Chapter 4: A Beast Was Born
He shot my dad.
The masked man shot my dad.
"No!" My scream ripped through the room like a blade. "Dad, open your eyes—please!"
I dropped to my knees beside him, shaking his shoulders, willing him to move.
My hands were slick with blood—his blood—warm and sticky and wrong.
I was begging for a blink, a breath, a twitch. Anything.
But there was nothing.
Just silence.
A terrible, suffocating silence that screamed louder than anything ever had.
Mom clutched me from behind, her sobs bitter and broken.
She held me like I was the only thing left tethering her to this world.
Her arms were tight, trembling, but it wasn't comfort. It was desperation.
She was falling apart, and I was the only piece she had left.
The masked man tilted his head, his pale eyes gleaming behind the slits.
"Goodbye, David. See you in hell," he muttered coldly.
Then he kicked my father's lifeless body.
Laughed.
And walked away like it meant nothing.
That sound—his laughter—it wasn't human.
It was jagged.
It cut through me like a knife and tore open something deep, something dark.
He turned, strolling across the bloodstained floor like a man leaving a job well done.
"Relax," he said softly, almost kindly. "You're just… obstacles. And I remove obstacles."
His smile was the stuff of nightmares.
Not angry. Not cruel.
Worse.
Amused.
In that moment, something inside me cracked.
It wasn't fear.
It was something else.
A spark.
A flicker.
A thrill.
"I'll let you enjoy your last supper," he said with a chuckle, stepping through the doorway and slamming the heavy metal door shut behind him.
It echoed like a death sentence.
Then came more men. Cold. Wordless.
They dragged my father's body away like it was nothing but garbage.
I didn't look.
Couldn't.
If I did, I'd shatter.
I already knew the truth.
We were next.
Mom… or me.
The way the masked man had looked at her…
He wanted her alive. At least for now.
But me?
I was the threat.
The "next king."
The legacy they couldn't afford to let live.
My heart pounded, but I didn't feel afraid.
I felt something else.
Watching Dad die—hearing that shot ring in my head on a loop—something inside me changed.
I didn't cry.
I didn't scream again.
I just… shifted.
I wasn't scared anymore.
I was ready.
Not for death.
For war.
I wanted them to suffer.
I wanted their pain.
Their fear.
Their blood.
It wasn't normal. I knew that. I was ten.
But what I felt—this fire, this hunger—it didn't feel wrong.
It felt right.
It felt like mine.
A low hum rose in my chest—strange, haunting, almost musical.
I'd heard it before.
That night.
It wasn't fear.
It was hunger.
For power. For revenge. For justice soaked in blood.
They stole everything from me.
My dad.
My peace.
My childhood.
All I had left was my mother and this fire raging inside me.
I didn't want mercy.
I didn't want escape.
I wanted retribution.
Dad had said it.
I wasn't just a little girl.
I was his blood.
His legacy.
His heir.
A female king.
The scent of death didn't scare me anymore—not when I knew it would one day belong to them.
I would bring it to them.
I would become it.
And right then, sitting in blood and silence, I smiled.
Not a child's smile.
Something sharper.
Something darker.
Alive.
Unforgiving.
A beast was born.
And she feared nothing.