A young man screamed in desperation as he was forcibly dragged by his father's two hulking bodyguards towards the cold, dark depths of the cellar. He struggled against their iron grip, but his strength was no match for theirs.
"Father! Please, let me go! I'm innocent!" he roared, his voice echoing through the grand hall, yet no one dared to intervene. His father merely watched him go, his gaze as sharp as a blade, devoid of any trace of mercy.
"Shut up, you!" one of the bodyguards snarled, shoving the young man forward. "What do you think you're doing? Let me go! Do you think I'll forgive you for this? Someone, anyone, kill these lowlifes!"
He continued to fight, but the bodyguards were relentless. They pushed him roughly, sending him sprawling onto the cold stone floor.
"What's the meaning of this? You lowlifes!" he spat, outraged at being treated so harshly by his inferiors. "Now you're the lowlife," one of the bodyguards retorted with a sneer, before turning and striding away, leaving him behind the iron bars.
"Wait!" he cried, but they didn't even pause, not even to glance back. "I won't stay in this filthy place! Let me out!" he yelled, pounding on the bars.
"Let me out," he whispered, his energy spent. Tears began to stream down his face. "Father, I'm innocent, it was all their fault, not mine," he sobbed, his voice barely audible.
He sank to the floor, gazing upwards with tear-filled eyes, feeling utterly wronged and wounded. He had no idea what fate awaited him.
Alex Beckham, the third son of the esteemed Beckham family, now huddled in the oppressive darkness of the cellar. It was no ordinary room, but a chilling prison built beneath the grandeur of the Beckham mansion. He had been condemned to this fate, accused of grievously injuring his younger sister, Lily.
In the eyes of the Beckham family, Alex was an arrogant and rebellious figure. Since childhood, he had always felt overlooked, overshadowed by the charm of his older siblings and the gentle grace of Lily. This sense of isolation slowly morphed into resentment, which, unfortunately, he never openly expressed.
Flashback: Tragedy on the Stairs
That day, the atmosphere in the Beckham mansion was thick with tension. Alex and Lily were embroiled in a fierce argument on the grand staircase. Lily, with her sharp tongue, hurled insults at Alex, calling him a useless and unloved child. These words struck Alex like daggers, reopening old wounds he had long suppressed.
"You're nothing but a shadow in this family, Alex! No one cares about you!" Lily screamed, her face flushed with anger.
Alex's rage reached its boiling point. He could no longer endure the humiliation. Without thinking, he shoved Lily, who lost her balance and tumbled down the stairs. Her small body rolled and fell, striking the marble floor with a sickening thud.
Alex froze, stunned by what had just transpired. He saw Lily lying motionless, blood seeping from her head. It was at that moment that the other members of the Beckham family arrived, witnessing the horrifying scene. Without allowing Alex a chance to explain, they immediately branded him as the culprit.
****
A month had crawled by, a month that felt like an eternity to Alex. Confined to the damp, frigid confines of the cellar, he existed in a state far removed from humanity. His sustenance consisted of moldy bread and rotten tomatoes, scraps discarded as if he were a feral creature undeserving of compassion.
The Beckham family, once his world, had become an impenetrable wall of cold stone. No one came to visit, no one cared for his well-being. Even a perfunctory inquiry about his condition was deemed too much. Within the subterranean prison, the guards frequently vented their frustrations upon him, treating him with brutal disdain, as if he were a living receptacle for their pent-up anger.
Alex sat in the corner of the filthy, darkened room, illuminated only by the feeble glow of a wall sconce. His mind wandered, trapped in a labyrinth of unanswered questions. Why? Why did they refuse to listen to his side of the story? Did he truly deserve this fate?
Tap... tap... tap...
The sound of footsteps shattered the silence, jolting Alex from his reverie. He strained his ears, attempting to discern the identity of his visitor. A tall figure with a chiseled jaw emerged from the darkness, his eyes piercing Alex with a sharp gaze. It was his father.
Alex looked at his father with pleading eyes, hoping for a flicker of remaining compassion. He yearned for freedom, for a return to the family that had cast him aside.
"Father..." he whispered, his voice trembling, his eyes brimming with tears. The longing for his family was overwhelming, despite their cruel treatment.
The man, the patriarch of the Beckham family, scoffed with disdain, his eyes filled with disgust. "Guards! Torture him to death!" he commanded, his voice cold and resolute.
"I refuse to tolerate the existence of such vermin. My daughter is paralyzed after awakening from her coma because of you, you cursed child!" he spat, pointing at Alex with a trembling finger.
Alex was stunned. He felt a surge of relief upon learning that Lily had regained consciousness, but that relief quickly morphed into a chilling dread. His own father wanted him dead.
"F-father..." Alex murmured, unable to comprehend the cruelty displayed by his parent.
The head of the Beckham family offered no response. He merely glared at Alex with eyes brimming with hatred, then turned and strode away, leaving his horrific command in the hands of his guards.
"Father!!!" Alex screamed, his voice echoing through the depths of the cellar. He sobbed, overcome with despair. Was this the end of his life? Would he perish at the hands of his own family?
Alex curled up on the floor, tears streaming down his face. He felt like a worthless pawn, discarded and destroyed by those who were supposed to love him. The darkness surrounding him mirrored the darkness enveloping his heart, a darkness impenetrable by the light of hope.
The subordinates, hearing their master's command, moved with swift efficiency. Though a flicker of sympathy flickered within them for Alex, a hapless youth destined to perish at the hands of his own kin, they suppressed the sentiment. For them, this was simply another task, a familiar routine. After all, the order to kill was nothing new.
Blow after blow rained down upon Alex's frail frame, which could only curl into a defensive posture, enduring the unbearable pain. These were not mere blows, but a brutal assault designed to shatter. Not only did he suffer punches, but also the lash of whips, tearing his skin, leaving behind bloody welts. His once pristine body was now a canvas of wounds, blood flowing from every laceration, staining the stone floor a macabre crimson.
Each strike was a symphony of cruelty, each lash a dance of death. Alex endured unimaginable agony, yet the physical torment paled in comparison to the agony in his heart. He felt utterly broken, betrayed by those who should have protected him. Not a single member of his family came to his aid, none dared to defend him.
"Ctasss"
"Ctasss"(Sound of whipping)
"Brugg!"
Amidst the tempest of pain and despair, Alex witnessed a sight that shattered him further. At the far end of the cellar corridor, bathed in the dim glow of a torch, sat Lily in a wheelchair. Her pallid face was adorned with a contemptuous smile, her eyes radiating a piercing scorn. Lily, the sister he so dearly loved, watched his suffering with a cold detachment, as if relishing every moment of his torment.
That gaze was the final blow, a strike that extinguished all remaining embers of hope. Alex felt like shattered glass, beyond repair. Then, a resounding blow, delivered by a baseball bat, struck his head. A searing pain coursed through his body, and darkness claimed his consciousness, plunging him into an endless abyss.