Wrath's Agony

Wrath's Embrace

The hot summer sun was burning his skin as he had been left out there for hours, a rope tied tightly to maintain his hands behind the tree. So much so, that the fabric had been tearing off pieces of his skin. His wrists becoming sore as a result.

He raised his head to try and find the position of the sun, trying to find out, what time it may be, and how long he might have been tied up here.

However, his, futile search, would quickly be interrupted a tall figure that towered above him. His father. Tall, slender, and looming over him. His shadow blocking the sun's light, allowing the boy to see.

"Ah, Vaenatt, you and I both know what comes next." He said as he clenched his fists.

He'd rather not respond, and simply wait for it to end. He had already been numbed out of pain anyway. It's not like he'd feel it.

And so, he simply nodded. Not a word, not a sound. And it didn't take a second more for him to start his gruesome deed. His foot came flying in his direction, slamming Vaenatt's stomach into the tree. Causing him to spit out the little saliva he had left, as he had, yet again been left out to starve and thirst.

Seeing just a slight reaction seemed to displease his father, his face distorted as a response. It had become as hideous as his personnality. An amalgamation of the deception and anger he had in him.

So he struck again, his shoe'd talon descending onto the boys head, which, despite his unsually high pain resistance, let out a surprised and inaudible moan.

He could no longer see his attacker's face, all he could see, were the punches, the kicks that were thrown at him, his head being thrashed around like a vulgar doll. He was starting to feel numb. His bloody face, swollen lips and broken nose suddenly got pressed against the ground. The cold touch of wet grass started tickling his face.

And suddenly, in an instant, a cold, very cold touch met his arm. Metal, he thought to himself. It seemed as if his father had taken out the bigger weapons this time. He sighed to himself. Silently. As a loud, violent crack was heard. It hurt.

He screamed in agony. Forcefully opening his blackened eyes. The pain was from a crowbar was repeatedly being slammed against his arm. The pain was unbearable, and it wasn't long until his deformed bones became tearing through the skin. His father had stopped for a moment, so his eyes came looking up, his agonizing look could distinguish a few words, despite not being able to recognize, which words they were anymore. And with a swift, and sudden movement. The crowbar came slamming against his jaw. And everything went black. His eyes were open. But he couldn't move. He couldn't speak. He couldn't look around, he was stuck, numb. And cold, so very very cold. He had died

And unlike what others, people who have passed and come back could possibly say. There was no light. There was no long and dark tunnel. There were only wandering lost souls, each and every one, simply fading away, slowly. Is that what he would become? Once his soul separated from his body?

Those were questions for later, as of now, all he could see, was his father, still crushing, each and every bone of his body, the crowbar, becoming but a blur before his eyes. Even though he couldn't feel, or see his body. He could, somehow, determine where he was being hit, how his body folded, and deformed under the numerous attacks.

The disturbing scene, went on for over an hour, he knew, because he counted the seconds, every single one. Before he could sense his body being picked up, and put above his father's shoulder.