Sometimes the world can be cruel, but more times than not, it’s the people that make it that way.

In the middle of nowhere, near the edge of a tree line, was a rundown shack just big enough for two rooms and a kitchen with enough room for a stove, a couple of cabinets, and an old table.

Living there was a family that no longer had a surname, as they abandoned it long ago, consisting of a couple with their son. Around the cabin all you could hear was the occasional banging of metal and the sound of crying. Calling them a family was a stretch to say the least.

“I wish you were never born! You're the reason we’re not living a luxurious life as members of the Church right now!”

Shouted the mother, while throwing whatever she could reach at her son.

“You're a useless mistake. If only you were born with magic, then we would have never been kicked out of the Church!”

The son, not even daring to make a sound knowing it would only make it worse, just sat there, taking the pain of whatever actually found its way to his body.

This wasn't the first time his mom went on an abusive rampage. The boy's skin was full of bruises, cuts, and burns. His hands were full of blisters from working so much, half of them infected from popping and never getting tended to.

Every other week the boy would get one black eye after another, either from his dad using him as a punching bag, or his mom's usual rampage in the kitchen.

The parents would never feed the kid, only giving him the bare minimum that still allowed him to do chores. Because of this, the boy was almost emaciated, only strong enough to swing an axe to add wood to the weekly wood pile.

After what seemed like forever to the kid, the mom found no enjoyment in tormenting the boy any further. She eventually locked him in his room to tend to his scrapes and bruises out of her sight.

The boy’s room only had a blanket on the floor for him to call a bed and a candle to keep him warm for the fall weather. Bugs occasionally accompanied him, along with some patches of mold growing along the edges.

The boy had gotten used to the bugs, almost seeing them as pets and even naming some of them. He studied their habits to pass the time until he would pass out from pain or hunger.

That night the boy had a dream of happier days when his family still loved him and they still lived in the church.

It was before his eighth birthday... before he was supposed to awaken as a mage. His parents took him to a zoo where a trainer was showing off his various mystical creatures. It was a day full of treats and surprises, with his parents buying him toys and ice cream. Due to this, the boy developed a love for animals and studied them whenever he could.

Unfortunately, that was the last time he heard his parents say they love him. His eighth birthday was a couple of days away and, on the day of his eighth birthday, he did not awaken. A fortune only given out to the devils of this world according to the Church.

The only thing that the boy knew about the Church was that it venerated a god that no one knew. Its existence was nothing more but known to be either just a legend or truth. Though some call it a cult more than a church for reasons like his case.

The Church, hearing of the boy’s absent awakening, called him the devil. The only reason the family isnt dead right now is because the boy's father was a high ranking priest in the Church, using his connections to let them escape.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

The next morning, the boy woke up to constant banging on his door telling him to stop being useless and get to work chopping the wood. Believe it or not, this was probably the boy's favorite chore as he got to be outside by himself for a majority of the day.

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Walking into the kitchen he saw his mom looking through the empty cupboards and a loaf of bread on the table. Starving for more days than he could remember, the boy decided to sneak a slice of bread for his breakfast, putting it in his back pocket.

His mom, noticing him strangely standing behind her, turned around and eyed him with blatant disgust.

“Can’t you even listen to directions? You were told to chop the wood, not stare at my back, you useless mistake.”

The boy stood there motionless as the courage to ask a question arose.

“Mom, why don't you use my name anymore?”

“Don't ever call me mom again, it disgusts me! Why would we use the name of a disgrace? You don't deserve one, you can't even use magic. If anything, we’ll continue to call you “Useless”, it seems most fitting to you.”

Knowing that's the best answer he's gonna get, the boy just walked outside to chop the wood.

It was a little chilly as the weather began to shift into the harsh, colder winter months. The boy didn't mind, however, as chopping wood did well in keeping him warm.

While walking over to the splitting block, the boy saw his dad searching around their dirty yard for any booze he might find leftover in any of the old bottles. Thinking his dad was distracted enough not to notice him, the boy quickly ate the slice of bread he stole and got to work chopping wood.

