Imagine something that could show you anything you wanted, any time you asked. No effort. No waiting. You just ask, and it appears. Sounds harmless, doesn’t it? This is the story of a young man who met exactly that, and what it slowly took from him.
The Boy Who Could Become Anything
“He’ll do great things, that boy.”
That’s what the people of Ashvile said about him. Strong, quick, talented, smart, and charming, Zander felt he could become anything he wanted.
He stood tall with his shoulders back, and his blue eyes showed a quiet confidence held deep inside him. His body was strong, built through long hours of hard sword training.
One evening, after another long day of practice, he walked through the village back home. A few girls waved at him as he passed, and he politely waved back. At home, he began sharpening his swords, ready for the next day’s training.
A Visitor in the Night
Suddenly, a voice behind him called his name. Zander spun around, ready to strike, only to find a very plain-looking spirit floating calmly in the middle of his room.
It was neither man nor woman. Its face was completely blank, neither happy nor sad, as if there was no feeling inside it at all.
“Zander of Ashvile,” the spirit said. “I am the Spirit of Visions.”
Zander faced it and drew his sword. “What do you want?”
The spirit did not move. It showed no fear at all.
“Only to show you my power. I can show you anything you can possibly imagine. For I am the Spirit of Visions.”
Anything You Can Imagine
Zander watched it closely. It just floated there quietly and did not seem to be a threat.
“You can show me anything, huh?” he said. “Show me… the stables of Ashvile.”
The spirit blew a puff of smoke, and inside it the stables appeared, clear as day. The picture hung in the air for a few moments, then faded away.
Zander smiled. How interesting, he thought. Another idea came to him at once.
“Show me the most beautiful girl in the world,” he said with a smirk.
Without a word, the spirit blew another puff of smoke, and in it stood the most beautiful girl Zander had ever seen. Her long dark hair fell softly around her face. She had big, piercing brown eyes, a delicate nose, and full lips. One hand rested on the hip of her perfect hourglass figure.
Zander’s eyes widened. He stared at her in wonder for five whole minutes.
Then he remembered where he was. He cleared his throat and pulled himself together. He felt a little embarrassed, but the spirit only kept its empty stare, not bothered at all.
Another idea came. “Show me a great warrior,” he ordered.
Again the spirit blew a puff of smoke, and again it showed exactly what he asked for. A perfect warrior stood looking into the distance, his body lean and muscular, his face stern.
Zander stared in awe. He promised himself that one day he too would be a great warrior, just like this man.
Then he’d had enough. “You may leave now, spirit. I’ve seen enough,” he said, waving it off as he went back to his swords.
“I shall stay here, in the corner of your room,” the spirit said flatly, “ready to show you my power whenever you command.”
Zander shrugged. The spirit did not seem to mean him any harm.
The Slow Slide
As the weeks went by, Zander got used to the spirit in his room. He used it to check the day’s weather and to see what his friends were up to. He even started looking at beautiful girls with no clothes on. After all, the spirit would show him anything he wanted.
Weeks turned into months.
He started leaving sword training an hour early. Then two hours early. Then three. The spirit was far more exciting than dull, repetitive training.
The girls in the village still waved, but Zander stopped waving back. They were plain, he told himself. One day he would find a girl as beautiful as the ones the spirit showed him.
He began using the spirit to watch great battles. He cheered out loud when his favourite hero turned the fight around at the very last moment. He watched eagerly, sure that one day soon he would lead his own army into battle.
He thought about those battles while he practised. He even began repeating lines his favourite hero spoke as he swung his sword. And after just a few hours of training, he would rush home to watch another great battle. (Not before looking at more beautiful naked girls, of course.)
A Year Gone
A year passed.
The girls in the village had stopped waving. Some had married. Most could be heard cheering the name of another boy from the archery range every evening. Apparently, he was good with a bow. Zander cursed and grumbled something about real warriors not fighting from far away.
Now he trained only a few short hours, and some days he skipped training completely. He walked quickly through the village to get home, with no interest in greeting anyone.
He had started using the spirit to watch groups of naked women performing sexual acts on one another. One naked woman was no longer enough to hold his interest.
His love for his favourite hero had turned into jealousy. He watched the hero beat enemy after enemy, and the gap between them only seemed to grow.
He could no longer run very far. His shield felt heavy. His sword skills had fallen behind other warriors his age.
The Years Pass
Many more years passed.
Zander had given up on becoming a hero, though he still rewatched his favourite battles through the spirit now and then. He was still alone, with no one to share his life with, and he had grown deeply frustrated and sad. His sword lay quietly in the corner of the room, gathering dust.
The Night of His 38th Birthday
On the night of his 38th birthday, Zander sat alone in his room feeling worse than he had ever felt.
The clock struck twelve.
Suddenly, the spirit began to laugh.
Zander jumped. The spirit had never laughed before. In fact, it had never shown any feeling at all. He looked up, and the spirit met his eyes. Slowly, a wide smile spread across its face.
For the first time in twenty years, the spirit spoke on its own. “My work here is done,” it said in a deep voice.
“What are you talking about, spirit?” Zander asked, afraid.
The spirit laughed again. “I shall tell you the secret I have kept for twenty years. I am pure evil. I am the root of all the darkness in the world. I am the devil himself,” it said proudly.
Zander froze in terror, his mouth hanging open. He could not speak.
“A demon will attack this village tonight. A prophecy said you were the one who would defeat it. But it is I who has defeated you. And now the souls of this village are mine,” the spirit said, full of glee.
“Why wait twenty long years?” Zander asked, his voice shaking. “Why not fight me face to face the first time we met?”
The spirit laughed once more. “If I had fought you face to face, you would have beaten me. But I am cunning. A slow drip of poison, fed to you through endless fantasy, has left you too weak to fight. And now this village is mine…”
Zander could do nothing but slowly sink down onto his bed. A deep, dark pain settled in his stomach, one he knew would never leave. Only the devil himself could cause the tormenting pain now pounding through his mind.
It was too much to bear. He needed something to dull the pain.
“Can I see those beautiful girls just one more time?”
A wide grin spread across the devil’s face.
“Always.”
The Saddest Part of the Story
Do you know the saddest part of this story?
It isn’t the loss of his personality, his character, or his dream.
It’s the breakdown of a man’s soul, piece by piece, inch by inch.
It’s how easily the devil can suck the life out of you, and how easily he can break the connection between your soul and your mind.
Because at the very end, even after knowing everything, what he was meant to be and what he could have been, the only thing Zander asked for was to see those beautiful girls “just one more time.”
That is the final nail in the coffin: a man’s pride broken down to nothing, begging for the very poison that destroyed him.
The Bottom Line
The devil never had to fight Zander. He only had to wait, one vision at a time, while endless fantasy did the work for him. So before you close this page, ask yourself one honest question: what is sitting in the corner of your room?
