Fatal Justice

† Prologue †

Some memories never fade.

10 Years Ago 

"Useless bastard!" 

He flinched, although it did nothing to stop the heavy fist from sinking into his gut. He barely had time to register the pain before another fist struck his cheekbone. Blood was dribbling from his temple from an earlier blow, his lip split, and a nasty gash across his cheek that was only festered further by the blunt force that threatened to crack his skull. 

"You can't do anything right, can you?!" His father screamed, face flushed with fury, "I gave you one simple task and you couldn't even manage that! It's because of your constant failure that this family suffers! You will never amount to anything, you pathetic son of a bitch!" 

Blow after blow, he could only cower in the corner and accept the fate that had been so cruelly dealt to him. He was merely eleven years old and maybe in a different world, he wouldn't have a father with anger issues. Though, he could hardly call this man his father. A man that saw no wrong in beating a boy to the brink of death and then laughing like it was the best game to play. A heartless monster.

For as long as he could remember, he knew not of the good in people. He could only see the monsters that sunk their claws into his flesh and watched with glee as he bled out. Maybe it was like the shadows on the wall, slithering with gleaming fangs, waiting for him to fall prey behind closed eyes, and then he would be drug into the abyss.

He only knew the cruel words that cut deeper than any knife blade could. The force of a fist breaking his flesh and clacking his teeth. An impact of a foot that bruised his intestines, broke his ribs or crushed his lungs until he was wheezing nothing but blood and agony. Sometimes he was lucky and he would slip away from the world he had grown to hate but most of the time, it was as if the moon goddess adored the way his skin was constantly any color but normal.

And what he hated the most was feeling trapped. Like the cold walls of the basement that had become his home for weeks upon weeks. Those four slabs crawled closer the more he breathed and he hated all of it. He often found himself here because he couldn't figure out what pleased his father. Even when he tried his best, he just couldn't get it right. Though, his brother knew it all. The favorite son, if he was to say. Those two had the same twisted minds and he was constantly questioning them--which was why he always received the punishments. 

Maybe he would finally break into the submission. Maybe there would be no grit left in him, that he would follow orders like a mindless pup. He hadn't even reached his first shift yet but he could feel his wolf boiling beneath his skin with raw anger. Soon, he wished he would have the strength to fight back. 

But, he was merely a boy. And he was frightened. Gut-wrenching, spine-chilling fear. Like needle-like shivers that crawled through the crevices of his spine, he only ever felt terror in the presence of his father. That was something he would never forget. He didn't remember a time where he wasn't suffering each day. All he knew was pain. A cold fist. A harsh kick. And if he was lucky, spiteful words and a glob of spit to shame him.

He was forced to grow up much too fast for a young boy. All that crossed his mind was how to survive. Make himself as small as possible and maybe they would forget about him. Every time he saw their faces, there was no emotion. Just demons, mocking his weakness. Their eyes glowing with hunger for his blood, their fingers itching to steal his flesh, and he was nothing but a bug beneath their boots. An easy prey, a body that couldn't fight back.

His body was rippling with fresh waves of pain and after one final kick to further bruise his abdomen, his father spat down upon him. Finally, there was a break--that wasn't one of his bones--and his father had grown bored enough. 

"You never learn your damned lesson, do you?" His father snarled, "You will this time." 

He could only close his eyes against the threat in those final words. There was no boundary to his father's anger, and the hate ran like rivers of blood. He supposed it went both ways between them. He listened through shallow breaths as heavy footsteps faded away, involuntarily flinching when the bars of the cell was slammed closed. The force seemed to shake the rafters, rustling the few bats that lived within this dark, hell-hole. 

An echo of laughter drifted back to him. He knew who was laughing. It was his brother. The boy who should have been here instead of him. But, whenever things went wrong, he always took the blame. He always took the pain. He always suffered the consequences. And that only made him grow faster into hate and loathing. He didn't know if he would make it to see the sun again but if he did--his family be damned--he promised himself that he would run. 

Far away from here. This place he couldn't call home for a second longer. His own personal hell on earth. But, the rational part of him knew it wasn't possible. Not yet anyway. He had nowhere to go, he couldn't call on his wolf yet, and his father kept him on a ten-foot leash. He would never get the chance to reach the border and then he would face pain beyond anything he'd ever felt. He decided it wasn't worth it. Yet. 

After a few minutes of silence, he finally peeled his eyes open with an agonizing groan, wishing to believe the worst of his nightmare was over. For now. Blood crusted through his eyelashes, sealing around open cuts on his face, and he cringed; though only darkness met his vision. There was no light down here, in a place where bodies were thrown to be forgotten and rot into a pile of chalk-white bones that the rats would carelessly scramble over. He could smell the stench of age-old death but he had grown quite used to it by now.

He sat motionlessly against the cold wall, its rough, sharp edges were forgotten against his bruised flesh, and his wolf tried to heal them. He was grateful for his wolf, it was the only soul who truly cared about him, and he couldn't wait for the day they could be united in body. His very bones were exhausted and every day was a new kind of hell, a nightmare he couldn't escape. None of it was something he should have to worry about at his young age but he couldn't ignore it. This was his tyrannical reality and it was best he accepted it now. 

Not to mention, it was miserable down here--in the basement of his father's house. There was a bone-chilling draft that swept through every few minutes, driving ice into his very bones, and all he could do was curl up as much as his injuries would allow and try to weather the storm. He knew that nobody would be coming back for him. They never did. Nobody ever cared. 

Sometimes, he was convinced they forgot about him. Not that he minded, except for when he was locked in this very cell because then his stomach grew emptier and emptier until he was starving. Sometimes he would be starved for weeks. He supposed it could be worse and he rested his head on his knees, silent tears dripping down his cheeks with a nasty sting from the saltiness. This was it, this was his life, and he hated it. But now, there was nothing more to do than wait. 

For death, he hoped. 

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I promise, it doesn't get better. 

This is going to be one hell of a book, I'm just gonna say that right now. I've never quite gotten this dark with my writing before but I'm ready to take the plunge into the abyss. I've actually been wanting to do this for a while. You know, let my black soul truly show for a spell and traumatize the world before I retreat with a sweet smile.

So, do you think you're brave enough to stay?