Demon Evolution System

Chapter 10

Miles walked all the way home.

The city lights blurred past him as night settled in, but he barely noticed them. His attention stayed fixed on himself—on the uncomfortable pull of torn fabric against his skin, on the dried blood crusted along his sleeves, on the way his boots squelched faintly with every step.

His clothes were ruined.

The jacket he wore had been slashed open along the side, the fabric shredded where claws had torn through. His pants were no better—burn marks from demonic energy scorched the hems, one knee ripped clean through. Even his hands bore thin cuts that stung each time cold air brushed against them.

Anyone who looked at him would know something was wrong.

And that was the problem.

Miles pulled the hood of his jacket lower, hunching his shoulders as he passed under streetlights. He avoided crowded streets, choosing longer, dimmer routes instead. His heart tightened every time someone glanced his way, every time he imagined running into a neighbor.

What am I supposed to tell her?

The thought of his sister seeing him like this made his chest ache more than any wound. Mia noticed everything—too much, sometimes. She hated him working as a porter and his current appearance would only make her even worry more. And worst of all, she would blame herself.

Miles clenched his fists and kept walking.

Mia was the reason he did any of this.

She was his older sister by three years, but life had stolen that difference long ago. Since the day everything went wrong, Miles had been the one standing, moving, carrying the weight for both of them.

She was paralyzed from the waist down.

And he was the only one left to protect her.

The medical bills alone were crushing. Rent, food, treatment consultations—it all stacked up, relentless and unforgiving. Surgery couldn’t fix Mia’s spine. Modern medicine has failed them.

But thankfully awakeners existed.

Healers with miraculous abilities—magic that could regenerate nerves, repair shattered bodies, undo what should have been permanent. But miracles were expensive. Hiring such an awakener cost more than Miles could make in years of normal work.

That was why he became a porter.

Mia had hated the idea from the start.

She knew the Outlands were dangerous. She knew raid teams treated porters as disposable labor. She had argued, pleaded, even cried. But Miles had been stubborn—quietly, relentlessly stubborn.

I’ll be careful, he had promised.

I’ll come home every time.

Eventually, worn down by his resolve, Mia had agreed—on one condition.

That he always came back alive.

Tonight, Miles had nearly broken that promise.

By the time he reached their apartment building, his muscles screamed with exhaustion. The small, aging structure stood wedged between taller complexes, its lights dim and uneven. He slipped inside quietly, climbing the stairs instead of using the elevator, moving on instinct alone.

When he unlocked the door and stepped inside, silence greeted him.

Miles froze and he listened carefully.

Nothing. No movement. No soft humming from the kitchen. No wheelchair shifting across the floor.

Then he saw the faint glow beneath Mia’s bedroom door.

She was asleep.

Relief hit him so hard his knees nearly buckled.

“Thank God…” he whispered.

He eased the door shut behind him and slipped off his boots, careful not to make a sound. He didn’t look toward her room again. If she woke up now and saw him like this, he wasn’t sure he could lie convincingly enough.

Miles retreated to his own room and shut the door.

Only then did he let himself breathe.

He stripped out of his torn clothes and dropped them straight into a bag, shoving it deep into his closet. He would deal with them later. For now, he stepped into the shower and turned the water on as hot as it would go.

Steam filled the small bathroom.

As water poured over him, the grime and blood washed away, spiraling down the drain. His wounds were already closing—something that should have alarmed him, but exhaustion dulled the edge of surprise.

He leaned his forehead against the tiled wall and closed his eyes.

I survived.

That thought echoed in his mind until the water ran cold.

The next morning, Miles slept far longer than usual.

His body sank into the mattress, heavy but strangely comfortable. For once, his dreams were empty—no claws, no screaming, no darkness closing in.

Then a smell reached him.

Warm. Sweet. Familiar.

Miles’ eyes snapped open.

His heart thudded—not in fear, but in instinctive alertness. His senses felt sharper than before, clearer, as though the world had quietly turned up its volume overnight.

Breakfast.

