tasteful vengeance

chapter 2

I stayed beneath the cold earth for what felt like an eternity. Time lost all meaning in the darkness. My body ached, every muscle screaming for relief, but I dared not move. The hunger gnawed at me, sharp and relentless, yet fear and sorrow chained me to that hollow space beneath the floorboards. I was broken—shattered into fragments too jagged to piece together.

The screams had faded. The cries, the chaos, the fire—all gone. Silence pressed down on me like a suffocating shroud. I could no longer hear the world I once knew, only the pounding of my own heart, broken and bleeding.

But hunger is a cruel master. My stomach twisted painfully, reminding me that I could not stay hidden forever. I had to come out—or starve to death in this tomb I called refuge.

With trembling hands, I pushed aside the wooden floor. My legs, weak from squatting in the dirt, trembled as I forced myself upward. My head felt heavy, clouded with grief and exhaustion. I emerged into the cold night, the moon casting pale light over a scene I wished I could unsee.

My mother lay on the ground, headless, her blood pooling beneath her like a dark, spreading stain. Her once gentle face was gone, replaced by a nightmare of violence. Nearby, Elara’s small figure was twisted and broken, her body disfigured beyond recognition. The rag doll she had clutched was soaked in crimson.

How could someone be so heartless? How could they destroy what they did without a flicker of mercy?

My fists clenched tight, nails digging into my palms until they bled. Rage surged through me, hot and wild, setting my blood aflame. My legs trembled, but I forced myself to stand. The ground beneath me seemed to pulse, as if alive.

Then, something inside me stirred.

My gums itched unbearably. I bit down hard, tasting copper on my tongue. My fingers began to elongate, nails sharpening into claws. I felt myself lift—weightless, floating above the ground as if the earth itself rejected my broken form.

What was happening to me?

I caught sight of my reflection in a shattered piece of glass lying among the ruins—a grotesque distortion of my own face. My eyes glowed a fierce, burning red, and my skin seemed to ripple with dark energy. I was the monster I had read about in stories—half demon, half witch, half something else entirely. The creature born of betrayal and blood.

A deep hunger welled inside me—not just for food, but for something darker. I wanted blood. I wanted vengeance. I wanted answers.

I was not going to let them go. Not the soldiers who tore my family apart. Not the ones who burned my village to ash.

They would pay. All of them.

The wind howled through the broken trees, carrying the scent of smoke and death. The ground trembled beneath me, as if the earth itself was mourning—and warning.

I closed my eyes, drawing in the bitter night air. The power inside me pulsed like a heartbeat, raw and untamed. I could feel the demon’s fire burning beneath my skin, the witch’s magic swirling in my veins.

But I was still a boy, lost and broken.

A sudden noise shattered the silence—a low growl from the shadows. My eyes snapped open, glowing brighter. From the darkness emerged a figure, twisted and monstrous, its eyes gleaming with hunger. It was a creature of nightmare, drawn to the scent of death and power.

I raised my hands instinctively, feeling the surge of energy crackling at my fingertips. The creature lunged, claws slashing through the air, but I was faster. Dark flames erupted from my palms, engulfing it in a blaze of hellfire. It screamed—a horrible, guttural sound—and dissolved into ash.

The taste of victory was bitter and hollow.

I was alone. The world I knew was gone. And yet, in that moment, I understood something terrifying and beautiful: I was no longer just a broken boy. I was becoming something more.

Something dangerous.

I had to find out who I truly was—and what I was capable of.

But first, I had to survive.

The night stretched on, cold and unforgiving. I moved through the ruins of my village, each step heavy with sorrow and fury. The faces of my mother and sister haunted me, their voices whispering in the wind.

“Remember, you are the light.”

Their words were a fragile thread holding me together, even as darkness threatened to consume me.

I knew the path ahead would be filled with pain, betrayal, and blood. But I was ready.

Because now, I was no longer just a boy hiding beneath the floorboards.

I was Lucien—the half-demon, the half-witch, the monster born of fire and sorrow.

And I would make them all pay.