I opened my eyes to a familiar ache.
The first thing I noticed was my body, thin and frail. My arms were bony, my legs were stick-like. It wasn't just skinny, it was the kind of thing that came from not eating for days.
When my bare feet touched the cold, wooden floor, a jolt of pain shot through my legs. Every movement felt sluggish, and heavy. My stomach churned and groaned, as an agonizing emptiness clawed at me from within.
Still, I pushed forward.
As I slowly walked out of the room, my rough black hair swayed behind me. It was dry, tangled, and unkempt. The smell clung to me like a curse. I hadn't bathed in days.
The house reeked of filth. The air was stale, the walls were stained. Dirty water, moldy dishes, peeling wallpaper… This place was no home, it was hell.
I wore the same torn shirt from the day before. Maybe longer. I couldn't remember.
My parents didn't care.
To them, I was nothing more than a pair of deep purple eyes, something pretty to look at, not someone to love.
I stepped into the living room.
There, slouched over in a creaky wooden chair, was a bald man with a half-empty bottle in one hand and a newspaper in the other.
"Haha! What a dumbass!" he laughed, slamming the table as he read. The food in front of him, steaming meat, soft bread, warm soup, shook with the force.
He turned lazily toward me.
"Oh, you're awake, Amon," he said with a smile .
This man,my father, acknowledged me only when it entertained him. He never gave me affection, never once offered comfort.
My mother had disappeared not long after I was born. No goodbye. No explanation. Just... gone.
She abandoned me.
I didn't respond. I simply raised my hand toward the food on the table.
His smile widened.
"So you want food, huh?" he said mockingly.
He picked up a chicken bone, stripped of meat, cracked at the end, and tossed it at my feet.
"Trash like you should eat trash."
I didn't say a word.
I dropped to my knees.
My hands trembled as I picked up the bone. There was barely anything on it, just a few scraps of meat clinging to the edges. But I was starving. I needed something, anything, to stop the pain.
I chewed slowly. Trying to savor even the smallest shred of flavor.
Behind me, laughter echoed through the room.
"Hahaha! Look at you!" my father howled. "Like a damn dog!"
He watched me eat, amused. But the moment wore off quickly. With a grunt, he returned to his newspaper, sipping his drink like nothing happened.
He didn't starve me out of poverty. He didn't neglect me out of ignorance.
He did it because it entertained him.
That was the kind of man he was.
A monster in human skin.
After slowly chewing the last bit of meat from the bone, I stood up. My body trembled slightly, but I kept my posture steady.
A blank, empty expression settled on my face.
"This food is disgusting," I muttered.
Though I rarely spoke, my words always came out blunt.
Across the room, my father glanced up from his newspaper, "You're as blunt as ever," he said, unsurprised.
Without a word, I tossed the chicken bone back at him. It didn't make it far, my arm lacked strength. The bone hit the floor and rolled across the dirty wood, finally stopping near his feet.
"Hmm?" he looked down curiously
But when he looked back up, his eyes met mine and froze.
I had raised my head. My violet eyes, once hollow, now narrowed. There was no fear in them. Just something cold and detached.
It was the look you give a fly that's landed on your table. Not worth anger. Not worth pity.
Just… irrelevant.
'You're a bug,' my eyes seemed to say. 'And I am a king.'
Something about that look made my father's face twist into a scowl.
"As you said before… 'Trash like you should eat trash,'" I said, echoing his own words back at him.
"...." The room went still.
Then his face contorted with rage. He stood up, the legs of his wooden chair scraping violently against the floor.
He stepped toward me.
"You wanna know why your mother left you?" he asked, his voice filled with anger.
"...Not really," I replied flatly.
But he wasn't listening.
"She left because you were weak! You were born a loser!" he shouted , winding his arm back.
His fist collided with my face, Hard.
I didn't scream, nor did I didn't cry.
My body hit the floor with a dull thud and rolled a few feet before coming to a stop.
The pain was familiar. Not because I was numb but because it had happened too many times.
This wasn't new. My father had always hit me.
Not because he lost his temper. Not because he wanted to 'toughen me up.' Not even to get something off his chest.
He did it because he could.
Because it entertained him.
That was the kind of man he was.
A monster hiding behind the word "father."
Still...
I sat up slowly. Blood dripped from my nose.
My eyes lifted once more. 'Does this man… really deserve to live?'
For the first time, my eyes weren't hollow.
It was filled with hatred.
"Oh?" My father smiled, the twisted smile of a man who'd been waiting for this moment. "You wanna fight? Come on, then."
"At least if you fight… you won't be a loser anymore."
And truthfully, I did want to fight. I wanted to hurt him.
