Chapter 243: Inner Demons.

The sound was dry. Rhythmic. Violent.

Hands against stone.

Short breaths.

Impact.

Again.

Again.

Again.

The mansion’s inner courtyard still bore the scars of the invasion. Part of the side wall had only been provisionally rebuilt; new blocks contrasted with the old structure, like poorly stitched patches on wounded skin. The stone floor, once polished and clean, still had deep impact marks—cracks that resembled petrified lightning.

In the center of the courtyard, Damon did push-ups with his hands resting directly on the bare stone.

No gloves.

No protection.

Each descent was controlled, but aggressive. Each ascent demanded more than just physical strength.

His body was overloaded.

The muscles in his shoulders were so tense they felt like ropes about to snap. The veins in his forearms bulged beneath the skin. Sweat trickled down his forehead, dripping onto the ground already marked with small stains of blood—fresh blood, spilled on his hands from the repetitive friction against the rough surface.

His breathing was unstable.

It was forced.

As if he were pushing his own body beyond its limit out of sheer stubbornness.

But what truly stood out wasn’t the physical effort.

It was his gaze.

There was no focus.

There was no cold discipline.

It was anger.

Raw anger.

Silent.

Forcibly contained.

He went down again.

His arms trembled.

He climbed up.

He went down again.

His fingers were already numb.

He climbed up.

He went down.

The trembling became more evident.

Still, he didn’t stop.

Each repetition seemed like a self-imposed punishment.

Each impact of his hands on the stone was a punishment.

The side gate creaked slightly as it opened.

Ester entered the courtyard.

She paused for a few seconds, observing in silence.

The morning sun partially illuminated the scene, casting long shadows on the ground. Her hair was simply tied back, her arm still wrapped in a bandage, but now firm. There was a rigidity in her posture—not physical, but emotional.

She understood that kind of silence.

She understood that way of releasing something nameless.

Damon climbed down again.

His arms faltered for a second, almost giving way.

He growled softly—a restrained, almost animalistic sound—and forced his body upwards again.

Ester began to walk towards him.

Her boots echoed softly on the stone.

He heard them.

But he didn’t stop.

“That’s enough,” she said, her voice firm, but without aggression.

No response.

He climbed down again. He climbed up.

The blood now left small semicircular marks on the floor.

Ester stopped a few steps from him.

“You’re not training,” she continued. “You’re punishing yourself.”

Damon ignored her.

He climbed down.

He climbed up.

He climbed down.

His arms trembled more noticeably.

He climbed up with difficulty.

Ester took a deep breath.

She wasn’t good with soft words.

But she wasn’t insensitive either.

“I understand,” she said, lower now. “I also wanted to rip something out of myself after that shit.”

The use of the word was deliberate.

Raw.

Honest.

He climbed down again.

He climbed up.

“I stayed on the floor,” Ester continued. “I tasted my own blood. I heard them laughing.” Her jaw tightened slightly. “I know what it’s like to want to crush something until there’s nothing left.”

Damon paused for a second at the peak of the movement.

His breathing was heavy.

But he came down again.

He went up.

He came down.

The force was waning.

The trembling was now constant.

“But this?” Ester gestured to him. “This doesn’t bring anyone back.”

He climbed up with difficulty.

He stayed at the top for a moment.

And then, without looking at her, he spoke.

“Shut your mouth.”

His voice came out calm.

No shouting.

No explosion.

But there was something about it that was sharper than any yell.

Ester blinked.

He finally turned his face to look at her, still supporting his own weight with his arms outstretched.

“If you want to lecture so badly…” he continued, his tone dangerously steady, “go train.”

Silence.

“It gets stronger,” he finished. “Isn’t that what you wanted?”

The words landed.

Not like a slap.

But like a thin, precise blade.

Ester’s gaze changed.

It wasn’t immediate.

It was subtle.

Her pupils contracted.

Her jaw clenched.

She didn’t answer immediately.

Damon lowered himself again.

His arms almost gave way.

He rose.

Sweat trickled from his eyes, but he didn’t blink.

Ester took another step forward.

