A man held a frail boy by his collar, the child's small frame barely clinging to life. 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 down, then 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 frame higher. His feet thrashed weakly, as if he didn't even have the strength to move or speak.
From below, the well breathed cold air. It was damp, sour. It clung to his skin—wrapped around him like breath against the back of his neck.
"HISSSSSSSSS."
His eyes followed the sound. Nothing. Just empty darkness staring back. His eyes went wide. The hiss rose, slithering up with the cold air until it wrapped tight around his throat. Strength that he didn't know he had shot through him, sharp and sudden. His legs kicked at nothing.
Each breath came ragged, his voice trembling as the words scraped out.
"Please, Father… I promise I'll never lose again."
He looked up, meeting his father's eyes. His father's eyes were empty. Dead. And right then, he lost all hope. The look made him feel small. Like garbage. Like something to throw away.
His chest locked tight. He knew what was coming. His legs stopped kicking. His arms just dropped, dead weight at his sides.
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.
He looked down, unable to meet his eyes. "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, and no sound broke 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!
Its fangs sank into his neck. His body jerked before his mind even caught up. Heat crawled under his skin, poison chewing its way through every vein. Sweat clung to his face. His breaths came short, uneven, like his lungs didn't want to work anymore.
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.
He squeezed its head until the skull cracked in his hand. Then he flung it aside. His chest heaved, blood pulsing from the bite in his neck, sharp and hot.
Just then.
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 fixed upward, waiting for the smallest shift in the dark above. For light. For a hand.
Nothing came.
Even with all the pain clawing at him, he reached out one last time—the last flicker of hope that still clung to him that his father might come to save him. But once again, nothing. No one reached out. No one ever did.
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."
He forced the words out, ragged, scraping his throat on the way.
"You better pray I don't survive this… because if I do—" his jaw clenched, teeth grinding—"I'll make you pay."
Hatred burned in his eyes, raw and ugly. "I don't need any of you. Never will."
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 pushed it back up, but he shoved it down anyway—letting his will to live take over.
"If I'm going to die," a broken giggle escaped him, "then I'm dragging 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 from the inside.
He pressed his back to the cold wall. His breath slipped out through clenched teeth, sharp and uneven. The chill did nothing. Heat boiled under his skin, spreading deeper with every second.
A scream broke short in his throat.
He tried to stand up, but his knees gave out. Breath caught in his throat, like he was about to be suffocated—something was blocking the path, and he couldn't push it out.
He dropped to all fours and forced a painful cough out. It was wet, harsh, clots of blood spattering the ground, choking him as his body twisted and slammed against the floor like something inside was clawing to get out.
Strength drained in fragments. Movements shrank.
The dark pressed in. His eyelids sagged.
"No… no… no." The sound barely formed.
He didn't want to fall asleep, afraid he might never wake up again.
Then—nothing.
When he woke, the dark felt 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 the 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 exact words:
"I will make you all pay."