When I was young, I found my mothers dead body. You see, my parents' marriage was one arranged for my fathers company and position in the Memento Mori mafia. They married when my mother was 18 and neither were happy about it. Eventually, my mother did end up falling in love with him, and even though she'll never regret it, I know I do, cause if she hadn't, she wouldn't have been in so much pain. After I was born, things were okayâŚ.up until my 3rd birthday. From that day on, my father would chain me up and whip me if I misbehaved or did something wrong. If I cried at all, he would hit me and any time I yelled out for my mother he would hurt her. He said it would make me stronger and that I had to be a man if I wanted to become the head of the group. Around the age of six is when I found her.
I walked into the bathroom to grab some bandages and that's when I saw her reflection in the mirror. She was slumped over in the bathtub, head hung low and arms limp at her sides. Her wrists and ankles were covered in deep gashes, blood dripping down the side and inside of the tub. That was when I finally noticed the putrid, horrible scent of blood just overflowing in the room. I spun around and ran to my mothers side, grabbing her shoulders and shaking her, telling her to wake up as my eyes slowly filled with tears and I slumped to the ground. When she didn't answer, that's when I started sobbing, because I knew that she wasn't coming back, I knew she wouldn't be there to help me tend to my wounds and hide me from my fathers anger.
I must have been sobbing loud enough for my father to hear because he barged into the bathroom a few minutes later and stood there dumbfounded. When he regained his senses, he turned his eyes to look at me and all I saw in them was anger and hatred. He grabbed me by the arm and dragged me out of the bathroom to the basement, all the while he was yelling at me, shouting that it was my fault she had died and that if I hadn't had been such a baby she wouldn't have killed herself. I spent the rest of the night hanging from chains in the basement, gashes littering my back and torso and blood dripping down my body.
The next ten years of my life became a living hell. With my mother gone I had nobody to protect me from my fathers wrath. I spent almost every night being tortured in some way, shape, or form. Eventually I stopped feeling the pain, which after learning how to hide my emotions, was very easy. Every night, while my father was asleep or gone, I trained myself to become stronger, to become strong enough to leave.
It was the day of my eighteenth birthday that I'd decided it was time to put my plan into action. What plan? You may ask. The plan to kill my father and take over his position as the leader of Memento Mori. I had no doubt that my father had forgotten my birthday and I was right. That morning he left without so much as a happy birthday or a goodbye. It humored me, to say the least, knowing what was going to happen later that night. While he was gone I prepared all the supplies I would need. You see, I wasn't going to make this easy for him, not after what he had put my mother and I through.
As I heard his car door slam I stealthily hid behind the door and as he walked inside I slammed it closed. The bewildered look on his face was funny, but the look of surprise as I smashed a bat against his head was even better. He stilled and then dropped to the floor with a loud thud and after making sure he was out, I drug him to the basement, taking 'extra care' to make sure he didn't hit his head on the steps. Once down there I chained him up and waited for him to wake up. About an hour later he started stirring and starting to open his eyes. When he tried to reach for his head but couldn't he whipped his head to look at his hands, only to find them chained to the ceiling. That's when I started laughing. He slowly looked to me and what was first hatred soon turned into fear as he saw what was in store for him. When I saw that look in his eyes I smirked, knowing that he could do nothing to stop me.
After hours of 'taking care' of my father, I was finally satisfied with what was left of him. After calling his henchmen over and making it very clear that I was the boss now, I had them dispose of his body. As I looked at my bloodstained clothes I realized that the whole time, I had not stopped laughing, and the joy that had filled me while hurting him was something I knew I wanted to feel again. This was the start of the real story of Ciar , CEO of Solandra Co. and Leader of Memento Mori, known as the Black Devil.