"Hello?" the voice said. It was none other than Charles Archibald.

"Archibald... It's, uh... It's Alexander," he muttered.

"So... Have you made a decision?"

"The demons... How many casualties usually end up in situations like this?"

Archibald paused for a moment and thought before he spoke. "This is a pretty unusual circumstance overall. But in terms of potential damage... Yeah. Lots of causalities. You'd probably witness some gruesome scenes. Frankly, there's no guarantee that you won't be a victim of some monster like those demons. So... Pick your hell."

"Help people."

Those words echoed in Alexander's mind.

"If I kill those demons... If they're completely eliminated, does that mean there'll be fewer deaths at the hands of monsters like them?"

"Of course."

Alexander thought back on the terrifying, frightening sight he saw just a few hours ago. A sight he never wanted to see. Not the demon. Emilia. He thought back on the fear that enveloped her. Those eyes stained with dread.

And the feeling of death that had enveloped them both.

He spat out a sigh, as he began to stammer. "I..." He sharply inhaled. "I... I’ll join the 'Virtues' or whatever they're called. I'll do it."

"I take it you've prepared yourself for what's yet to come?" Archibald asked as he chuckled.

"No. Not at all. I'll... I'll just eliminate the demons. That's all."

"Well, then. You're really growing on me, kid," Archibald laughed. "Alright then. I'll see you again soon," he muttered as he hung up the phone.

Alexander threw himself on his bed. "All of this... All of this is crazy."

- - The Next Day - -

A black-haired girl skimmed through a file, reaching a marked page. She stared at the photo of a brown-skinned boy with short black hair and black eyes.

"Why are you showing me this?" she asked, looking up from the file.

"Just read it."

She spat out an exasperated sigh before she began to read aloud, "Name: Alexander Lane. Age: 15. Height: 5 foot, 10." She suddenly paused, quickly looking up.

"Is he really a-"

"Yep." The man in front of her smiled. "You know what to do, don't you?"

The girl sighed, setting down the folder on a table. "Of course, Archibald. It's nothing complicated."

A bolt of lightning crashed nearby, illuminating the room. The girl disappeared along with this light, leaving without a sound.

At the same time, Alexander and Emilia had just gotten home. The walk from school had been quiet, the same as the morning, and the afternoon yesterday.

It was only Wednesday but the week had already been long and tiring.

Alexander sighed as he slowly and tiredly walked up the stairs to his room.

Alexander placed his hand on his doorknob, immediately retracting it. He slowly placed his fingers back on it, feeling the tingling heat, similar to a lightbulb that had been on for too long. 'Where's this heat coming from?'

He coiled his fingers around it, slowly twisting the door open.

There it was. A girl. Just a girl. Her back was facing the door, but Alexander still knew that he hadn't met her before.

Suddenly, she turned. "Took you long enough. You're late. By seven minutes," she said, glancing at her watch.

Alexander still stood in silence. He swallowed his dry saliva, thinking, 'Oh, God. She's beautiful,' as his mind went blank.

The girl appeared to be around Alexander's age, just a few inches shorter. She had pale olive skin and long black hair. But the most notable part of her appearance was her startling black eyes. Black like storm clouds and intimidating, yet beautiful.

Time passed: 4 Seconds.

"You know it's weird to just stare at people, right?"

'Wait, no. It doesn't matter if she's beautiful. I don't know her.' Confused, he spoke, "Wait, who are you?"

"I'm just here to take you in. Archibald sent me," she muttered.

"Wait, for the Virtue thing?" Alexander asked as a thin smile crept upon his face.

"What else?" she said.

Alexander sucked in air through his teeth. "Alright. So do I have to, like, take stuff with me, or do I just-"

The girl spat out an exasperated sigh, before pointing at the wall. "Let's just go already."

On that wall, there was an oval of glowing, crackling blue light. A portal.

Alexander approached the glowing oval as he noticed where it led to. An empty hallway facing a pale white door. His eyes widened just as he marveled at the oval of light and its interior.

"Sorry, I just haven't seen real Spatial Connection in person," he chuckled. "I'm just-"

His words were cut off as the girl shoved him through. Alexander fell through the Connection unto a polished hardwood floor.

