A frail boy dangled by his collar. He couldn't have been more than seven. His eyes kept slipping shut, lips split and dry, as if he hadn't seen food or sleep in days. Bruises covered his face—old ones fading to yellow, fresh ones purple and raw, stacked so thick they never had the chance to heal.
"Father, please…" His eyes flicked downward, then shot back up. "Please don't let go. I'll train harder, I swear."
The words barely escaped his lips. The grip on the collar dug into his throat, dragging his thin body higher. His feet thrashed weakly, as if he didn't even have the strength to move or speak.
From below, the well breathed up cold air—damp, sour, clinging to his skin. It wrapped around him like breath against the back of his neck.
"HISSSSSSSSS."
He glanced into the dark well. Nothing but emptiness stared back. His eyes widened, panic breaking loose as the hiss below slithered upward, riding the cold air until it rang in his ears. His legs kicked harder against nothing. Each breath ripped itself out ragged, his voice trembling as the words stumbled free.
"Please, Father… I promise I'll never lose again."
He looked up, met his father's eyes, and whatever was left of his hope broke apart inside him. Gone, just like that.
Above, his father's face stayed still. No anger. No pity. Nothing. Emotionless. His eyes stayed calm, unmoving. Not cruel. Not kind. Just… empty. A stillness that made the boy feel smaller with every breath, as if this wasn't punishment—just a chore to be done.
His chest tightened. His legs kicked without order. His fingers dug at his father's wrist as if they could claw deep enough to change anything.
The grip didn't falter.
In this clan, mercy was rarer than sunlight. Children were not raised. They were sharpened.
"You've shamed me for the last time.
You lost to someone two years younger than you.
You lost to a child."
The words fell like stones into still water. No echo. No hesitation. Spoken the way other men might pour tea or sharpen a blade. As if he himself were not a child.
"I… I'm sorry."
The grip loosened.
Then it was gone.
He fell.
Wind rushed past, dragging at his tattered clothes, burning his eyes raw. The hissing below got closer as he fell.
Above, his father stared back at him from the rim of the well—still, distant.
His hand reached out, hoping his father would pull him up. His fingers clawed at the air.
His father turned away. Like he had never existed.
Cold air curled around him. The hiss thickened.
He stopped fighting. He closed his eyes and waited.
A moment later—
Thud.
His body struck the ground. Pain exploded through his spine. The air ripped out of him. His chest seized. He tried to speak, but his mouth worked uselessly, no sound breaking free.
Before he knew it, the hissing swelled around him. Slowly getting closer. He could hear them, but his body refused to answer. He lay there like wounded prey waiting to be devoured.
Then something cold slid over his leg.
It slid across his arm, scales grinding against his flesh. The weight pressed harder as it crept toward his face. He couldn't move. He was locked in place.
Snap!
It sank its fangs into the side of his neck. His body snapped before his mind caught up. Heat crawled under his skin, sharp and hot, sweat breaking out as poison spread. His chest heaved, each breath rough and broken, each gasp harder to let out.
His hands shot up on instinct, clawing for the snake. He didn't know how, but they moved on their own.
His fingers clamped down on its head, nails digging into scale. The body thrashed, smashing against his chest. Its teeth clenched tighter. He pulled harder, ripping it loose, flesh tearing, blood running hot down his collar. Sticky, thick.
His fingers crushed down harder until the skull gave with a sharp crack. He flung it aside, chest heaving, the bite in his neck pulsing with every heartbeat.
Another one bit into his leg before he could think.
Then another.
One clamped onto his shoulder.
Another sank into his wrist. It was relentless.
His breath came slow, shallow. The air felt damp against his tongue. His limbs grew heavier with each breath, fingers jerking once before falling limp.
Thoughts slipped apart the moment they formed.
The bites didn't stop.
They dug deeper.
A sound tore from his throat before he knew he was screaming. He used everything he had, until his voice broke apart.
"Father… please!" His cry cracked in half.
"Mother… please… it hurts!"
Nothing answered.
His eyes stayed fixed upward, waiting for the smallest shift in the dark above. For light. For a hand.
Nothing came.
Through all the pain, he reached out his hand one last time, the last flicker of hope that his father might come back to save him—but once again, nothing. His hand dropped.
A broken laugh tore out of his throat—soft at first, then wild and jagged—even as tears slid down his face.
"Damn you… damn you all."
The words scraped out raw, as if they had to claw their way past his teeth.
"You all better pray I don't survive this." His jaw ached from clenching so hard. Hate pressed behind his eyes.
"I don't need any of you."
His fingers twitched—more reflex than will—reaching for something unseen.
"This family." The words were bitter.
"This name."
A snake shifted against his palm. Small. Wet. Slippery. He closed his hand around it.
"I renounce you all," he muttered, and bit down, tearing its head off. The skull cracked between his teeth, the hot metallic taste of blood coating his tongue.
But he spat it out instantly. His eyes burned, vision swimming with tears and blood. Another body writhed in his grip. He yanked it close and sank his teeth into its head. This one tasted worse, but he forced it down. His body resisted, every part of him screaming to stop, yet he shoved it down anyway.
"If I'm going to die," he growled, voice breaking into a ragged snarl, "I'm taking you fuckers with me."
And he kept going. Biting. Tearing. Until his body gave out and his heart stopped.
The bites kept coming.
One after another.
Then—a heartbeat.
Then another.
His eyes snapped open. Snakes covered him—coiled around his body, piled across his chest, slithering over his face like they'd chosen him for some writhing festival. Instinct took over. His hand shot up, seizing the one smothering his face. He ripped it aside, dragging in a ragged breath.
Through the dark, a narrow break in the wall caught his eye. He dragged himself toward it. Every inch forward lit fire in his limbs. His skin burned. Muscles screamed. The air was thick with blood and venom.
He wedged himself into the gap—just enough room to curl up. The stone was cold, but his body was boiling alive.
He pressed his back to the cold wall, breath hissing through clenched teeth. The chill did nothing. Heat boiled under his skin, spreading deeper with every second.
A scream broke short in his throat.
His knees buckled. Nails scraped stone as a cough tore free, wet and harsh, blood spattering the ground. His body twisted, slamming against the floor like it wanted to tear itself apart.
Strength drained in fragments. Movements shrank.
The dark pressed in. Eyelids sagged.
"No… no… no." The sound barely formed.
He didn't want to sleep. Not here. Not like this.
Then—nothing.
When he woke, the dark was thinner. A gray light seeped in from nowhere. No hole. No crack. No source.
His body still burned. Each breath scraped his lungs. But the haze was gone. His eyes felt sharp again.
Something bit his arm. He caught it mid-strike and bit back. The skin split, taste sharp and foul. He didn't care. His jaw worked until bone gave way. He swallowed.
More came. They latched on. Hung on. Tried to drag him down. He ignored them. His hands moved again and again, snatching whatever shifted in the dark and dragging it to his mouth.
Anger stayed with him. Rage steadied his hands.
Through clenched teeth, between mouthfuls, he murmured the same words:
"I will make you all pay."