Prologue

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"Hello. My Name. Is Vaenatt. Well. You probably already had a peek at the description. But for those of you, that didn't. Let me start again. My name translates to 'Night of defeat', a mix of latin and... What was it again? I can't remember... Anyhows. This. Is my story. The story. Of Wrath's Agony. However... I would like to warn the light hearted, this is a very very graphic story, involving murder, brutal beatings, and various abuse. If you dislike these sort of things, I advise you turn back now. Thank you very much."

Vaenatt was born near the end of the twentieth century. 1998, to be precise. On the hottest day of summer. Against his parent's wishes. And since his parents where very frantic believers. Servants of god's bidding. So they were against the idea of abandonning the little Vaenatt. Instead, they decided to keep him. As an only child.

Due to this unfortunate turn of events. His parents never grew a liking to the little Boy, that wanted nothing more, than his parents to be proud. Well. For his younger years anyway. Instead, said parents prefered having fun, with the poor soul. Torture. Inimaginable. At first, it was only moral. Downgrading the child. Putting his interests after everything else. Sometimes even cutting his meals. Which made him a very skinny boy.

His eyes were a very bright blue, bags where constantly building up under them, due to the very obvious lack of sleep. Which, can very easily be explained by one simple thing. His parents, again, being the terrible people they are, made him work late, and sleep outside. Like a mutt. He was always tired, and developped a form of Narcolepsy. Making him fall asleep, pretty much any time he wasn't doing anything. Despite the fact that, well, it didn't happen very often.

That being said. You, readers, now have a little hindsight of what his childhood was like. Now, when he turned 14, it became a totally different matter. Vaenatt started being subject of physical torture. Hittng, cigarette burns, sometimes light cuts, one time even going to severe beat downs.

Which leads us, to where we are today. Vaenatt's 17th birthday. The day. It all. Went. Wrong.

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