"Oh, you're also late," Archibald laughed. "I'm glad that you've decided to join us," Archibald said, helping him up. "Hi," Alexander muttered.

"So, who is she and where are we?"

"This is Anastasia Velda, another of the seven Virtues. We're just here to meet an old friend of mine."

Alexander took in a sharp breath. "To clarify, I'm also one of those seven, right?"

Archibald smiled as he nodded. He knocked on the wooden door. He paused. "This is the wrong apartment."

"What?"

Archibald had already walked away.

As Alexander and Anastasia followed him, Archibald talked to both of them. And yet, they both remained quiet.

"You felt it, didn't you? Yesterday. Fear running through your body, your instincts surging and taking control. You see, when I chose you to be a part of this, it was a gamble. Yeah, your father's one of the greatest fighters I know, but realistically, that's irrelevant. But you still fought and survived."

"Believe in yourself, Alexander," he told him. "If not, you're more likely to die," he laughed.

Alexander stared at Archibald in silence.

"That was a joke, by the way."

"And considering what I saw yesterday, you're already perfect for what we're doing. You don't fear demons. Sure, you were scared for your life, but not at the demon specifically."

"Y'know," he said, turning to Anastasia. "Yesterday, Alexander killed a demon. In one move. Saved his sister's life and his own life. It was pretty amazing. Which is why it's good you don't fear them. Demons are like spirits in that aspect. The more fear people have for them, the stronger they become. And due to humans' natural fear of them, you can imagine what kind of power they can grow."

"So the final demon, the king of demons or whatever, is just the actual devil, right?" Alexander asked.

"Yep. Demon of Wrath, most commonly known as Satan. Bunch of other names, too. It's complicated. But still... Strongest being in the UnderWorld. Closest thing to a god down there."

"Is he stronger than you?"

"Hmm. That's a good question. If he were to entirely incarnate, it would be a pretty close fight."

"Would you lose?"

Archibald smiled. "Nah. I'd win."

"Ah," he said, stopping. "5010. This is her." Archibald knocked on the door.

It immediately opened, unveiling an elderly dark-skinned woman. She was about a foot shorter than Archibald and more or less a decade older. Alexander could feel a mysterious, almost veil-like aura from her.

"It's good to see you again, Miss Voltaire," Archibald said.

"You're nine minutes late, Charles Archibald. I thought I told you to stop being late."

"Yeah, sorry, I had to pick the kid up," he lied.

"I know you're lying, Charles. But I don't care enough to do anything about it," she said, greeting the three of them, shaking their hands.

"This," he said to Alexander and Anastasia. "... is Olivia Voltaire. Specialist in a handful of things but they're mostly irrelevant," Archibald laughed.

Voltaire's hand smacked the back of Archibald's head as he entered. "Stop being rude," she told him as she let out a deep sigh. She then stared at Alexander. "So this is him?"

Archibald nodded.

Stolen story; please report.

"You," Voltaire said, pointing a finger at the black-haired girl. "Anastasia, correct?" Voltaire began. "Could you wait outside? This may get personal."

She nodded, before spat a sigh, mumbling to herself, "So then why am I even here?" Anastasia walked out and shut the door.

They entered her living room. It was a surprising size with tall windows in the back, almost making up the entire wall, and grand bookshelves on the walls on the side, each of them built with ornate wood and filled with adorned books of dozens of colors.

Armchairs of different colors were scattered around the room. Books, scrolls, and collections of papers were scattered across the room, and a singular, large teddy bear sat in the corner. That must be for her grandchild or something, Alexander thought.

"So," Voltaire began, walking towards an ornate chair. "Has Archibald explained everything about your lineage?"

"Not really," Alexander muttered. "I already knew everything. My mom isn't my actual mother, my real mother died when I was born, my dad's alive, et cetera, et cetera."

She cleared her throat. "Well, then. I suppose we'll find out everything else right now. So... Would you allow me to... stare at your mind?"

"...What?"

"I suppose you already know you're a Demon-Born, yes? The offspring of a mortal being and a demon. Just as demigods are children of divinity, Demon-Borns are related to beings of the UnderWorld."

