The Bird & The Beast

Chapter 2

The best people, the ones who care for you the most, are the ones who teach you to kill. To feel no remorse. After all, killing is a part of every living being, though some stifle it.

Miserable fools. The whole pathetic lot of them. Sorry, miserable fools.

The little boy rested his cheek on his knees, wishing to cry but finding he couldn't.

He was too evil for tears.

And now he sat in a pool of his mother's blood, her heart clenched in his small, bloodied hands.

That was how Corbin found his younger brother.

"Fool!" He swore. "Damned fool! What use have you for regret?" he demanded, jerking the boy up.

The little boy wanted to wipe his eyes, but he didn't dare. Instead, he glared up at his older brother.

Still, he didn't let go of the heart.

Corbin had killed his father at the age of five, and everyone spoke of the evil that drove him forward. His eyes were black, empty, with nothing but evil lurking behind them.

The little boy hated those eyes. He hated Corbin, hated his laugh, hated his smile. He hated everything about him.

But he also loved him. Admired him and feared him.

And now he hated him all the more, for Corbin hadn't been upset after severing their father's head from his body. Corbin had laughed, the others said.

Corbin stood there and laughed over his father's dead body.

The little boy decided then that he was a disgrace to his brother's name and tried to no avail to harden his heart.

His brother, his precious, hated brother, was the star of them all. The ones the gods themselves seemed to fear a little, for his evil seemed to know no bounds.

And the little boy felt compelled to be half the demon his brother was.

It was Corbin this, Corbin that. No one was as good as Corbin. He was the gods' favorite.

His little brother was a disappointment, nothing compared to Corbin's everything.

Corbin ruffled his brother's hair, barely sparing a glance to the she-demon who had birthed him.

"I should have killed her the day I killed our father," Corbin said, disgust curling his lip up. "Then you wouldn't have disgraced yourself like this."

Corbin this, Corbin that.

He would never be as good as Corbin.

Something inside the little boy screamed, indignant. He wanted to scream and tell him to take the hurtful words back.

But he didn't, for that wouldn't help him. Not at all.

He could never be as good as Corbin, but he could be better.

The little boy's grip tightened on the heart, his eyes growing cold. Slowly, making sure Corbin was paying attention, making sure he saw the ruthlessness in his eyes, he brought the heart up to his mouth.

His teeth tore into the organ, and he didn't grimace, even as the blood squirted in his mouth. He didn't cringe or flinch. He chewed and chewed, and finally swallowed.

He repeated the routine until there was nothing left, and Corbin was staring at him in horror.

Or so the little boy liked to think. The look on Corbin's face was likely one of disgust.

"I haven't disgraced myself, or you," the little boy spat out, and blood fell from his mouth. "You disgraced me."