As a deep smell of blood suffused the room around him, Damien stared at the corpse at his feet. The man who treated him worse than a damned slave had finally fallen. All the pent up hate and rage finally unleashed upon the flesh of his oppressor.

——

From before he could talk, Damien had been living a life akin to hell on earth. His mother, who should've been his only source of warmth, was beaten to death by his father when he was young. Perhaps the only reason his father hadn't killed him then, was for the purpose of making his life truly one where death was a preferable alternative. From the time he could walk till now, every day was spent in labor, tending to the small farm and the few cattle, who's place in his fathers heart surpassed his own. He was met with little food on good days and severe beatings on the bad. From time to time, he was even "rented" out to some of the more degenerate town folk, those of which left him with hidden scars so deep he dared not recall. Lucky for him, Damien had always been clever, whether it be learning the common language from the random parchments he scavenged throughout the years or the way he nimbly shifted his body during the many beatings to avoid suffering severe injuries. All of these tribulations failed to break Damien, even through it all, his heart kindled the fires of rage that permeated his entire being. His mind was unbreakable, steadfast in all things, and his will had been tempered to inconceivable heights.

It was for many years that Damien began to hatch this plot of his, he was now in his mid teens, at least that had been his best guess, and his frame was as one would expect after years of constant abuse. The years of sparse meals, harsh labor, and the physical and mental abuse left his body thin and dried out. He was around 5'7, a far cry from his fathers towering figure of 6'4. His ribs were clearly visible behind his tight dirt covered skin and his thin arms betrayed the years of harsh labor. He had a light brown complexion and matted dark brown hair that fell at his shoulders. He had a hint of facial hair and his black eyes shown with a glossy light.

His father was rugged, tall, and looked similar to Damien from afar, his muscles bulged through the fur pelts that he worse on a daily basis. He was blessed with great strength and Damien rebelling against him was an impossible notion. It had been 4 years since he began to plan his act of revenge, that a fleeting opportunity finally arose. This winter was especially harsh, and fortunately for Damien, his father began showing symptoms of sickness a few days ago. Every night Damien was stashed behind an iron casted lock inside a small cellar beneath the house. From as far back as 4 years ago, Damien began to act as if he had truly succumbed to his slave-like role. In the past, he hatched many escape plans, and all of which were thwarted almost immediately. Once, after trying to beg the help of a village elder, in his fury, his father beat him to near death and gave him to the elder to enjoy for the night. Many others, starvation was a preferred consequence. And recently, Damien had made it a point to seem completely dominated, both mentally and physically. He walked with a slouch, carrying a limp as he completed his daily tasks. As he ate, he gazed at the food with a distant and dispirited look. His tasks were done with a consistently slow and steady speeds as if carried out by a machine. And when it came time for the degenerate villagers to "enjoy" him, he made no sound and never struggled. The look in his eyes for the past 4 years had been dead, he was a shell of person on the outside and his very essence exuded the epitome of a Dominated soul.

On this night, his ever-wary father finally grew complacent. After collapsing on the field this morning, and following a swift beating, his father's rugged breathe became more apparent in Damien's ears. Damien often did similar things to "test the waters," he deliberately messed up on tasks or purposely overworked himself to the point of collapse. He was lulling his father into a false sense of calm, giving him the idea that Damien was and will never be a threat. Today, the results finally came to fruition, his weakened father couldn't be bothered to deal with Damien, a son who he thought was completely at his mercy. Logically, this should've been the case, in his mind there was no way a human could endure such a torturous lifestyle for so long without completely breaking down. He had seen it before, when the merchant caravans came from nearby cities to trade, the slaves they hulled carried a similar look as Damien did now. Complete and utter domination was what it was, both in mind and in body, he believed Damien was dominated completely. Still, Damien's father had always been a prudent man, even with Damien in such a state, he always locked him up without fail.

As he dragged Damien's limp body back to the cellar, he threw him in there and closed the door. Even with the pain slithering throughout his entire body, Damien made no noise, no change in expression, he was lifeless. His father smiled wickedly with his yellow teeth, he loved this, being completely above a person, being a persons master, their god. It was this sense of pleasure that distracted him briefly, it caused his mind to waver, to lapse and wander, and at this moment a wooden carriage with a few bulls at the head came strolling down the street.