"It's to find out more about you. As a demon. Your father never let anyone do things like this, so I just have to ask," she said.

Archibald agreed, saying, "Adam always has been a private person, so even I don't know enough about his demonology."

"I don't think that's a proper use of the word demonology."

Archibald silenced himself.

Alexander paused at the mention of his father. "Well, uh... Sure. Sure, I guess."

"Perfect," she smiled. "Please, get closer."

Alexander nodded, lifting his chair and pushing it forward. He sat down, now only a few feet away from her.

"Closer."

He stared in confused silence and scurried his chair closer.

"Closer."

Alexander sighed, pushing himself and the chair closer to Miss Voltaire.

"Perfect," she said, grabbing Alexander by his left wrist, and staring at his eyes. The left arm carries the pulse from the heart, and the eyes open into the mind. By searching through both of these windows, the very essence of a person's life would be put on display.

As Miss Voltaire stared into Alexander, he could feel a warm, pulsating energy beginning to envelop him.

"What is she doing?" Alexander asked, his eyes seemingly unable to move.

"Just don't move," Archibald instructed.

But then, her face tensed up as a soft cry left her lips. Their eye contact broke apart as she let go of his wrist.

"Is she okay?" Alexander asked, turning to Archibald.

"I'm fine," she muttered. "This is just how it works." Miss Voltaire spat out a tired sigh along with her shaky, ragged breaths.

"You... You're a second-generation Demon-Born. Of course you are," she said between breaths. "A child of Furcas."

"Furcas?"

"Furcas, Furcas," she muttered, repeating herself. "Where have I heard that name before?..."

Alexander remained silent at her remarks.

Voltaire stood from her chair, walking over a nearby bookshelf, still mumbling, "Furcas, Furcas." She stood on her toes as he reached for one of the books at the top.

"Do you need help?" Alexander asked.

"No, I'm fine," she muttered, nearly tripping as she tried to take the book from the top shelf.

Archibald sighed. He raised two fingers from his right hand. The crimson-covered book began to separate from the bookshelf, floating outward.

Voltaire stared at Archibald with stale eyes. "That was unnecessary."

"Sure."

She swiped the book from the air, holding it gingerly with both hands as she walked over to her seat.

She quickly flipped through pages by the dozens, her eyes scanning and glancing over pages in seconds. In nearly a minute, she stopped, her finger tracing under words. "Found it," she began. "Furcas. The Knight among Demons, Firekeeper, Earthshaker, Diviner, Commander."

"I... What?" Alexander muttered.

"And since you're a second-generation Demon-Born, you still bear the curse."

Alexander paused. "Wait. What curse?"

Voltaire sighed as Archibald glared at her. His look was mixed with disappointment and shame as if to say, "Really, Voltaire? Really?"

Voltaire cleared her throat. "Well, all first and second-generation Demon-Borns bear the curse. The Curse of Demon-Borns, that is. It controls their destinies, often leading them to live lives filled with hardship and pain."

"What?"

"You've experienced it, haven't you? People dying around you. People getting hurt. Things going wrong. That's you. That's the Curse of the Demon-Borns."

Alexander's eyebrows furrowed and his head began to droop over, his gaze now fixed onto the floor.

"I... I see."

"Even so," she said as she spat out a heavy sigh, crossing her hands on her lap. "We're here to ask questions. So, Alexander Lane..."

"Why are you here?"

"Archibald told me to be here."

"Beyond that."

"What do you mean?"

"What will happen when you learn about demons and the ways of magic?"

"Well, uh, I'll kill the demons I have to kill, I guess. It wouldn't sit well with me if I don't do anything to stop them."

"Why?"

"..."

Voltaire sighed once more. "Alexander. Are you aware of what you're getting yourself into? Do you know what it is to be a magician?"

"I... still don't know what you mean."

"People everywhere around the world are dying even as we speak. Accidents, diseases, so on and so forth. Are you saying you can't accept their deaths if they're at the hands of some 'evil force' like demons?"

Alexander paused, swallowing his saliva. "I... What I'm doing just seems like the right course of action. I don't care about the details. I just want to help people. That was my mother's request. That's what I believe in."

