Demonic || Seventeen

Demonic 10

The past few weeks had been grueling. Training from sunrise to sunset, pushing their bodies and minds beyond their limits. It was exhausting. But even with all the progress they had made, Seokmin couldn’t shake the growing weight pressing against his chest.

Seungkwan had discovered a talent for medicine, excelling in treating wounds and understanding the human body better than most. Hansol had proven himself a natural at handling aerial combat and ranged attacks, mastering the use of flying contraptions with ease. Mingyu and Minghao, of course, were an unstoppable force when it came to hand-to-hand combat, their skill and speed making them some of the most formidable recruits in the camp.

Seokmin? He wasn’t sure where he fit in.

He wasn’t the fastest like Minghao. He didn’t have the brute strength of Mingyu. He wasn’t as tactical as Hansol or as sharp as Seungkwan. And when paired with Mingyu and Minghao for sparring, he always found himself struggling to keep up, their movements too swift, their reflexes too sharp. It was as if every fight was a lesson in his own shortcomings. He forced himself to act fine in front of them, smiling, laughing, pretending it didn’t bother him. But deep down, doubt festered like a wound that refused to heal.

And now, as the entire camp lay in slumber, Seokmin found himself awake, his mind restless.

It was just past 2 AM when he stirred from his cot, realizing his need to relieve himself. The dormitory was silent, save for the soft sounds of his fellow recruits breathing in their sleep. Careful not to wake anyone, he slipped out of bed, pulled on his boots, and stepped outside into the cool night air.

The moon hung high above the camp, casting a silver glow over the training field. The air was crisp, carrying the distant sounds of rustling leaves and the occasional hoot of an owl. Seokmin made his way toward the latrines, rubbing the sleep from his eyes.

After finishing, he started back toward his dorm, until something caught his attention.

A faint sound. The unmistakable clash of metal against metal.

His heart skipped a beat. Was someone fighting? At this hour?

His curiosity got the better of him, and instead of heading back, he quietly followed the noise. He weaved through the trees surrounding the field, his steps light against the earth. The sounds grew clearer. The sharp whistle of blades cutting through the air, the dull thud of feet hitting the ground, the grunts of exertion.

Finally, he reached a clearing, ducking behind the thick trunk of an old tree. What he saw made his breath hitch in his throat.

Captain Yoon and Lieutenant Hong.

They weren’t just standing there. They were fighting. No, training.

Seokmin’s eyes widened as he watched them move.

Captain Yoon— aka Jeonghan, dressed in his usual dark combat attire, moved with power and precision, his sword cutting through the air in deliberate, controlled arcs. Every step was measured, every strike executed with the ease of someone who had done this a thousand times before.

Lieutenant Hong— aka Joshua, in contrast, was fluid and unpredictable, his movements swift as he dodged and countered. His twin daggers gleamed under the moonlight, spinning in his hands like extensions of his own body. He didn’t stand still for even a second, always moving, always adapting.

They clashed again, and the force of the impact sent a sharp ring echoing through the night.

Seokmin watched in awe as their fight unfolded.

Jeonghan stepped forward, bringing his sword down in a powerful overhead strike, but Joshua sidestepped at the last second, twisting his body and slashing at Jeonghan's exposed side. But Jeonghan was ready. He spun his blade at the last moment, deflecting the dagger with an effortless flick of his wrist.