A small, frail-looking boy, no older than seven, hung over the well. His thin body swayed slightly in the mysterious man's grip.
"Father, please…" His pale 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 his 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 and sour. It clung to his skin, wrapped around him like breath at the back of his neck.
"Hiss."
His eyes followed the sound. Nothing. Just empty darkness staring back. His eyes went wide as the hissing rose, slithering up with the cold air until it wrapped tight around his throat.
In that dire moment, a strength he didn't know he had shot through him, sharp and sudden. His legs kicked at nothing.
Each breath came ragged; his voice trembled as the words scraped out.
"Please, Father… I promise I'll never lose again."
He looked up, meeting his father's eyes. They were empty. Dead. 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 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 him, dragging at his tattered clothes, burning his eyes. The hissing below grew closer as he dropped.
Above, his father stared back from the rim of the well, still and distant.
His hand reached out, hoping his father would pull him up.
But with a dark expression, 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.
Just then something cold slid over his leg. It moved 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.
A second later it sank its fang into his neck. His body jerked before his mind caught up.
Without thinking, he shot his hands to the snake's head, fingers digging into its jaw as he tried to force it open.
Its body thrashed, tail slapping against his chest. Its teeth clenched tighter. He pulled harder, ripping it loose. Its fang still plugged into his neck. Hot red ran down his collar, sticky and thick.
He gritted his teeth and pressed its skull between his fingers until he heard a satisfying crack.
But it was too late—the poison was already spreading. In this well, the clan kept most of their venomous snakes. They were bred to carry poison so potent that a single drop could kill an ordinary person.
As the poison spread, his body started to burn, muscles tearing apart. Sweat beaded across his brow, sliding down in thin streams; his organs faltered, breaking down little by little.
His lungs convulsed, dragging in nothing but silence, like drowning on dry land.
For a moment he lay there almost lifeless. He blinked a couple of times, waiting for this miserable life to end. His eyes welled as red poured down like tears.
Another sank into his leg before he could think. Then another. One clamped onto his shoulder. Another bit his wrist. It was relentless.
His breath grew slow and shallow. The air felt damp against his tongue. His limbs grew heavier with each breath; fingers jerked once before falling limp.
The bites never stopped. They just 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. "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 in pain, he reached up with a last flicker of hope that his father might save him. Nothing. Still dark.
That last flicker of hope he'd been carrying finally extinguished.
"Damn you… damn you all."
A broken laugh escaped him. Tears mixed with crimson across his pale face.
That extinguished hope flared again—not as hope, but as rage.
"You better pray I don't survive this. Because if I do," he ground his teeth, "I'll make you all pay a hundredfold."
Hatred burned in his eyes. "I don't need any of you. Never will."
His fingers twitched, more reflex than will, reaching for something unseen.
"This family," he spat. "This name."
A snake slithered against his palm. Small, cold, 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 jaw. The metallic taste of iron coated his tongue and throat.
He spat the taste out at once. His eyes burned; vision swam 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 again, letting his will to live take over.
"If I'm going to die," he whispered in a broken giggle, "then I'm dragging you bastards with me."
He bit and tore until his body gave out and his heart stuttered.
The bites continued, one after another.
Then a heartbeat. Then another.
His eyes snapped open. Snakes covered him—coiled, piled, smothering him. Instinct took over. He grabbed them one by one, tearing them from his face, dragging in a ragged breath.
His eyes darted around until he saw a narrow hole in the wall. He didn't know how, but he could see everything clearly. With the energy that remained, he dragged himself toward it.
He ground his teeth and wedged himself into the tiny gap. After a struggle he made it inside. His back dropped onto the cold floor. He opened his mouth wide, trying to take in air. But the heat under his skin intensified.
He leaned forward on all fours and threw up.
Massive blood clots spat onto the ground. His body folded as he slammed his arm against the floor.
A moment later he bent forward again, but nothing came. There was nothing left in him—only the sick feeling that if he forced any harder, his organs would spill out instead.
Strength slowly bled away in fragments.
The dark pressed in. His eyelids betrayed him. As his eyes grew weak, thoughts exploded in his mind—what if he didn't wake up?
Reluctantly, he opened his mouth; the words came out dry. "No. I want to live. I can't close my eyes. If I do, I might never wake up… no, I'm sure I won't wake up."
But his weak, broken body refused to listen. His face hit the ground with a dull thud.
Then nothing.