"You'll fight demons just because someone told you to? That's foolish."

She extended her hand to the side. The teddy bear in the corner stood up.

Alexander immediately tensed up. It was about a single meter tall, and unexpectedly, its black, marble-like eyes were glowing. "That's not just a doll?" he asked, his eyes fixated on the upright stuffed animal.

Voltaire shook her head.

"How are you doing that?" Alexander asked. His eyes were wide with awe.

"I'm pouring my own magic energy into it and controlling the energy inside. It's a lot more difficult than it sounds. Only a few people in the world can do this," she said, sitting back down. "Although that's probably because it takes months or years of practice to master this inefficient technique."

She cleared her throat. "You see... People are more honest with their backs against a wall."

"What?"

The doll lunged at Alexander, slamming its fist into his face. "It'll keep attacking until I choose to stop it. Or rather, until I get a proper answer from you."

Alexander winced. "How the hell is that thing so strong?!"

Voltaire smiled. "Magic energy has many uses. If you use it correctly, it can be an unrivaled weapon. I'm sure you know that much already."

He exhaled. Blood dripped from his nose onto the floor. And with that simple sight, Alexander grit his teeth.

Voltaire's eyes scanned over Alexander's fear-stained face. His eyes were glossy, his eyebrows furrowed, and his jaw clenched.

"You must be afraid of blood," she said, smiling as she sat back down. "Your blood or just blood overall? Well, it doesn't really matter. That's got to be one of the worst fears in our line of work. Other than death, I suppose."

"So," she continued. "Someone wants you to fight. And you're doing this for them. Why?"

"It's not just 'someone' that told me," he said, narrowly dodging another strike. "It's my mother's request," he said, punching the stuffed animal with all the force he could muster.

'Dammit, it's a doll,' he reminded himself. 'It won't get hurt or tired.'

"A family member is still 'someone else', right?"

Another hit landed in Alexander's stomach. He was knocked back into a wall. He coughed, spit and saliva spewing as he struggled to take in a breath.

Voltaire glared at the Demon-Born. "You'll die because your mother told you to? Magicians like us are always close to death. We have to kill monsters with death visibly in the corner of our eyes. It's unpleasant. You have to be motivated, as well as just a bit insane. And you want to do it because someone told you to? That's naive."

"I-"

The stuffed animal pummeled its nubbed arms into Alexander's stomach in a barrage of attacks. Alexander was trying to block or dodge any attacks he could, but within the rapid flurry of hits, he could barely manage his own counterattacks.

"Is it going to be your mother's fault when you get killed by a demon? Is it going to be your mother's fault when you fail to save people? Will it be your mother's fault when innocent blood in your hands?"

Alexander stared at her. "You... You say some really horrible things, you know that?"

"I used to be a teacher. Education involves helping students make realizations for themselves." Another strike landed to the side of Alexander's head.

She stood up, walking over to Alexander. Voltaire stood above him, looming over him. "No one in battle dies without regret," she told him. "If you follow this uncertain path of yours, you'll just end up cursing your own ideals. I'll ask you again. Why are you here?!"

Between the air being knocked from his lungs, his hazy vision, and the blood dripping from his nose, Alexander could hardly think about answering the questions. Even so... He gripped the teddy bear's arms.

'I'm not special,' he thought to himself. 'I've never once thought I was capable of doing something no one else could.'

"Yesterday, I killed a demon." Alexander tore off the arms of the stuffed bear.

"Not only that but, the day before, Archibald said he chose me for this." He drove his fist into the surprisingly sturdy stuffed figure. It crashed into a wall.

"So this whole demon apocalypse war thing... It's something I think I can handle. And even if it's not... Then I still have to try."

"Even if I refused, even if I'm afraid... No matter what happens in my life, no matter what I do... it'll still be there. I don't know if it's guilt, regret, shame, or anything like that. But I can't just sit still while people are dying preventable deaths. Even if none of this actually involves me... I think- I think I'll still blame myself if I don't do anything. If I can still do something... then I can't just sit still. I'll do what I can. I don't know what I'll be thinking or feeling when I'm dying. And honestly, I don't care. All I know is... I'm not going to regret the way I live."

