hellspawn

I stand over his bleeding body, clutching my chest as pain surges through me. I do not tremble, nor do I shiver. There is no remorse in me—he did not earn it. My legs begin to falter, the strength ebbing away like the life spilling out of him. I collapse to my knees, the metallic scent of blood heavy in the air, mingling with the fading echoes of his labored breaths.

My vision blurs, the edges of the room melting into an indistinct haze. Darkness creeps into my periphery, thick and all-encompassing. As the last shreds of lucidity slip from my grasp, I whisper hoarsely, "Bye, Dad. See you in hell."

Then, there is only darkness—boundless and infinite, an abyss that swallows me whole. But this darkness is not foreign; it is not empty. It embraces me, cradling me in its cold, unyielding grasp. For the first time in my eleven years of existence, I feel whole. Complete. The hollow ache that had gnawed at my soul is gone, replaced by an eerie calm.

An eternity passes. Or perhaps a second. Time has no meaning here, in this endless void where I and the darkness are one. Then, a fissure appears—a sliver of light piercing through the shadow. It blinds me, sharp and searing, a cruel contrast to the comforting void. The light grows, expanding and consuming the darkness until it is all I can see. It is warm, suffocating in its brightness, and I want to recoil, to retreat back into the comforting embrace of the dark.

But the light does not relent. It pulls me forward, dragging me toward its source with an irresistible force. A cacophony of sounds fills the air, sharp and jarring. Voices, shouts, the clatter of metal—a world I thought I had left behind calls to me. My senses begin to return, and with them, the weight of my existence. I feel the cold, hard ground beneath me, the ache in my chest, the stickiness of blood on my skin. My breath catches as I open my eyes, the light fading into the familiar yet alien shapes of a room I no longer recognize.

I am alive.

But something has changed. I can feel it, deep within me—a presence, a power, coiled and waiting. The darkness has not abandoned me. It lingers, a shadow in the recesses of my mind, whispering promises of strength, of vengeance, of purpose.

This is my rebirth. The boy I was is gone, consumed by the void. In his place stands something new, something forged in blood and darkness. I do not yet know what I am, but I know this: the world will learn to fear me.

And so begins my story. A story of pain and power, of death and rebirth. A story of Hell's own spawn.