The forest on the Phoenix clan's territory was dense, ancient, and full of hidden life. Tall trees with crimson foliage wove their crowns overhead, creating a twilight where strange shadows danced. The air was warm, smelling of damp earth, mushrooms, and something elusively magical. The perfect place for a hunt. Or for a brutal, unorthodox therapy.
...
I dragged Riser by the scruff, like a misbehaving puppy. He resisted, sobbed, screamed curses and pleas, his feet dragging through the moss and roots. His expensive silk robe had already turned into a filthy rag, his golden hair matted and stuck to his tear-streaked face. A pathetic sight. But my patience had run out. Words and logic didn't work. That meant pain and the survival instinct would have to.
"Let go! Bastard! Monster!" he wailed, trying to break free of my iron grip.
"Shut up," I tossed out coldly, continuing to drag him deeper into the forest, far from the estate where his wails might attract the unwanted attention of his soft-hearted parents or sister. "Your treatment is just beginning."
Finally, I found a suitable clearing—a small open space surrounded by thick undergrowth and rocky outcrops. A perfect arena. I threw Riser to the ground. He immediately tried to crawl away, whimpering, but I blocked his path.
"You're not going anywhere," I stated. "Not until you remember that you're not just a piece of whining meat, but a demon from the House of Phoenix."
"I don't want to! I'm scared! You... you'll hurt me!" he started sobbing again, covering his face with his hands.
"Pain is an excellent teacher," I observed. "And fear is the best motivator. It's time you met it face-to-face."
I listened. My heightened senses caught movement in the bushes nearby. A growl, the crack of branches. Something was approaching. Something large, and angry. Just what I needed.
"Your first doctor, Riser," I nodded toward the thicket. "Show him what you're made of. Or he'll show you how he tears off limbs."
A creature burst from the bushes, breaking branches. It looked like a huge, muscular boar, but covered not in bristles, but in hard, rock-like growths. Its eyes burned with a red fire, and caustic saliva, which hissed on the grass, dripped from its maw. A low-rank magical beast, but aggressive and strong enough to scare an ordinary human or a weak demon to death.
Riser saw it and shrieked as if he were being cut to pieces. He scrambled to his feet and tried to bolt, but I blocked his way.
"Fight," I ordered in an icy tone.
"No! Let me go! It'll kill me!" Riser hammered me with his weak fists, but I didn't even budge.
The beast, sensing his fear, let out a furious roar and charged him.
"Fight, you idiot!" I barked, and shoved Riser directly into the path of the oncoming mass.
Riser stumbled and fell right in front of the beast. It was already opening its jaws, about to clamp down on his throat. At the last second, Riser instinctively threw up his hands, and a faint golden flame—a reflexive Phoenix defense—flared around them. The fire scorched the beast's snout, making it squeal and rear back.
"Hit it! Use your fire!" I yelled.
But Riser was paralyzed by terror. He lay on the ground, trembling, staring at the beast with huge, tear-filled eyes. The beast, recovering from the momentary pain, prepared to charge again.
I sighed. He needed a push. I picked up a rock and threw it at the beast, hitting it in the side. Not hard, but enough to piss it off even more. The beast roared and charged Riser again.
"Fire! Use your fire, you rag! Or I'll fry you myself!" I roared.
Maybe it was my threat, or the sight of death bearing down on him, or just the last vestiges of his self-preservation instinct… but something worked. Riser screamed and threw his hands forward. A stream of golden flame—not as powerful as before, but tangible—burst from his palms. The fire struck the beast in the chest. It howled in pain, its stone-like hide cracking, the smell of burnt flesh filling the air. It retreated, glaring venomously at Riser, and then, deciding the prey was too dangerous, it turned and vanished into the bushes.
Riser was left lying in the clearing, panting heavily. He stared at his hands, from which the flame had just erupted. In his eyes, besides fear, flickered surprise. He… he had done it. He had driven the beast away.
"Get up," I ordered, walking over. "That was a pathetic display, but at least you didn't piss yourself."
Riser struggled to his feet, his legs shaking. "I… I drove it… away…"
"Yeah, you threw a handful of sparks at it, and it decided you weren't worth the effort," I remarked caustically. "But this is just the beginning. Let's go."