The corners of her mouth arched up. Her grin widened as she took in a deep breath. "Congratulations. You found your answer, and you've found your own will." She handed him a white cloth. "For your nose."

"Ah." He took the square of cloth, holding it up to his nose. "Thanks."

Voltaire turned, her arms crossed behind her back. "You've taken the first step in becoming a magician."

Sitting down, she cleared her throat. "Also. A word of advice."

"When you're fighting creatures like this..." she said, signaling at the armless stuffed bear in the corner. "Summons, familiars, those kinds of things. Attack the user, not the summon."

"I see," Alexander muttered. "I don't think I would've attacked you, though."

"Another mistake. Enemies are enemies. In war, there is no need for ideals, nor respect. War is war. Death is death. You have to do what's necessary to win."

Archibald cleared his throat. "Alright, I suppose this is enough for one day. Alexander, you should probably go home at this point. You probably have homework or something."

"Ah, right," he ssaid, standing up. "Goodbye," he muttered with a wave, walking towards the door.

"Alexander Lane," Voltaire said, still seated. "About the curse. You needn't worry about it."

"It doesn't change anything," she continued. "It doesn't define you nor Demon-Borns, nor demons overall."

"Well, the demons are bad, anyway, right?"

"Not all demons are as evil and ignoble as legends say. They're akin to angels, just on the opposite side of the spectrum. Just as angels live in the OverWorld, demons reside in the UnderWorld."

"Yeah, yeah, yeah," Archibald interrupted. " As above, so below. All that jazz. Not all demons are bad. That much is true. But for what we're doing, you'll probably only see demons when they're attacking you, possibly vice-versa. Still, you should get going."

Alexander nodded. "Alright then."

"Oh, also," he said, turning back to Voltaire again. "Sorry about getting blood and spit over your floor."

"Well, frankly, it would be more concerning if none of that happened during a fight," she laughed.

As Alexander walked through the door, Anastasia stared at him. She hadn't moved from where Alexander had last seen her. She still stood leaning with her back against the wall. "So... You're a Demon-Born?"

"Y-yeah," he muttered.

Anastasia pointed out the bloodstain on his jacket. "Cool. So what the hell happened in there?"

Alexander awkwardly avoided eye contact before saying, "I got beat up by a teddy bear."

"I..." She paused. "I won't ask."

"Wait, you didn't have to go through all of that when Archibald chose you?"

"No, he just asked me and my grandparents."

"So you didn't have to fight anything?"

Anastasia shook her head.

Alexander sighed with the realization that he had unnecessarily gotten into a fight with a stuffed animal.

"Alright then," Anastasia said. She snapped her fingers as the whirring sound returned as a circle of light lit up the hallway. "There you go. Back home."

"I'm not gonna push you again, so don't worry."

Alexander smiled. "Thanks."

And as Alexander had left, Archibald placed his hand on Miss Voltaire's back. "Your eyes can see much more than that. What else was there?" he asked her.

"That boy... That boy will walk a path of thorns. It was a hazy vision. I couldn't see much. But his path you've set him on... It's a dangerous one.

"When..." She paused, taking in a breath. "When I looked into his eyes, it's as if I were staring into darkness. Or maybe it was light. I'm not sure what it was. He may be just a Demon-Born, but he's something more," she muttered. "Something different. Something I've never seen before."

Archibald sighed. "What's that supposed to mean?"

"I don't know. All I understood was that... Well, he's different. An anomaly. If I'm being honest... I wouldn't rule him out."

Archibald groaned as soon as those words left Voltaire's lips. "Goddammit, Voltaire!" He rubbed his hand on his face, before he let out an exasperated sigh. "If he's-"

"Archibald, you can't try to bend the child's fate. You know that. If it really is him, then..."

"Then what, Voltaire? What? You're telling me I'm sending the boy to his death!" He sat himself down on the chair before Voltaire. Archibald burrowed his head into his hands.

"Born of vice and virtue," he mumbled, his voice muffled through his hands.

Archibald raised his head. "Let's just hope it's not him," he said, taking in a breath. "Not him, nor Gabriel. Nor any of them."