havon's laughter interrupted, however, this one was laced with spite.

"Like? Have you forgotten why I'm like this? Even as your handiwork stares right at you from your precious canvas?" Havon shouted, before walking to stand in front of Gregory with all the materials he had collected.

Gregory tried to look away.

"Look at me," Havon said. However, the only response he got was crocodile tears from the drug junkie in front of him.

"I said look at me!" he shouted this time, and Gregory slowly turned to look at him.

In contrast to his spotless face, Havon's body was littered with old scars and cigarette burn wounds. Gregory visibly winced as he looked at them, a sight that brought some satisfaction to Havon.

"But it's no matter. You helped me realize what I truly am, and I am grateful for that," Havon said, his anger quickly dying down as he began drawing a pentagram on the ground with an odd crimson powder he had retrieved from his closet.

Once he was done, he placed several odd items around the pentagram, before placing his hand right on top of the occult slab. He stared at Gregory for a moment, the black parts of his eyes like a murky lake.

"Let's begin," he said, before taking a rusty knife he had set on the side of the slab, and stabbing the back of his hand. Crimson bled from his hands onto the slab, which quickly lapped it up like a sponge.

"H-Havon, these things... these spells you keep searching up. They won't bring your mother ba-" Gregory stuttered.

"Don't you mention her! She had as much a play in this as you did. Now shut up and chant after me," Havon shouted, before pulling out the knife, and walking towards the centre of the pentagram.

* [Gregory]

There was once a time when Gregory wouldn't have been able to imagine his son shouting at him like this. A time when he was king of this house, a tormentor who got everything he desired.

But three years ago that all changed. In one of his drunk rages he clobbered Havon a little too hard, and that day he lost his boy. What came back in that hospital bed was this... this thing. A mentally fractured remnant. After only a month of living with it, it had slowly started to drug him.

However, it was only after the death of his wife did things really take a turn. He spiralled into addiction, becoming a withered remain of what he once was, while this creature masquerading as his son began researching the occult. 

There had been many such rituals over the past three years, all of them apparent failures. However, with this book -where had he even gotten this book- things were about the change.