To scream at him, to tell him I hated him, that he ruined everything, that I remembered every bruise. Every insult. Every night I went to bed hungry.
I wanted to bury him in the filth he forced me to live in.
But…
As I stepped forward, my body froze.
My fists trembled. Not from anger. But from fear.
That buried instinct, one carved into me since I was too young to understand anything else, screamed not to move. Not to fight back. Because I couldn't win.
Because I was weak.
I was afraid of him.
Of this man, my father.
Noticing the hesitation in my step, his smile slowly melted into disgust.
He clicked his tongue.
"Tch… pathetic," he muttered. "You're less than nothing."
"Because at least nothing can only be a disappointment at its worst."
I stood there, frozen, My face stung, my fists clenched.
'If only I was stronger…'
'If only I had power…'
Knock, knock.
Two sharp knocks echoed through the house, followed by the sound of the front door opening.
A stranger stepped inside.
He was a tall young man, around 175cm, with golden blonde hair that flowed down his back. His sapphire-blue eyes shimmered like water, he wore a strange, form-fitting suit that resembled a battle suit crossed with a lab coat.
"Hey! Who the hell are you!?" my father shouted from his chair.
The man didn't respond. He glanced down at the strange device in his hand, tapping its screen.
"Odd... the signal's definitely coming from here," he mumbled to himself.
Without warning, he raised his hand toward my father, "Hm… not him," he said flatly, turning and pointing in my direction.
"What!?" My father's face twisted in rage. "Who the hell are you!?" he repeated, louder.
"..." Still no response.
The device suddenly beeped.
Beep, beep, beep!
The stranger's eyes widened slightly. "As I thought… This boy possesses magic power. And not just a trace, a significant amount for his age," he said in awe.
'Magic Power? What is that?' I thought with my usual blank expression.
My father stood abruptly, grabbing the man by the shirt. "Listen here, punk, get the hell out of my house!"
That was when the stranger finally looked at him.
In one smooth motion, fur sprouted across his arm. His nails sharpened into claws. His hand no longer looked human, it looked animal-like.
"I have no interest in you," he said coldly.
Slash!
In one brutal swipe, his clawed hand tore across my father's neck.
His head popped off like it had never belonged there in the first place. It rolled unceremoniously across the dirty wooden floor before thudding to a stop.
His body hit the ground a second later.
I stared at the lifeless head of the man I had once feared.
'That's it?' I thought. 'That was all it took?'
He died so easily. So effortlessly.
'Then why… Why had I been so afraid of him?'
No, I told myself. I'm not weak, this body is. This starved, brittle thing is what's weak. Not me.
I turned my gaze to the stranger's clawed hand. Not a shred of fear passed through me.
I want that power.
The strength to rise above! The strength to never be beneath anyone again! The strength of the strong!
That was what I desired!
The man caught my gaze. He raised a brow,
'Ah, crap… probably shouldn't have done that in front of a kid,' he thought. But it didn't bother him much. This wasn't the first time.
"...Not scared?" he asked, curious.
I shook my head, with the same blank stoic expression,"Why would I be? It's not like you're going to kill me."
He chuckled, "Heh. And what makes you so sure?"
"What's stopping me from killing you right here and now?" He raised his clawed hand toward my face.
"It'd be simple," he added coolly.
I sighed, as if explaining something tedious.
"When you walked in, you were clearly searching for something," I said calmly. "Whatever it is, I have it. You confirmed that yourself."
"You said I possess a lot of it. That makes me valuable to you."
"So you can't kill me. Not yet."
The stranger blinked.
'This kid…'
He was right.
And he knew it.
"…I was just joking," the man said awkwardly, though it was obvious he hadn't been. The fur on his hand receded, his arm returned to normal.
"If I go with you… will I gain the same power you have?" I asked, eyes still fixed on where his claws had been.
He nodded, "Maybe. Can't guarantee you'll survive, though."
"But then again," he added with a cold smile , "it's not like you have much of a choice."
That much was true. Whether I wanted to or not, he was taking me with him.
"Haha… my name's Rex," he said. "What about you?"
I stared at him, "You're not worthy of knowing it."
"I'm not here to make friends. I just want power."
Rex blinked, then laughed. "Fair enough."
He turned toward the door.
Not wanting to be left behind, I walked beside him.
As we stepped outside, I gave one last glance over my shoulder. My father's decapitated head still lay on the floor.
'That face… that weak, pathetic face'
The only thing I felt was disgust.
Disgust that his filthy blood ran in my veins.
Disgust that I had once feared him.
Was it pride? Arrogance? Maybe.
But one thing was certain:
I will never be weak again.
And if anyone tries