“Do you think I’m not?” she asked, her voice lower now, but heavy.

He didn’t answer.

He went down.

He went up.

“Do you think I don’t feel it?” she insisted.

He turned his face away.

“I think,” he replied, still breathless, “that feeling doesn’t solve anything.”

That sentence was the last straw.

Ester’s body moved before the thought was even complete.

She took two quick steps.

The hip rotation was clean.

The kick came straight.

Without warning.

Without hesitation.

The impact was brutal.

Her foot struck Damon’s abdomen with full force.

The air was ripped from his lungs in a single second.

His body lifted off the ground as if launched by an explosion.

He flew several meters across the courtyard and collided with the newly rebuilt side wall.

The sound was deafening.

Stone breaking.

Blocks shattering. A cloud of dust rose as the structure gave way under the impact.

The wall partially collapsed.

Damon fell among the rubble.

Silence.

Dust hung in the air.

Esther remained where she was, her leg still slightly extended after the kick, breathing deeply.

There was no regret in her eyes.

There was fury.

But there was also pain.

Among the rubble, Damon coughed.

A stone rolled aside as he pushed a larger block with his shoulder.

He stood up slowly.

His lip was cut.

His abdomen throbbed.

His shirt was torn even more.

He wiped the blood from his mouth with the back of his hand.

And looked at Ester.

This time, his gaze wasn’t empty.

It was alive.

Rage meeting rage.

Ester didn’t back down.

“You’re not the only one who lost someone,” she said.

Her voice trembled now—not from fear.

From compressed emotion.

“You’re not the only one who wanted to have done more.”

Damon breathed heavily.

“So stop acting like carrying this alone will make you stronger,” she continued, stepping forward onto the broken stone. “Because it won’t.”

He stepped out of the rubble.

Dust still fell from his shoulders.

“I’m not trying to get stronger,” he finally replied.

“Then what are you doing?” she retorted.

He hesitated.

Just a second.

“Making sure this doesn’t happen again.”

The air shifted before the ice even appeared.

It wasn’t dramatic.

It was sudden.

The temperature plummeted as if winter itself had been summoned to the courtyard.

The dust still hanging in the air froze mid-fall.

The broken stones beneath Damon’s feet began to crack.

A dry crack echoed—and then another.

Ice crystals scattered across the ground like living cracks, circling out from Esther.

The edges of the courtyard turned white.

The walls sweated frost.

Damon’s breath became visible in short clouds.

Esther raised her chin slightly.

Her eye no longer trembled.

It was cold.

Cutting.

“Equating pain with punishment is not strength,” she said, her voice now laden with an echo that came not only from her throat. “It’s stupidity.”

The ice surged up the partially destroyed wall, grotesquely reconstructing it with crystalline blades that replaced the stone.

The entire courtyard became a frozen arena.

“I’m going to beat you so much,” she continued, the crystals forming around her arms like translucent gauntlets, “until you learn to know your place.”

Damon didn’t respond with words.

He responded with movement.

Before the last syllable was finished, he lunged forward.

The slippery ground didn’t slow him down.

He used the reduced friction to accelerate.

The first punch landed directly on her face.

Ester tilted her head millimeters to the side.

The fist grazed past.

She countered with an ice-encrusted elbow strike.

Damon blocked with his forearm.

The impact reverberated.

The ice shattered into fragments.

The force of the blow pushed Damon two steps back, his feet sliding across the frozen surface.

He spun his body, using the momentum, and delivered a low kick.

Ester jumped.

His foot struck only air and broken ice.

She descended with a vertical strike—a clenched fist, wrapped in a crystalline blade that extended like a dagger.

Damon rolled to the side.

Her fist struck the ground.

A wave of ice spread in a straight line, cracking the courtyard and raising crystalline spikes in its path.

Damon rose mid-movement and advanced again.

This time, not directly.

He circled.

Short steps.

Quick steps.

She raised her hands.

The air around her began to condense.

“You’re off balance!” she snapped.

Three ice spears formed behind her and were launched like projectiles.

Damon leaned to the side—the first grazed his shoulder.

He caught the second mid-flight.

His palm burned with cold.

