Chaos.
That was the only word that fit the morning.
It began right after Maya let them go. Well—dropped them more like it. Their backs hit the floor hard after dangling three feet in the air for what felt like a lifetime.
But it wasn't over. Not even close.
At 5:00 a.m. sharp, they were dragged out of bed like possessed gym recruits.
"Up, up, up! Get your mortal butts moving!" Maya barked, now dressed in what could only be described as a demonic fusion of a drill sergeant and a cursed yoga instructor. Horns out. Hellfire blazing. Stopwatch from hell in hand.
Danny stumbled into his shoes. "Why are we up before the sun?! I thought we were demon hunters, not Navy SEALS!"
"Mind and body are one!" Maya snapped. "You want to survive against creatures that can twist your bones into pretzels? Then MOVE!"
Thus began the torture.
Two hours of nonstop running through the neighborhood like lunatics. Sweat. Wheezing. Complaining. Then came the yoga from the abyss—poses that probably weren't meant for human anatomy. And finally: meditation under freezing cold water.
All of it enforced with one terrifying rule:
Any sarcastic thought = automatic hanging.
And yes. She meant literally—hanging upside down by invisible demon ropes like a pair of cursed wind chimes.
It all started with the outburst.
After Maya's now-iconic "you baptized me in Danny's holy water" meltdown, she left them hanging upside down for three whole hours. She didn't speak. Didn't even look at them. Just floated cross-legged mid-air, sipping tea while they flailed like discount bats.
Samuel tried to apologize at one point. He said the word "moist."
That earned him an extra hour.
Now, Maya was in full Hell's Personal Trainer mode. And worse—thanks to their telepathic link, she heard every. damn. sarcastic. thought.
"Geez, this is just like bootcamp," Danny thought on day two.
He ended up hanging again.
Samuel only imagined throwing a pillow at her.
Also hanging.
It became a cycle. No more snark. No more inner commentary. Just pain, sweat, and fear of the floating hell-coach.
Danny collapsed after round three of endurance training. "Maya... please. We're just human. Not demon-spawn like you."
Maya floated above them, eyes glowing. "Exactly. Which is why you need to be better than human. Smarter. Faster. Stronger. You're part of the Hell's Order now. Slack, and you die. You must be unpredictable—demons can see and hear your inner thoughts."
Samuel rolled over, groaning. "I miss when you were just spooky. Now you're scary and bossy."
A shadow loomed over him.
"Oh come on! I didn't say that out loud!"
He was already upside down.
Danny barely held back a laugh. His grin lasted 1.3 seconds before he joined his buddy in the air.
Welcome to Day One of Demon Hunting School.
One week passed. A week of pure hellfire.
Somehow, the torture worked. The boys started to adapt. They learned how to suppress emotion, how not to let sarcasm leak into their thoughts. The frequency of hanging upside down started to drop.
They even woke up before Maya's morning yell.
They ran laps like clockwork. But while their training became routine, their presence didn't go unnoticed.
The neighbors started talking.
Whispers bloomed like wildfire.
Some said the YouTube ghost hunters had finally snapped—gone full psycho. Others swore they were part of some underground occult group.
A few scoffed.
"They're pretending to be mysterious for views."
But the concerned ones? They were louder.
"They talk to the air like someone's replying."
"I saw one of them arguing with a tree… or maybe a spirit?"
"No one jogs at 5 a.m. while chanting. That's straight-up screw-loose behavior."
The kids crossed the street when the boys passed. Adults peeked through blinds. Some even started filming "evidence." Their names? Banned from the local neighborhood group chat.
But Samuel and Danny? They didn't notice.
They were too deep into hell-fueled bootcamp to care what the world saw.
After a few days, they noticed something: their strength. Their speed. Their stamina.
They were changing.
They weren't superheroes yet—but hell, they felt like it. Even the fear of fighting demons couldn't crush the thrill rising in their blood. And seriously—
Which boy doesn't dream of becoming a superhero?
That idea alone fueled them harder than any protein shake ever could.
And Maya saw it.
She saw the change. The fire. The focus.
Hovering one morning, watching them blaze past on their final lap, she smirked.
"Not bad," she thought.
"Time for some field training."
That evening, post-hellish routine, Samuel and Danny sat on opposite sides of the room. Tension thick. Eyes locked like warriors before a duel.
"This time, I'm gonna win. I'll pay you back a hundredfold," Samuel muttered through clenched teeth. The plastic bottle in his hand creaked under the pressure of his grip.
"No way, man. You're too easy to read. I know you like the back of my hand," Danny said, his voice brimming with cocky pride. "And I'm the attacker class, remember? You don't stand a chance."
They counted in unison.
"One… two… three—scissors, paper, stone!"
Tie.
"Again…"
"One… two… three—scissors, paper, stone!"
Tie.
"Again…"
They were locked in a loop. Matching each other move for move, reading each other's minds.
Then—finally—Samuel won.
Stone vs. scissors.
He leapt up like a gladiator, fist raised. His eyes glowed faintly red with adrenaline and a spike of power. He didn't even notice the air begin to crack.
As he raised the water bottle to smack Danny in victory, the air fractured. The Hell Gate began to shimmer beneath Danny's feet.
Danny closed his eyes, bracing for the hit.
Then—
"STOP!" Maya's voice ripped through the room like a sonic boom.
Everything froze.
The friction in the air vanished. The Hell Gate snapped shut.
Maya floated down slowly, her face stone serious.
"You almost banished Danny to Hell," she said flatly. "Do you understand? You two are walking nukes now. This isn't some game."
She narrowed her glowing eyes and folded her arms. "With great power comes great responsibility."
Samuel blinked. "Seriously? Did you just quote Spider-Man at us?"
Maya didn't respond. She simply ignored the remark, lost in her own thoughts as if the quote was her own mantra—untouchable, undeniable.
Maya had a stern, serious look on her face. The boys had come up with their own weird way of practicing—to avoid thinking clearly, to train themselves to mask their thoughts.
They were using rock-paper-scissors.
To Maya's horror… it was working.
They called it focus training. She called it "kindergarten chaos."
Still, despite everything, she couldn't deny it: they were adapting. Even if it meant babysitting two psychic toddlers with nuclear potential.
"Is my recovery really dependent on these dummies?" she thought bitterly.
Danny blinked, still stunned. "Wait, what? Banished me to hell?! What the hell is going on?!"
Maya exhaled slowly. "It's time for me to bring you two out... for some real-world testing. A bit of power practice."
She paused, looking oddly serious. "Is there any red-light area nearby?"
The boys froze.
Both slowly turned to look at her, wide-eyed.
Their brains went full panic mode.
Red-light? Power training?
WHAT KIND OF TRAINING IS THIS?!
To be continued...