He knew immediately who was cooking.

“Mia…” he murmured.

He pushed himself out of bed, surprised by how light he felt, and stepped into the hallway. Their apartment was small—two bedrooms, one bathroom, a cramped living space that flowed directly into an even smaller kitchen.

The moment he left his room, he saw her.

Mia sat in her wheelchair by the stove, her long dark hair tied back loosely. She moved carefully but confidently, practiced motions guiding her hands as she cooked. Eggs sizzled softly in a pan. The smell of toast and something sweet—honey, maybe—filled the air.

She turned her head when she sensed him.

“Morning,” she said, smiling. “You’re awake already?”

Miles leaned against the wall, warmth spreading through his chest.

“Hard not to be,” he replied, walking over. “You trying to kill me with that smell?”

Mia laughed softly. “I was hoping I’d finish before you woke up. You came home really late last night. I figured you’d be exhausted.”

Miles rubbed the back of his neck sheepishly. “Yeah… sorry about that.”

She waved it off. “Sit. Breakfast’s almost ready.”

He pulled out a chair and sat across from her, watching her work.

“No way I could keep sleeping,” he added lightly. “Not after smelling something this good.”

Mia snorted. “Flattery won’t save you.”

She slid a plate toward him and finally looked him over properly. Her eyes lingered just a second too long.

“…You okay?” she asked.

Miles’ smile didn’t falter. “Fine. Just tired.”

She didn’t look convinced.

“I still don’t like that job,” Mia said quietly. “Being a porter. I worry every time you leave. And yesterday…” She hesitated. “I had a bad feeling.”

Miles’ fingers tightened around his fork.

You were right, he thought.

But he said nothing.

Instead, memories rose unbidden.

Three years ago.

The bridge.

Rain had been pouring that day, traffic crawling as they crossed the massive span. They were on their way to Mia’s gymnastics competition—one she’d trained months for. Their parents had been laughing, teasing her about winning gold.

Then the world had cracked open.

A demon nest erupted beneath the bridge, tearing metal and concrete apart like paper. Screams filled the air. Cars crashed. Monsters poured out, howling.

Their car skidded.

Miles remembered his father shouting. His mother turned back to them with a frantic expression.

He and Mia had escaped—but their parents hadn’t because their seatbelts were jammed and they remained trapped inside the car.

The bridge collapsed and both he and Mia could only watch as their car plunged into the ocean.

Miles remembered reaching out, screaming until his throat bled.

Mia had been brave that afternoon, she tried to get them off the falling bridge and then the iron beam was falling without warning.

The iron was supposed to crash on him but Mia had shoved him aside. The beam crushed her legs instead.

She never walked again. Her gymnastics dreams ended there, in blood and smoke.

Miles swallowed hard, forcing himself back to the present.

“I’m quitting,” he said suddenly.

Mia blinked. “What?”

“I’m done being a porter,” Miles repeated calmly. “You don’t have to worry anymore.”he added with an assuring smile

Mia’s eyes widened in astonishment. She and Miles have be over this particular argument for a long time and even though she knows that he wouldn't listen to her she always continued to talk to him about it.

However she had been so used to his refusal by now that she was taken back by his sudden declaration to quit being a porter.

“Wait—really? Are you serious, or are you just saying that to make me feel better?”

Miles met her gaze. “I’m serious.”

She searched his face, suspicious. “You’re not trying to deceive me, are you?” she asked, suspicious that Miles was only trying to evade her nagging.

“No,” Miles said. “I promise.”

Mia stared at him for a long moment, then her shoulders sagged in relief.

“…Thank you,” she whispered.

She wheeled closer and hugged him, pressing a kiss to his cheek. Miles groaned.

“Hey—stop that. I’m not a kid.”

She laughed. “You’ll always be my little brother.”

After breakfast, Miles stood and stretched.

“I’ve got school,” he said. “I’ll shower and get ready.”

As he turned away, his hand clenched slightly.

I’ll heal you, he vowed silently.

No matter what it takes.

And this time—

He had the power to do it.