After about the second block split, he noticed his dad angrily walking towards him, chugging down the remains of a forgotten bottle of booze. Knowing what this meant, the boy prepared himself for the beating that's about to take place for whatever the reason may be.

“Do you think I'm an idiot?” asked the dad.

“No.” said the boy with a deadpan expression on his face.

The dad hit the boy on the side of the head with the now empty bottle.

“Its “sir” when you're talking to me. “No, sir” got it?”

“Yes, sir,” said the boy.

“I saw you eat that slice of bread, boy. And I know for damn sure that my wife wouldn't give that to you.”

The boy, not knowing what to do, ended up panicking and just said: “I-I was hungry, I'm sorry, sir.”

This, annoying his dad, started beating him even more with the bottle. The boy just stood there and took it, holding in every whimper he could.

“Do it!” A voice called out to him.

The boy looked around between every swing of his dad, but couldn't find anyone who could be whispering to him.

“You know you want to, just do it!”

The boy jumped in shock, accidentally dropping the axe previously in his hands, on his dad's foot.

“YOU USELESS, WORTHLESS CHILD!”

The axe nearly split his dad’s foot in two causing a considerable amount of blood to spew out. Seeing this, the boy felt something well up inside of him, something he's never felt before.

It felt like he awakened something inside of him in that one, short moment, but it faded as quickly as it appeared.

Wanting to catch that high again, the boy took the axe and swung it at his dad while he was still trying to recover from the wound. The boy felt it again and again the more he kept hacking, only stopping once he realized the snow around him and his dad's body were painted crimson red from the hole he just made in his dad’s torso.

With the misplaced euphoria fading away from him, the boy finally realized what he had done. Horrified with himself, he ran back to the cabin to explain what happened and to apologize to his mom before he got into any more trouble.

Arriving at the house, the boy opened the door and walked into the kitchen to see his mom boiling some water on the stove and looking through the near empty cupboards.

“Did you make sure that useless brat can still use his limbs? He still needs to finish chopping the wood for the winter and clean the house spotless.”

“M-mom, dad’s d-de-”

Startled by a voice she wasn’t expecting, she turned around only to see the boy covered in blood and still holding the wooden axe. She screamed in horror, throwing the pot of boiling water at him, splashing him on the left side of the face.

The boy didn't seem to care, though, almost like he didn't even feel it.

He walked forward trying to explain what happened, but his mom just backed away still screaming at him, this time with insults.

“See! I knew you were a useless mistake! You ruined our lives, forcing us into severe poverty! If that wasn’t enough, now you're trying to take us out of this world!”

His mom conjured a fireball in the palms of her hands, but tripped before firing it, shooting it just past the boy's burnt face.

“See? They don’t care about you. They only mean to use you until the winter’s up. They plan on getting rid of you after that. You’re a liability to them. A mistake.”

The boy, hearing this mysterious voice again, swung the axe down on his mother while she was still trying to get back up, splitting straight down her head.

Then he felt it again. That strange, warm feeling he got when he killed his dad, almost like a drug. He felt… alive.

The boy then heard the voice again, but this time telling him to dismember their heads.

The boy, however, regaining some sense of his morality, screamed in terror.

“NO! I don’t want to! I’m a mistake- a useless brat!”

But the voice got louder and louder, basically screaming until, finally, it got the better of him. He brought the axe blade down on his mother’s neck, beheading her. The feeling of euphoria remained as he watched as her head rolled across the floor.

Walking into the living room, the boy took a pillow case from one of the pillows and placed his mom’s head into it. He then proceeded to walk back outside and hack off his dad's head next, also placing it in the sack, the sight of them fueling this boy’s high.

Then, the voice spoke.

“Go into the forest. I'll guide you…” it said.

With a smile on his face, half deformed from the boiling water earlier, the boy headed into the forest putting all his faith into this unknown voice.