Blood And Vows

00 | Cursed Successor

How - The Neighbourhood

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Everyone knew about him, yet no one believed he was real. He was a twisted fairy tale, a nightmare that haunted the corners of people's minds until all that was left was mutilated flesh and haunting memories.

One throne, precariously balanced on the remains of the fallen, telling the story about a thousand insignificant sacrifices, and one last successor - him being the key to a new war, the gateway to chaos itself.

The thought sent frigidity down people's spines, locking them in their homes, frightened at shadows and praying at sounds.

They had heard the whispers and read about the history of the monster who mistook obsession for love, leaving ruin in his wake. He had burnt cities to ash with violence, losing himself in the turmoil while he managed dirty businesses on and underneath the streets of New York.

But no one knew anything of his son, the dark legacy he awaked once his heart started thumping and his first breaths were taken.

They were oblivious to the little boy left behind when justice was served, a boy whose father was ferociously murdered.

No one spoke of the child who bore that bedeviled blood.

Yet that boy was no longer little; he had grown, witnessed horrors that should have remained hidden, and heard secrets that should have been buried.

He understood that the crimson liquid streaming through his veins was corrupted like a drop of blood falling into a glass of purified water, a sinister inheritance from the worst man to walk the earth.

He didn't want to be like his father - if he had to prove how terrifying he was by strangling little kids with the palm of his hand and undressing women while violating all the rights to their bodies, he didn't want it. He didn't need those things to be intimidating.

The fact he always stayed in the dark, wearing a face no one knew or could recognize, yet his presence was always felt, was enough to send everyone's knees buckling.

His father burnt down a city, his son would burn down empires.

And it all started with one man, and a ton shit of delusion running through his veins.

New York, 2013

"You're dying aren't you?" The dark-haired boy frowns at his mom, his eyes flicking over all the machines strapped to her body and the beeping sounds resonating through the hospital room, indicating the way her heart pulses.

Any child would be on the verge of sobbing watching their mom slip out of life's control.

Not Ethan Ambrose. He didn't care.

Little did they know, he itched for her to die a little faster. He couldn't comprehend why the doctors tried so hard to keep someone alive who was already dead to him. He couldn't understand why they tried so hard to save her heart when he had countless scenarios like today in his head.

But instead of only looking at her he imagined how he would force his hand through her chest and rip the beating organ out himself.

Unfortunately for him, she was being observed by doctors for hours on end.

"Don't be sad." His mom forces a smile on her face, such an admirable woman with hardly any good people around her. She recalled having him nine months in her womb, fantasizing about all the ways they would spend time together in the future like mother and son.