The moon hung high, pale and distant, casting a cold silver glow across the streets. The night should have been quiet—yet for Daniel, silence was only the echo before another storm. His shoes tapped against the asphalt as he walked, his breath visible in the chill air. His sister's voice still rang inside his skull.
Her screams. Her sobs. The way she was forgotten.
Henry was gone, yes. Daniel had split his skull open hours ago, watching the life drain from the boy who had stolen everything from him. But even as Henry's corpse twitched at his feet, Daniel's rage didn't subside. No—because Henry didn't act alone. He was protected. Loved. Shielded by the wealth and arrogance of his family.
They had raised him. They had covered for him. They had laughed in their mansion while his sister bled and begged.
Daniel's fists tightened. The crowbar in his grip still dripped with blood. He whispered to himself as he walked, "If Henry's blood was the first stone, then tonight, I'll bring down the whole house. Every one of them."
The mansion stood at the end of the avenue, tall and proud. Lights glowed in its windows. It seemed peaceful. Innocent. But Daniel saw it for what it was: a nest of snakes. And he was bringing fire.
He crouched in the bushes just beyond the gate, watching. The air was thick with the smell of burning from Henry's earlier demise, a faint cloud rising in the distance where he had ended the boy's life. His heart thumped in his chest—not fear, not hesitation, but a drumbeat of rage driving him forward.
The guard dogs barked somewhere inside the yard, but Daniel had prepared. He reached into his bag and tossed a handful of raw meat soaked in tranquilizer over the gate. The dogs sniffed, whined, and within minutes, silence returned.
Daniel scaled the wall, landing in the manicured garden. Statues of angels stood guard over trimmed hedges, their stony faces serene. He smirked bitterly. "Angels don't live here."
Through the glass walls of the living room, he saw Henry's family gathered. His father—grey-haired, broad-shouldered—sat in an armchair, swirling a glass of brandy. His mother leaned against him, face pale from grief. Two younger children sat on the couch, blank-eyed, clutching teddy bears. An elderly woman—grandmother, perhaps—muttered prayers under her breath.
They were mourning Henry already, though they didn't yet know how close death truly was.
Daniel stepped forward, his shadow stretching across the patio.
The glass door shattered inward with one swing of the crowbar. The family jumped, startled cries filling the room. Daniel stepped through the broken frame, his hood low, his body dripping in Henry's blood.
The father shot to his feet. "Who the hell are you?!"
Daniel's voice was calm, almost gentle. "I'm the brother of the girl your son destroyed."
Recognition flickered in their eyes. The room froze.
Before anyone could move, Daniel surged forward. He slammed the crowbar across the father's jaw with a brutal crack. Teeth scattered across the carpet. The man screamed, collapsing to the floor, his glass shattering beside him.
The mother shrieked, clutching the children. "Please! Please, no!"
Daniel turned his gaze to her. His voice dropped into a growl. "Did you ever ask where she was? Did you ever stop Henry? No—you bought him new clothes while my sister rotted."
He lunged. The knife slashed across her arm as she tried to shield herself. Blood splattered the wall. She fell back against the sofa, screaming, "The children! They're innocent!"
Daniel's eyes burned. "No one in this house is innocent."
The younger boy darted for the stairs, his teddy bear dropping behind him. Daniel caught him halfway, yanking him back by his collar. The child wailed, kicking wildly. Daniel lifted him off the ground with one hand, his grip crushing the fabric against the boy's throat.
The grandmother tried to intervene, her frail hands grabbing Daniel's arm. "Stop this madness, child! Please—"
Daniel shoved her back with the crowbar. The metal cracked her ribs, and she crumpled against the wall, wheezing in agony.
The boy in his hand screamed, tears pouring down his face. For a brief second, Daniel froze—his chest heaving, a flicker of humanity fighting inside him.
But then he saw her face again—his sister, gagged, tied, bleeding, her eyes pleading for help that never came.
The rage consumed him. He slammed the boy's skull against the wall. Once. Twice. Until silence fell. The teddy bear lay in a pool of crimson, its stitched smile soaked.
The mother wailed in horror. She grabbed a shard of glass from the broken table and lunged at Daniel, stabbing his shoulder. Pain ripped through him, but he barely flinched. He turned, grabbing her wrist and twisting until bone snapped. The shard clattered to the ground.
"You'll die last," Daniel hissed.
He dragged her across the floor by her hair, ignoring her screams. The other child—a girl no older than ten—cowered behind the sofa, sobbing. Daniel's eyes softened for a fraction of a second.
But mercy was not in his story.
He grabbed the girl by the arm and pulled her out. She screamed, "Please, don't hurt me!"
"Did your brother show mercy?" Daniel roared. He plunged the knife into her chest, again and again, until her tiny body went limp. Blood soaked his hands, warm and sticky.
The father groaned on the carpet, trying to crawl away, his jaw shattered. Daniel loomed over him, crowbar raised. "You shielded him. You bribed the police. You laughed while my family broke."
The crowbar came down. Again. Again. The father's skull caved in like rotten fruit, spraying the walls.
The grandmother, barely alive, whispered prayers through blood-stained lips. Daniel knelt beside her, his face close. "Your prayers are too late."
With a swift motion, he drove the knife into her throat. Her prayer ended in a gurgle.
Only the mother remained now, sobbing uncontrollably, crawling backward across the blood-soaked carpet. Daniel stalked toward her slowly, his shadow long and monstrous against the burning glow of the fireplace.
She pressed her hands together, trembling. "Please… please, I beg you. Don't kill me. I'm sorry. I didn't know…"
Daniel tilted his head, watching her with cold eyes. Then he leaned down, whispering in her ear, "Every scream my sister made echoed in your silence. This house is built on her blood. Tonight, I collect the debt."
She screamed as he dragged the knife across her throat in one smooth, merciless motion. Blood sprayed across his face, hot and thick. She collapsed beside her children, her body twitching as life fled.
The house was silent now, except for the dripping of blood and the crackle of fire. Daniel stood in the center of the carnage, his chest heaving, his hands dripping crimson.
He looked around—bodies strewn across the once-perfect home. The scent of death filled the air, heavy and suffocating.
Daniel whispered, his voice trembling, "Now she can rest."
But even as the words left his lips, he felt no peace. Only emptiness. Only the hunger for more.
He pulled a can of lighter fluid from his bag and began pouring it across the carpets, the furniture, the curtains. He struck a match, watching the flame dance in his blood-soaked fingers.
"This house dies with them."
He dropped it.
The fire roared to life, consuming everything. The portraits of Henry's smiling face burned. The screams of the dying seemed to echo in the flames, though no one was alive to make them.
Daniel walked out through the front door, leaving bloody footprints across the marble steps. Behind him, the mansion collapsed into an inferno, ash and smoke rising into the night sky.
And in his eyes burned a new truth: this was only the second step. There were more houses. More names. More debts to pay.