Victor Martin was walking joyfully to his small shack in the slums.
If it weren't for his torn clothes and skinny body you could never tell that this joyful man was in fact a resident of the slums, Victor was indeed happy, no it would be more fitting to say that he was ecstatic.
This was solely because of the drug called cloud/ But where did he get the money to purchase such an expensive drug?
The answer to that is simple, yes Victor sold his own children just so he could get high on cloud and escape reality just like the coward of a man he was.
He entered his shack.
"Aaah it has been far too long since I have come back here to my castle, I thought if I was gone long enough those people at the orphanage would take those two in, well I guess not even an orphanage would care for such useless children so I had to resort to selling them, finally I have the whole castle to myself hahahaha.... What the... Henry?"
As he entered the shack Victor was welcomed by the stench of blood and his son, Henry who was desperately gasping for air, his torn clothes drenched in his own blood.
Victor was so shocked that he almost became sober.
Henry was seething, the expression on his face was not that of a 14-year-boy, the blood on his face only added to how frightening he looked, he struggled to get back to his feet like a new-born calf, his eyes laser focused on his father, the man he hated the most.
With a coarse voice he forced himself to speak.
"So iT wAs YOu FaTHer, Do YOu HaVE anY IdeA WHAT you've DoNE?!"
"Hahahahahahaha, calm yourself my dear son hahaha, I only did what was necessary to attain true happiness because that is the most important thing to me right now, if even my own children did not bring me happiness why is it so wrong that I traded you for something that actually brings me happiness? Hihihi"
As Victor was saying those words he was dancing and smiling. The father that Henry once admired and looked up to no longer existed.
Memories flooded Henry's mind in a rapid succession, each one a snapshot of the precious moments shared with his little sister, his mother, and Victor. Tears welled up in his eyes, tracing down his cheeks, as he reminisced about the warmth and love of their family bond. Yet, as quickly as the sadness surfaced, it transformed into something else— An uncontrollable rage rose up within his body.
Henry's rage consumed him entirely, fueling a desire to obliterate the nation that tore his family apart. Adrenaline surged through his veins, propelling him forward as he launched himself at his dancing father with malicious intent.
His dagger plunged into his father's eye, the act both gruesome and cathartic. As they crashed to the ground, Henry continued his viscous onslaught, his blade slashing indiscriminately at his father.
Even in the throes of death, Victor wore an ecstatic yet haunting smile—a twisted reflection on the effects of cloud.
Amidst the chaos, a deafening silence enveloped Henry but he heard a loud ringing sound gradually getting louder with each passing second.
But it was a sound that resonated within him alone, it was the sound of his mind shattering.
A child still, Henry's psyche buckled under the weight of his trauma. His mother's life extinguished by his father's hand, his sister sold into oblivion, and now his father lay dead at his own hands. It was too much for his young mind to bear.
He let out a guttural scream laced in despair.
Henry's world collapsed in on itself.
Clutching his hair in anguish, he succumbed to the overwhelming despair, his consciousness slipping away as darkness swallowed him whole.