He spun his body and returned the spear with brutal force.

Ester crossed her arms.

An ice shield rose before her.

The spear exploded against the barrier.

Fragments flew.

Damon was already within range.

He passed through the ice cloud and landed a direct punch on the still-forming shield.

The impact cracked the shield.

He didn’t stop.

Second punch.

Third.

The ice gave way.

The fourth blow landed directly on her abdomen.

Ester absorbed part of the impact, creating an instant crystalline layer beneath her clothing.

Still, the air left her lungs.

She slid backward.

Damon lunged forward to finish the pressure.

Mistake.

The ground beneath his feet froze in a thick, uneven layer.

He lost traction for a fraction of a second.

Ester spun her whole body.

A roundhouse kick encased in ice struck the side of his head.

The impact was heavy.

He was thrown sideways, sliding across the frozen ground until he collided with a pillar.

The structure cracked.

He fell to his knees.

Blood trickled down his split brow.

Ester didn’t give him time.

She stomped her foot on the ground.

A freezing wave swept across the courtyard.

The ice rose up Damon’s legs.

First his ankles.

Then his knees.

Rising fast.

He growled and dug his fingers into the ice.

Brute force.

The veins in his neck bulged.

He pulled his legs violently, breaking the layer before it reached his waist.

Ester was already in the air.

Coming down.

Fist ready.

Damon rolled forward.

Her blow struck the pillar where he had been a second before.

The structure exploded into frozen pieces.

He stood up, already within her guard.

Two quick punches to the face.

She blocked the first.

The second went through.

The impact turned her face to the side.

Damon grabbed her bandaged arm.

He twisted his body.

He tried to throw her to the ground.

Ester stopped the fall by instantly freezing the point of contact with the ground.

The ice served as an anchor.

She used the resistance she had created to reverse the movement.

His arm was pulled.

His shoulder snapped.

She spun under him and threw him over her body.

Damon hit the frozen ground with his back.

The air sped out with a dry thud.

Ester fell on top of him, trying to immobilize his arm.

He planted his feet on the ice and thrust his hips.

They both rolled.

Positions switched.

Now he was on top.

He raised his fist.

She froze her own forearm, creating a short blade.

She lightly cut the side of his torso as he tried to press down.

He recoiled slightly.

She took advantage of the minimal distance and kicked him in the stomach again.

Damon was pushed back.

They stood up almost simultaneously.

Heavy breaths.

White vapor escaping from their mouths.

The courtyard was now a battlefield.

Ice.

Broken stone.

Deep scars.

Ester wiped the blood from the corner of her mouth.

Damon wiped his own.

They stared at each other.

“Now you’re present,” she said.

He didn’t answer.

But the look in his eyes was no longer pure, blind rage.

It was focus.

He advanced again—but this time calculated.

She fired more ice.

He broke it with precision.

She tried to freeze the ground beneath him.

He jumped before the complete formation.

He feinted a high punch.

She raised the block.

He kicked low, hitting the supporting leg.

She dropped to her knees.

He tried to finish with a downward strike.

She erected an abrupt wall of ice.

His fist went through half the structure.

It got stuck.

She took advantage.

A straight punch to the face.

The impact echoed.

He staggered.

But didn’t fall.

He pulled his trapped arm, breaking the ice forcefully.

He advanced again.

They exchanged direct blows now.

Without refined technique.

Without containment.

Fist against fist.

Ice against flesh.

Impact after impact.

Until, in an almost simultaneous movement, they both struck each other.

A punch to her face.

A knee to his abdomen.

Both recoiled.

Both panting.

The ice around them began to crack.

Not from the attack.

But because her concentration wavered.

Ester breathed heavily.

Damon too.

Silence fell between them.

The courtyard seemed like a real battlefield.

She relaxed her shoulders slightly.

The ice began to melt slowly.

“That’s how it is,” she said, her voice still firm, but less cutting. “Don’t punish.”

He took a deep breath.

His chest rising and falling with effort.

“Prepare yourself.”

His gaze was different now.

There was still pain.

There was still loss.

But he was no longer a man trying to destroy himself.

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