In an abandoned building, the air was cold and thick with dust. Eric's footsteps echoed softly as his uncle dragged him inside.
Eric: "Uncle… why are we here?" 😶
His uncle didn't respond. Instead, he pushed Eric gently into a chair and began tying his wrists with practiced movements.
Eric didn't resist—not even once.
He simply watched, expression calm and empty.
Eric understood everything. And accepted it.
Eric: silent 🙂
Uncle smirked.
Uncle: "Just three more days, nephew. After that, you'll be in someone else's house… as their servant." 😊
Eric didn't flinch.
No anger. No fear. Just stillness.
––––– Eric's POV
What can I do?
Maybe this is better…
Maybe this is what I deserve.
But… why am I so scared?
😢 –––––
An hour passed.
Eric sat quietly, not moving, not speaking.
Then—
something flashed in his memory.
A face.
A voice.
Amber, seven months pregnant with Justin—her fury, her cold expression, the terrifying aura she carried when someone threatened her family.
Eric suddenly smiled. 😊
Man 2: "Brother… look at him. Why is he smiling?" 😶
Uncle frowned.
Uncle: "You're going to hell, kid. Why in the world are you smiling?" 😏
Eric lifted his eyes slowly, a strange calm covering his face.
Eric: "Hell? You think I wasn't already living there since birth?"
The men exchanged confused looks.
Man 3: "What do you mean?" 😶
Eric's smile widened just a little.
Eric: "But congratulations."
Uncle: "For what?" 😒
Eric: "For choosing the wrong target." 😊
The atmosphere shifted.
Eric: "If you guys want to survive even a minute, you might want to gather at least… twenty people."
The men stiffened.
Eric leaned forward, voice low and steady.
Eric: "Because when the devil claims the dead, the punishment becomes double your sins." 😎
They didn't understand.
But Eric did.
Because he remembered Amber's rage.
The rage of a mother.
A woman who destroyed anyone who touched her family.
And now… her child.
---continue