Elias's ribs ache as he struggles to breathe, each breath sending sharp stabs of pain through his chest. His "father" stands over him, fists clenched, lips curled in a sneer. The sting of fresh blows echoes through the air, the harsh sound filling the small room.
"Get up," his father growls, voice a harsh whisper edged with a chilling finality. "Weak little runt. You'll never be anything more than this. Nothing."
The words fall on Elias's ears like icy shards, but he's past feeling hurt. There's only numbness, blank and endless.
Somewhere in the back of his mind, a small voice tells him to stay down, to let the pain fade into nothing, like it always does.
But tonight, that numbness is tinged with something different-a quiet rage he doesn't fully understand.
His mother stands in the doorway, arms crossed, her expression cold and unfeeling. She does nothing to intervene. She never does. She's as much a shadow in his life as the bruises that line his skin, silent and unmoving.
His father's fist connects again, slamming into Elias's cheek with a sickening crack, blood spilling from his mouth. The world spins as his vision blurs, but it's the sound of his mother's voice that pulls him from the haze."Stop being so weak!" she snaps. "This is what you deserve!"
Her voice hits him like a slap, sharper than any blow. His vision clears just in time to see her step forward. Her hands grab his shoulders, yanking him upright. She forces him to his knees, her grip tightening painfully, while her face holds the same cold, emotionless expression as it always has. Elias can feel the trembling in her hands, but it's not out of concern-it's out of anger.
Her knee drives into his stomach, knocking the wind from his lungs, and the world tilts again. A brutal, mind-numbing rhythm starts: His father strikes, and when he pauses to catch his breath, his mother continues.
It's not just physical pain anymore; it's a cold, unyielding realization that there is no escape, no end to this nightmare. There's no care, no compassion, only the echoing violence of a life lived in shadow.
Blood pours freely from the cuts and bruises all over his body. His chest feels crushed, his ribs broken, and the pain is so overwhelming, it becomes a part of him, a constant companion.
Every movement hurts, every breath is a struggle. He's losing consciousness, but the blows keep coming, each one dulling his mind even further. He knows, with sickening certainty, that this time he won't get up. This time, he'll die.
His vision swims, his body slipping into darkness. His head lolls to one side, and his eyes flutter closed. He knows this is it. He's too broken to fight, too far gone. The pain fades into nothing, and for a moment, he welcomes it.
But then, just as his life slips away from him, something inside snaps.a cold, burning clarity. A surge of rage, raw and primal, floods his veins.
He draws in a shaky breath, as if for the first time. His body screams, but his mind is calm.
Elias's gaze drifts to a cracked mirror on the wall, catching sight of his own face-swollen, battered, but with eyes that still burn with a spark he doesn't recognize.
He gets up, body protesting every movement. His father's sneer deepens.
"Oh? Finally found some spine, did you?" His father laughs, a grating, bitter sound. He raises his fist again.
Instead, he grabs the nearest object- an old, rusted metal bar from the broken-down bedframe-and swings it upward in a single, desperate motion. The force behind it surprises even him, driving his father backward, the man's eyes wide with shock and sudden fear.
For the first time, Elias feels control- raw, unfiltered power coursing through his veins. It's like something has snapped loose, an unbreakable chain now shattered beyond repair. The numbness recedes, replaced by a strange, detached clarity. He knows, with a chilling certainty, that he can't let them hurt him anymore.
His father stumbles, hand clutching his chest, but Elias doesn't hesitate. He swings again, and again, until the room fills with a heavy silence, broken only by his mother's horrified scream. But even she is frozen, her face pale as Elias turns his gaze toward her.
His mother's voice-one last plea for the boy she had never cared to save- reaches him, but it means nothing now. "Elias...."
The name slips away from him like the last traces of a nightmare. He feels nothing. No remorse. No rage. Just clarity, cold and absolute.
His grip tightens around the rusted metal bar, and without hesitation, he swings again. The blow lands with a sickening crunch, and the room is painted in red. Blood splatters across the walls, dripping from the bar like rain from a dying storm. His father's body crumples to the ground, but Elias doesn't stop.
His strikes come with precise, calculated force-each swing a rhythm, each blow a beat in a dirge for a life he will never return to. His mother's screams mix with the wet, fleshy sounds of impact as blood sprays across the floor, soaking the room in crimson.
The bar is slick with it now, just as his body is, but he feels no fatigue, no mercy.
The final strike lands with a sickening thud, her head jerking back, her lifeless eyes staring up at the ceiling. The silence that follows is unbearable, broken only by the sound of Elias's labored breaths, steady but empty.
His parents are nothing now, nothing but corpses in a room that no longer matters. Blood stains his hands, his arms, his soul, and yet, he feels no weight to carry. He walks away from it all.
The mess, the violence, the past- leaving behind the lifeless bodies of those who once called themselves his family, and leaving behind only the present-a void that swallows everything, a new world where no one will hurt him again.