The words hit Owen like a physical blow. He clamped his mouth shut, his jaw locked so tight the veins in his neck bulged, threatening to rupture. His body shivered uncontrollably, a fine tremor that ran through his bones, and his heart hammered against his ribs like a gorilla on steroids. If you were to check under his threadbare shirt, you'd see the frantic rise and fall of his chest, the frantic pumping visible beneath his bony frame.
Owen had his hands clamped over his head, gripping his hair so tightly his knuckles blanched, as if he feared it might abandon him. His head was tucked between his knees, curled into the smallest ball possible, as if the less space he occupied, the less noticeable he would be. From outside his door, the little demon, his stepsister Lucy, escalated from screaming to banging.
"You piece of shit!" she shrieked, punctuating each word with a heavy pound against the wood. Six resounding thuds, then silence.
The sound of her retreating footsteps faded as she went downstairs.
Silence returned to Owen's room, but not to his chest. Lub-dub... Lub-dub... Lub-dub... Lub-dub... The relentless rhythm of his heart filled the quiet, a frantic drumbeat against his ears. (The "lub" sound is caused by the closure of the mitral and tricuspid valves, while the "dub" sound is caused by the closure of the aortic and pulmonary valves.)
It took him another hour for the frantic tempo to slow, for the tremors to subside. Finally, he let out a long, shuddering sigh.
Why do I have to go through this shit every single day? Why me? As if my adoptive parents weren't enough. He slowly uncurled himself from behind the door, his movements stiff and painful, and stumbled towards his bed.
Another hunger-stricken day, it seems. He collapsed onto the worn mattress and closed his eyes. At least sleeping seemed to offer a temporary escape from his daily torment. He knew it was a lie, a flimsy pretense, but he desperately craved any semblance of peace.
<-------The Little Demon's Morning------>
Lucy, the so-called "little demon," was sprawled elegantly on the living room sofa, her posture the picture of casual grace. Only moments ago, she'd been screaming like a Karen with anger issues, but now, her face was serene, adorned with the radiant smile of a fairytale princess. She possessed an enchanting beauty, the kind that drew admiring gazes, innocent and captivating.
A faint frown creased her brow as she glanced around the lavish living room. "Hm? Which stupid prick is cursing me?" She pondered for a few seconds, then her smile widened beautifully. "It must be that ugly worm," she murmured, her gaze returning to the comedy show playing on the large screen. "Don't even know why he's still in this house."
<------The Household of Demons----->
This luxurious, two-storied house was a sprawling testament to wealth, boasting eight rooms in total. The first floor housed the living room, kitchen, two bedrooms, and a bathroom. Upstairs, on the second floor, were three more rooms: two bedrooms and another bathroom. Owen's room and Lucy's room were conveniently located parallel to the upstairs bathroom.
Within these walls lived five people, including Owen. There were the adoptive parents, Sophia (the mother) and Michael (the father). Then came the children: Lucy, the "little demon" at sixteen, and her older brother, Max, who was twenty-three.
So, arranged by age, the siblings were Max, then Owen, then Lucy.
<----Max Windsor: The Gamer---->
Max Windsor - Status
* Name: Max Windsor
* Level: 27
* Stats:
* Health: [147 / 234]
* Mana: [77 / 300]
* Strength: 18
* Stamina: 15
* Skills: Physical Amplify (D), Blink (E), Demonic Strength (D)
* Overdrive: [Locked]
"Sigh, why is it so hard to level up?" Max muttered, his eyes glued to the glowing status screen hovering before him. He'd barely had time to process the thought before a shuffling sound broke the quiet near him.
He snapped his head towards the noise. An ugly creature stood there, green-skinned, with a pointy nose, and as tall as an average human. Its face looked as if it had been kicked daily since infancy, a visage only a mother could love – and even then, with strict terms and conditions.
"You're as ugly as the first time I saw your kind," Max scoffed. He dashed forward, covering the distance in a blur. The goblin responded with a high-pitched screech, simultaneously pulling a rusty dagger from somewhere. It wore no visible pockets or proper clothes, only a large, filthy rag around its waist that reached its knees.
"Hah! Wearing a skirt," he scoffed, scoffing once more as he raised his arm, landing a perfectly timed right hook on the goblin the moment it entered his range. The punch sent the creature flying, tumbling several times before skidding to a halt. "Oh, forgot to use my skills, hehehe."
While still watching the goblin slowly getting back to its feet, Max uttered two words, a faint glow emanating from his fists. "Demonic Strength."
Demonic Strength: Increases the user's strength by 10 for 15 minutes.
He simultaneously launched himself towards the goblin, a faint red, smoke-like energy swirling around his fists. "Get over here!" he roared, the sound echoing in the confined space. A second after his shout, the goblin lunged forward, its rusty dagger pointed directly at Max.
But before the two collided, a sharp whistling sound cut through the air from behind Max. A moment later, an arrow thudded into his left shoulder, drawing a sharp hiss of pain. He felt a cold sweat break out on his forehead. "Bastard," he gritted out, pulling in a deep breath, and then crashed into the first goblin.
He threw a heavy punch directly at the goblin's face, the impact sickening. Its head caved in with a wet crunch. Even with a shattered skull, the creature managed a desperate lunge, stabbing Max in the abdomen. But Max didn't let the unintelligent creature linger. He delivered a brutal left hook that made its head explode in a shower of green gore.
The goblin's body began to disintegrate, but Max seized it, a primal grunt escaping him, and hurled it in the direction from which the arrow had come. Without a moment's pause, he launched himself towards the archer goblin.
The archer had just nocked another arrow onto its crude bow, a mocking grin on its ugly face as it prepared to fire. But then it saw a body flying towards it. The goblin didn't think twice, darting to the side with surprising agility. "Ke kekekeke," it cackled, a high-pitched, taunting sound, as if mocking Max's failed attempt to hit it.
"Blink!" Max uttered, and in an instant, he disappeared. He reappeared directly behind the archer goblin, which was still suspended mid-air in its mocking laugh, barely a second after it had jumped.
He chuckled, a dark, satisfied sound, as he drove a powerful punch into the back of the goblin's head. Its skull exploded, showering him with green ichor.
Thump. The goblin landed on the ground, its body twitching briefly as it began to disintegrate into dust.
"Phew," Max released a satisfied sigh, feeling the phantom pain of the arrow and dagger as he pulled them from his virtual body. He opened his status screen again. "Still no change, huh? Welp, best I log out before Mom finds me gaming." He pressed the 'log out' button, and his vision completely went black.
A deep, rolling "Gurgle, gurgle" erupted from his stomach before he even opened his eyes. "Time to go scavenging, hehehe."
He pulled off his gaming helmet – a sleek, expensive device – then swung his legs off the bed, heading straight for his bedroom door. Max was a gamer, through and through. He loved games so much he would sell his soul for them, just like his dear readers might. He claimed playing daily helped calm his brain, though that wasn't the whole truth. It was more than calming; it was an escape.
The moment he reached the kitchen, he bypassed everything else. His eyes locked onto the refrigerator. "Only me and you now... and my stomach," he muttered, his gaze akin to an alcoholic's yearning for their favorite bottle.