A Baby For The Beast

27. Wicked Love

Tania’s Pov

Was raised as a brutal child.

My village, Blood of Ferals, renown for being fast and dangerous warriors ate mostly meat. It was to be really strong.

My parents were respectful villagers, who sadly passed away on the same day.

It was one of the attacks and I was so little.

I remember thinking they’ll actually come back, laugh and pat my head. Telling me it was a silly joke.

They never did.

My grandma took it from there.

“Listen, kid.” she’d say.

“There are two kinds of people in this world.”

“People that care. And people that don’t give a fuck.”

“You decide the one you’d be.”

Grandma was more like a badass. She'd wear an eye-patch like a pirate and smoke leaves to make her thoughts disappear.

I didn’t know what she tried to forget, but whatever it was certainly wasn’t good.

Grandma worked with the sea, selling illegal goods.

When she was however free, she would take me to the village training ground. Make me see the bloodsheds and vigorous training.

I vividly recalled how a man took a hold of another, hitting his head several times till crimson flowed out.

Using my hands to cover my eyes, I almost cried from the terror.

But she made me uncover my eyes, each time I covered them from the brutal violence.

When we were home, she’d make dinner. We’ll sit and eat.

Sometimes, she dragged me along to her deals and made me watch at a corner.

When the buyers would question her bringing a little kid, she simply told them to shut up and have respect for elders.

One of those days, a group got angry. They tried to silence her but obviously messed with the wrong person.

Last thing I remembered was us walking away from the scene, crossing over bloody bodies.

“For a start, life is fucked up.” she’d tell me.

“You can’t do anything about it. Neither can I. This is why you have to choose standing up for yourself, little bean.”

Little bean.

That was the nickname she had given me overtime.

I slept that night with her words and the event of that day on my mind.

The next day, she took me with her to start my training.

Grandma made me work hard night and day. Fighting people that were not my size.

I remember them beating me black and blue.

Surprisingly, when they did, she wasn’t moved.

“Clean yourself up.” she’d say.

“You still have a long way to go.”

Just when I started to improve, the time for the choosing came.

Now I didn’t know how hard my parents death hit me.

But I had no friends. Except Maria.

She wasn’t really much to show the world. Because she was a chicken.