Victor trudged through the mud and filth, each step sucking at his boots, leaving prints that vanished into darkness.
Then he heard it — a groan, light and painful, dry and rasping, followed by a woman's shallow cries, twisted with the low, angry hums of a drunken man.
The sound shouldn't have mattered. But it did. It dragged him back — to that night, that flickering oil lamp, the day he lost everything… and gained far more than he could ever bear. Something long buried beneath decades of silence clawed its way to the surface: a childhood he had spent a lifetime trying to forget.
The decapitated house always trembled before the shouting began.
Victor huddled in the corner, knees pressed to his chest. The oil lamp trembled, throwing jagged shadows across the walls. The smell of soot and sweat clung to the room. His baby sister's cry pierced the air — thin, quivering, slicing through the cold.
Then came the footsteps.Slow. Heavy. Dragging. Each one thudding like a hammer in Viktor's chest.
"Stop crying," he whispered, nudging her gently. His voice shook. "Please… he'll hear you."
But the baby didn't stop.
His father's shadow filled the doorway before the voice came, carrying smoke, cheap liquor, and menace."What did I tell you about that noise?"
The stench of alcohol burned Viktor's nostrils. "Useless," his father muttered louder this time. "All of you. Worthless mouths that do nothing but cry and eat."
"Please," his mother said softly, desperate. "She's just a baby. I'll calm her—"
The bottle smashed against the table, splinters scattering like teeth."You'll *what*? You can't even keep this place quiet! You never do anything! YOU WHORE — ALL YOU DO IS LEECH OFF ME!"
Victor flinched as the sound shredded the air. He wanted to run, but his mother's frail hand brushed his arm - stay still. Stay small.
"Don't," she whispered, almost too quiet to hear. "Don't move. It'll be over soon."
But it never was.
The baby's cries rose, feeding the wildfire of hate in his father's eyes. Every sound became a trigger until it exploded.
"Make it stop!" he roared.
The scream tore from his mouth, then came his mother's high, piercing, blood spilling from her head, mingling with the metallic tang of fear.
Tears streaked her pale face as she clutched her skull, shards of glass crunching beneath her.
"Please, just—"
Victor, trembling, tried to intervene. "I'll quiet her! Please… don't hurt—"
"Shut up!" The word hit harder than a fist.
He froze. His mother collapsed again. And still she whispered, "It's all right… it's over."
But Victor knew it wasn't. It never was.
The room shuddered beneath the weight of his father's fury. His voice cracked the air like thunder. He knelt. The first blow snapped her head sideways.The second came before she could breathe.Blood spattered across the floor, warm and coppery, scenting the air with iron. Fists struck again and again — each blow heavier, duller. Bone and flesh collided in a rhythm that drowned everything else.
When it finally slowed, Victor saw her through the haze — bloodied, trembling, eyes losing focus, one hand reaching for him. Her voice barely a thread:
"Don't… move."
**Snap.**
Something inside him fractured — rage, pain, terror fused into a single, burning force. It consumed his soul, a hatred so raw it drained the world of color. Teeth clenched, nails dug into his flesh, body shaking uncontrollably.
His father leaned over her with a smile that turned Victor's stomach to stone.
"At least you're useful for something."
Then he began tearing her clothes.
Watching, Victor picked up a shard of glass. Cold. Sharp. Heavy in his hand. He raised it slowly, pretending to move for a hug.
"What the he—"
Before he could finish, blood sprayed like a fountain, warm and wet, splattering across his vision. The stench of iron and fear filled his lungs. Viktor's heart froze, still as the night sky, heavy and cold.
His hands shook. His father's gurgling sounds echoed as he clutched his throat, thrashing like a wounded animal. His mother barely moved, frozen in shock, tears streaking her pale face.
"NOOOOOOO! What have you done!?" she screamed, voice raw with disbelief and terror.
Victor's small lips quivered, but his voice came out quiet and sharp, as if he had already decided something no child should ever decide:
"The world is mean… so I have to be meaner. Everyone cries, everyone hurts, everyone is weak. You… mother… you're weak. And you too, sister… weak, small, helpless. I can't be like you. I can't stay here in this dirty house, with all the screaming and the hitting. Only the strong survive. Only the strong matter. I… I have to be stronger than them all."
He clenched his fists, staring at the blood, his tiny body trembling."I don't need this world to be nice. I just… I just have to be mean enough to keep living." His voice trembled, barely more than a whisper, eyes glistening with a grief no child should ever carry. Then, with a shaking hand, he plunged the shard into his mother's heart.
"You're too kind for this world, Mother," he murmured, tears streaking his small, pale face.
He sank to his knees, trembling, every part of him heavy with sorrow and guilt. Yet beneath it all, a fragile relief stirred—relief that the people he loved most, his mother and his baby sister, would be spared the cruelty of this filthy world.
He reached for his sister, hands shaking, heart breaking, knowing the weight of his actions would haunt him forever. And still… in that moment, all he could feel was the unbearable, terrible ache of love and loss.
---
A sudden clatter pulled Victor from the memories. The rumble of wheels grew louder, and an extravagant carriage rolled to a stop in front of him. Its doors swung open, and a tall, sharply dressed butler stepped down, eyes scanning urgently.
"Where have you been, Young Duke?" he demanded, voice tight with worry. "We've been searching for you everywhere! And… what's up with your clothes? You look like you've been dragged through the mud!"
Victor froze, his body stiff and unresponsive as he felt confused, he didn't know this man nor why he called him young duke. The butler's polished boots clicked against the cobblestones as he stepped closer, reaching out gently. "Come on, sir. We need to get you inside. You shouldn't be out here alone."
Suddenly Victor's vision blurred. A sudden, searing headache tore through his skull, new memories invaded his mind, every sound, every smell seemed to explode at once. His knees buckled, and he barely caught himself on the carriage door.
The butler's eyes widened, and he tightened his grip on Victor's arms. "Steady, sir! Hold on!"
But it was too late. his legs gave out completely, and his body went limp. The last thing he registered before darkness claimed him was the concerned face of the butler leaning over him, murmuring urgently, "Stay with me, Young Duke… stay with me."