Lark woke from yet another nightmare, he had no idea how right he was with his prediction. The beatings had gotten worse. The patriarch of the family was apparently not thrilled to have a ‘Demon Child’ as a son. He was clearly doing it out of malice as well because he gave Lark enough time to heal before his dad checked on him.

The frustration from being helpless was starting to get to him once more.

He recalled his first six months here. Everyone looked at him in suspicion, not unexpected by Lark, but he tried his best to be a good child for his caretakers. He didn’t get in the way and only explored out of the other children's path.

Not that there was much to explore in a one-bedroom house. It was just a living room attached to the master bedroom, if you could call it that. By the time he could crawl, five months, the others had sort of gotten used to his presence.

A few days after Lark turned 6 months old, the oldest child, Liam, was whittling a stick with a tiny blade that he had gotten as a present when he turned five, and Lark accidentally looked him in the eye.

This was a big no, no for basically everyone in the family. His eyes had caused him trouble in his last life, but in a medieval household, it was much worse. Liam, startled, threw the stick he had been whittling at him. The stick didn’t hurt Lark much, but it did break on impact. That put Liam in an even worse mood. He looked at his mom to gauge her reaction, as any child would, and when he saw that she didn’t care, he walked up and kicked Lark.

It was a kick from a five-year-old, so it wasn’t exactly powerful, yet Lark was a five-month-old baby, so it did cause pain. He cried to get his adoptive mother to stop her son, he didn’t have much control of his tears anyway, but instead of getting up to stop her son she just looked up from the clothes she was fashioning, and then looked back down.

From that point on, the children knew that they could do whatever they wanted to Lark with impunity.

After about nine months, their father got back from a siege. He was a mercenary.

He was not thrilled about his wife adopting a demon while he was out earning their wages, but he was a good husband, so he didn’t take out his frustration on his wife.

He was a good father as well, so he didn’t take it out on his children.

He was a good, religious man, so he took it out on the demon in their home instead. That was when Lark’s days went from bad to much, much worse.

“Wahhh!” Remembering his time here, his body cried without his input.

‘Goddamn baby body! I can’t control any of my reactions!’

"Is that *(&(*#@$* baby crying *$(%&*damn it!" The patriarch, Arin, shouted.

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Lark didn’t understand every word, but he understood enough.

He was a large man for the time, at a towering five-foot-nine. Lark turned to him, looking him in the eye. The man flinched back at the sight of his eyes, and then rage started to seep into his gaze. He walked forward and slapped him, then punched him in the stomach. Never striking hard enough to maim, but always hard enough to torture. How this man was so good at striking babies, Lark had no idea, but it certainly doesn’t say anything positive about his character.

Lark knew the beatings would be worse when their eyes met, as that’s what happened every time. The sight of Lark's eyes would scare the man, and then he would turn that fear into anger. Every time. The man was nothing if not predictable.

Unluckily for him, Lark was nothing if not stubborn, and scaring him was the only petty revenge he could get.

Lark’s father would visit every couple of weeks, but always on a predictable schedule, so Arin knew when to leave him to heal. Lark hated Arin. He hated him so, so much.

Life continued like this until Lark’s first birthday. The day continued as normal, beatings included, until a knock sounded on the door. Arin stomped to the door to see who was interrupting his morning.

He opened the door violently and was preparing to berate the stranger at the door. Henry looked at Arin’s frustrated face with confusion.

“Something wrong, friend? You look pale.”

Arin shared a frightened look with his wife.

“I… I think you should come back later. We weren’t, uh, prepared for your visit.”

“You seem nervous, did something happen?” Henry asked with growing suspicion.

“NO! I mean… no. Nothing is wrong. You should leave, you’re disturbing my family during breakfast. No offense, of course.” Arin said, panicked.

“No, I don’t think I will. I’m coming inside to see my son on his birthday, and if a single hair on his head is misplaced, you will regret it dearly.” Henry said with a deadly calm.

“Listen, buddy, please. I promise that everything is fine. Please leave.”

Henry pushed him out of the way and rushed inside before Arin could react. When he saw Lark, covered in bruises, and being harassed by the other children, he just about snapped.

“Arin. You were someone I considered a friend for a long time. It is out of that respect that I ask you to come outside. I don’t want to stain your floor. Bring a weapon, I don’t want you to complain about fairness.”

“Henry, please. You ha-”

“Arin. Don’t. Grab your weapon.”

Arin looked despondent as he walked to his family's war chest. He grabbed his spear and walked outside.

Henry was already waiting, short sword in hand, when he left his house.

Arin pointed his spear at Henry defensively. Henry strode forward towards Arin nonchalantly, once he was in range of the spear Arin tried stabbing him in the chest, but Henry knocked it aside with the flat of his blade, and then grabbed the handle of the spear and yanked.

Arin managed to keep his grip on the spear but was pulled with it. Using the forward momentum of the grab, Henry kicked Arin in the stomach, causing him to drop his weapon.

Disarmed and on the ground, Arin said, “There, you win. Let me go, please. I have a family too, they can’t live without me! Without me, they’ll be destitute!”

“Friend, I’m not going to kill you. I still owe you enough to give you a chance.” Henry said

“Really? Thank you, thank you so much! I will never forget this fav-”

“If you manage to survive, then feel free to live your life as you would.” Henry finished.

“What-”

Then Henry cut off his left hand.

“Consider your right hand my last favor to you. I pray for your family that you live.”

Watching from the front door, Lark was shocked. Not as shocked as Arin’s family, but shocked nonetheless. Henry approached him and picked Lark up gently.

“I’m so sorry I let this happen. I promise you will never go through this again, from now on you're sticking with me.”

Lark only understood a fourth of what was said, but he could get the gist through context. Tears welled up in his eyes, and he felt truly relieved for the first time in a long time.