I grabbed him by the scruff again and dragged him deeper into the forest, ignoring his weak protests. He needed more practice. A lot more.
The next few hours (or maybe it was the next day? Time flowed strangely in this forest) turned into a continuous nightmare for Riser. I found new and varied opponents for him. A pack of large, wolf-like creatures with burning eyes. Predatory plants that tried to grab him with their vines. Some kind of ooze-like beings that spat acid.
Each time, the scenario repeated. Riser panicked, tried to run. I blocked his path, forced him to fight, sometimes "encouraging" him with a kick or an insult. He got wounded—bitten, scratched, burned by acid. But his Phoenix regeneration instantly healed the damage. And gradually, it began to sink in.
There was pain. There was fear. But there was no death. These creatures, as terrifying as they seemed, couldn't kill him. They could hurt him, but he always recovered. His "immortality," which he'd deemed useless after our fight, worked here, against these relatively weak foes.
And that realization began to change him. The fear in his eyes gradually gave way to… anger. Anger at these creatures for hurting him. Anger at me for putting him through this hell. And, most importantly, anger at himself—for his cowardice, for his humiliation.
His attacks became more confident. The Phoenix fire burned stronger, more accurately. He began to remember the combat techniques he'd been taught since childhood. He stopped just defending himself—he began to attack first, with fury, with the desire to destroy what dared to assail him.
I watched this transformation with cold satisfaction. My brutal therapy was working. Fear was being displaced by rage. And rage is fuel for power. Especially for a prideful fool like Riser.
Near the end of this impromptu "training day," I found a final opponent for him—a stone golem, an awakened guardian of some ancient ruin hidden deep in the woods. The golem was slow, but incredibly strong and durable.
Riser met it with no panic. Fire burned in his eyes—the fire of the Phoenix, the fire of battle. He circled the golem, unleashing streams of flame, dodging its clumsy but powerful blows. His movements became fast, confident. He used his wings to maneuver, created fire shields, and struck with concentrated blasts.
This was no longer the broken, sobbing demon I had dragged from his chambers. This was Riser Phoenix—arrogant, strong, confident in his own invulnerability (at least against this opponent).
Finally, gathering all his rage, he soared into the air and unleashed a firestorm on the golem, so powerful the stones began to melt. The golem cracked, its form began to crumble, and a moment later, it collapsed into a pile of smoking rubble.
Riser landed heavily in the middle of the scorched clearing, panting. He stood tall, his golden hair wild, his eyes blazing with triumph. He had won. On his own.
I walked up to him. "Not bad," I nodded. "Looks like you finally remembered how to fight."
Riser spun on me. And in his eyes, I saw no gratitude. Only pure, unadulterated hatred. The fire he had unleashed on the golem was now directed at me.
"You…" he snarled, his voice hoarse with fatigue and rage. "You think I've forgotten?! You think I'll forgive you for that humiliation?! For what you did to me?!"
He remembered. Not just how to fight. But who his real enemy was. Who had crushed his pride.
"Enough!" he roared. "I am Riser Phoenix! And I will make you pay!"
He lunged at me, his body wreathed in the brightest flame I had seen from him yet. Rage, humiliation, and newfound confidence all merged into a single attack, aimed at me.
I smirked. There he is. The real Riser. He's back.
I easily batted his fire-blast aside. "Decided to test your strength, little bird?" I asked mockingly.
"I'll show you the power of the Phoenix!" he yelled, and attacked again.
We clashed in a short, furious brawl. He struck with fire, I with my fists. His attacks were strong, but predictable. I parried them easily, landing counter-hits, but not at full strength—I didn't want to break him again. My goal was different now.
In the heat of the fight, he grabbed my arm, trying to incinerate it. I grabbed him back. Our powers clashed. And in that moment, Riser, full of his restored fury and desire to prove his strength, shot into the sky, dragging me with him.
"Behold the descendant of the legendary phoenix!" he cried, his voice lost in the rush of wind and the roar of flames.
We flew over the forest, gaining altitude. In the distance, on the horizon, another forest was visible—darker, more ancient, shrouded in mist. A mysterious forest, one spoken of in legends even among demons. The habitat of rare and dangerous magical creatures.