A beer can impacted my forehead, roughly jolting me awake, then went flying off into one of the piles of similar cans scattered around the room. I opened my eyes to see a small room that stunk of beer, sweat, and grease. There were piles of beer cans and pizza boxes scattered about the room and on the couch that dominated the center of the room sat a large blob of flesh that was otherwise known as my stepfather.

“Hey kid, go get me ‘nother pack of beer!” he shouted at me as I slowly woke up. I didn't say anything and instead just put on my shoes, picked up my house keys and grabbed some money then left. This was a common interaction between us since my mother had died.

My stepfather was a former heavyweight boxer, and when he got drunk he showed it. I had enough bruises, cigarette burns, and scars on my body to prove that. As I walked to the only convenience store in town, I wondered how my life had culminated to this point.

I was born in born in Japan in 1999. My father was the first son of one of the most influential clans in the nation, the Shimahara. My mother on the other hand was just a common Japanese girl, someone you could find anywhere. From the stories my father used to tell me, he fell in love with my mother at first sight, and through many trials and tribulations they were married, settled down, and had me.

I know, I know. It sounds like something straight out of a shoujo manga. In fact I’m pretty sure there actually was someone who based one off of them.

Moral of the story, I was the ‘young master’ of one of the richest and most powerful families in Japan. However my grandfather, the head of the family, despised the fact that my mother, a commoner, and by extension me, a commoner’s child, were in his family. He would often argue with my father, telling him to divorce my mother and abandon us, he wanted to get rid of us and keep his lineage as free from common blood as possible at all costs.

However despite his hatred for me and my mother he could not simply throw us out because my father threatened to leave with us if my mother and I were thrown out of the family. This threat was enough to keep my grandpa quiet and off our backs, until the accident.

When I was 10, my mother and father took me on a family trip from Tokyo, the place where the Shimahara had their main house, to Kyoto, the place where our clan originated from. Instead of taking a limousine, a helicopter, or a private jet, my dad wanted to take just a normal family vacation without all of the pressure from our clan so that we could just pretend for once that we were normal people.

Those were the last memories that I had of my father. On the return trip home we were impacted by a drunk driver, killing my father and injuring my mother. Before my mother and I even had time to grieve, my grandfather seized the opportunity.

Without my father’s protection, my grandfather claimed that he could not look at us because it reminded him of his precious son kicked us out of the house. He made sure that the main family and all of the branch families would never let us rest, sending hecklers, thugs, and one time even an assassin after us.

My mother and I were powerless to stop them, so instead we just ran and ran and ran, and it frustrated me to no end. The scorn of my cousins, uncles, and aunts as my mother and I were forced out of the house and onto the streets with nothing other than the clothes on our backs. At the moment that I saw that I swore I would have revenge in my heart.

Afterwards, both homeless and penniless, my mother moved from town to town doing odd jobs then leaving when the family’s hired goons started to come after us. Eventually we had enough money to buy tickets for a plane ride to Washington, hoping to get away from the ever watching eyes of the clan. Finally, after several more years of running, hiding, and perseverance, we managed to settle down in a small town that we thought our family didn't have eyes in, Coniston.

This tale has been unlawfully lifted from Royal Road. If you spot it on Amazon, please report it.

Coniston was a small town in the rural Washington wilderness. The only things there was around 100 houses, a small video rental store, a diner, a fast food restaurant, a clothes store, a school, and a national guard armory that's just a little ways outside of town. That's it.

When we got there, my mother quickly found someone who wouldn't object to marrying her and had a shotgun wedding for temporary citizenship for the both of us, as we were technically illegal immigrants.

Unfortunately the man she married was a fat slob who pretty much locked her in his room fucking her and drinking all day. As it turns out, the family had found out we were coming to Coniston and payed the blob off to marry my mother, then imprison us in his house. He mooched what little money we had for beer and cigarette money to ensure that we couldn't leave the town, then drank himself into oblivion everyday on the money the family gave to him.

Eventually, after a month of this, in one of his drunken rampages, he hit an empty bottle over my mother’s head and accidentally killed her.

She was the last thing I had left. And then boom, suddenly she was gone.

Doubly unfortunately for me was the fact that used the family’s influence to bribe the sheriff, one of only 3 cops in town, to cover up my mother’s murder and bury her in an unmarked grave in the woods .

That. Was. The. Last. Straw.

I wanted vengeance on both him and my grandfather. Although there was possibly no hope for me getting revenge on my grandfather, there was a much larger and easier opportunity to kill my stepfather. From that point onward I began to set up an elaborate way to kill my stepfather as painfully and as slowly as I could.

I used the free time when I had when I wasn’t fetching him beer and cigarettes to dig a root cellar underneath our house at night. It took me several months of nightly diggin to make it deep enough to be soundproof from the neighbors that were separated by a treeline. Then I used pieces of wood that we had laying around in the forest we called a backyard as makeshift supporting beams and floorboards for my impromptu torture chamber. I had everything ready except for an alibi and a place to store the corpse.

On that day I was still debating on what to do with the lumps of flesh after I had butchered him like the pig he was when I went to the convenience store.

For me it was normal, like any other day. I greeted the old cashier at the convenience store like I did every time I went there, ignored the racist remark he made about me, and picked up the things that the pig asked me to. After making my purchases under the name of my stepfather, I returned home and threw the plastic bag full of beer and cigarettes at him before turning around and exiting the house. “Next time aim better you little faggot, and you throw like a girl!” He shouted at me as I left the house to go into the backyard.

I sneaked into the cellar that I had hidden all of my precious items in and checked on my supples.

The only thing illuminating the small room was a single candle that I lit as I walked in. Inside the small dirt room was a pair of sheers, an axe, and several metal files that, all of which I had stolen from our garage and had plans to using on him.  

As I was making a check on the blades and their sharpness, there was a loud rumble and everything shook.

I tried to quickly rush outside, but suddenly felt queasy and dropped to the ground vomiting. I heard something behind me and turned around to see a blue pulse of light come through the dirt wall behind me.

As it flowed through me I felt an impact on my body, and power coursed throughout my body. Like it had gone into overdrive, I felt every part of my body quickly heating up then start twitching.As this happened in the span of a few seconds, I did not even have time to think about what was happening before vomiting out blood and passing out on the ground.