His father recognized the carriage immediately, even in his state Damien remained observant, he saw the wide smile and the swift change in expression brought by the carriage. A look of delight and expectation was now plastered on his father and he quickly turned around without bothering to lock the cellar per his usual routine. At this moment, an expectation arose within Damien's heart, 'A chance.'

As the sun arced past the sky and darkness loomed, his father never returned to the cellar. Perhaps he realized he didn't lock the cellar but couldn't be bothered to care. Even with his sickness, Damien could threaten him no more than a child could.

As night descended and the full moon hung high within the sky. Damien's black eyes shot open. His previously wilted body seemingly as good as new. His dead expression long gone and a look of cold brutality hung on his eyes. It had been years since Damien had been granted a clear view of the night sky, even when being violated by the degenerate villagers, he never stepped foot outside the cellar. It was hidden and out of sight, the perfect place to carry out such diabolical acts. With a step, he quietly opened the cellar door and stepped out of his nighttime prison. His limp now gone, his shoulders as towering as mountain despite his small stature. He made calculated movements, stepping on a preordained path to his father quarters. There was a lock on the front door, similar to the one on the cellar. Unsurprised, he walked to the opposite side of the main house, where a smaller square structure was placed. The outhouse, 2 years ago his father had him dig out a new hole for it. When he reached the bottom of the 8ft. hole, he started to dig towards the house, carefully and little by little, so as to not get caught, he dug a small tunnel leading directly to a small cupboard within the house. His father at that point began to supervise his actions less and less, only intervening when beatings were due.

As he approached the outhouse, he swiftly and quietly opened the door and plunged himself into the 3ft. pool of piss and excrement below. Without a hint of disgust and with a look of determination in his eyes he dove down into the familiar opening. There was a small mound of dirt meant to plug up the tunnel to the main house and after 5 minutes he punched through. The outhouse was around 20 feet away from the main house, and he began to crawl through the small tunnel he made years ago. After roughly 15 minutes he appeared within a small cupboard. The ground below him gouged with an 2ft. diameter hole. A vile stench wafted off him as he slowly opened the cupboard door. His surroundings were dark with the only source of light being the smoldered coals in the corner of the room. He moved as carefully as he'd ever moved before and as quietly as he could, he approached his fathers room. The door was open, and inside he could see the man lying on a large plank of wood lined with pelts. His slow approach became even slower, and his mind became calm, terrifyingly calm. There was no nervousness in his heart, only a steeped fury being suppressed by his unearthly willpower. He arrived next to his father sprawled on the bed, his father lay their, mouth open. The sickness robbing him of his sense of smell. This was Damien's greatest worry, the smell of the outhouse, of which he had no solution. Luck played a role in how tonight's events played out and yet, even if it took 10 or even 20 years longer, he would've quietly bided his time, enduring until a similar chance arose.

Without hesitation, he reached down beneath the large slab of wood suspended with the 4 logs, to a small hole near the edge of the bed. As his finger slid into the hole he quietly pulled and removed a flat square piece of wood with a notch at the top. As he did so, he swiftly caught the 6 inch iron nail hidden within the small compartment. This bed was something he had built a year ago when his fathers old one tarnished and the nail was acquired when doing repair work on the stables. Without hesitation he wielded the nail and stabbed it deep into his fathers throat, next his eyes, his groin, stomach, mouth, every soft fleshy part of the body was punctured without fail. His father lay there sprawled gurgling blood and violently waving his hands as the cold embrace of death touched him. He lay limp on the floor, holes riddled throughout his body, eyes gouged, wounds leaking. Damien's expression in this moment was calm, terrifyingly calm, no satisfaction, no pleasure apparent in his heart. Only action, he took a coal from the fire place and placed it on the fur pelts. A fire blossomed into beautiful tendrils of flame that swiftly engulfed the house and everything in it. Come morning, his past will be nothing more than ashes on the road. Without looking back, he walked off into the darkness, to start his journey of glorious brutality.