Uncle Roger was sprawled on the living room's wooden floor, struggling for breath. His scalp pulsed with an intense ache, a result of being forcefully struck against the wall. Bent forward, he clutched his throbbing head, trying to make sense of what just occurred.

It happened so suddenly. Uncle Roger just caught Aunt Helen's terrifying screams before the unknown person yanked him, dragged him across the floor, and dumped him on the ground.

Dim moonlight barely outlined the room, casting feeble shadows that played around him. A slender figure loomed, her silhouette pale in the darkness. Leaning closer, her long black hair cascaded like a dark waterfall, nearly touching his face.

“It’s been a while, Uncle,” came her voice. It was low and tinged with a mix of coldness and pent-up fury.

He balked at the sound. After all those years living together, he knew who this person was, even if she looked different.

"What happened to you?" He noticed Astraea was barefoot, her purple and black toes pulsating in the Curse, a vivid reminder of the transformation she had undergone.

“I don’t think you’re in the position to ask questions,” she replied coldly.

“Get up.”

After a moment of hesitation, Uncle Roger managed to struggle to his feet, looking Astraea in the face. He was taller and broader than her, and even in his older age, his muscles gleamed underneath his nightshirt.

“You’ll regret this,” he said, cracking his knuckles with forced bravado, finally recovering from the earlier assault. “It seems like the niece needs the same discipline as her Aunt.”

His arrogance infuriated Astraea.

In an instant, she moved like lightning, bringing her fist to Uncle Roger’s ribs with a sickening thud.

Crunch.

“AHHH!” Uncle Roger's scream echoed through the farmhouse as he fell to his knees, clutching his broken ribs in agony.

“Discipline you said?” Astraea scoffed aloud, a haunting sound that sent chills down Uncle Roger's spine. She circled him, her eyes crinkling with a cold smile as she witnessed him relive the pain he had inflicted on Aunt Helen day after day. Even if he never laid a hand on Astraea, he was the seed that had planted the never-ending violence in this household.

Amidst the pain, Uncle Roger's awareness dulled—he scarcely registered Astraea's hand seizing one of his arms that was pressed against his ribcage. She secured her fingers around his bicep, her grip strong enough to create bruising. Meanwhile, her other hand fastened onto his forearm, exerting pressure that caused the skin around her fingers to go white. Confirming her stance with a nod, she locked eyes with Uncle Roger; his gaze widened as she pulled with force.

Crack!

Crack!

“How does it feel now,” Astraea said, her voice dripping with contempt, “to feel your discipline!"

With every sound, Uncle Roger's howls of pain reverberated off the walls, creating a chilling symphony of suffering. His arm was now bent at odd angles, blue and purple bruises forming on him like macabre artwork.

He collapsed onto his back, tears streaming down his face as he seized in pain.

But Astraea was not done yet. She stepped onto his legs, her anger even more apparent.

“We have to be thorough, don’t we?” With a sudden and brutal force, she slammed her foot into Uncle Roger’s knee, the sound of bone shattering punctuating the room.

“Please! Stop!” Uncle Roger was now begging, his mangled body struggling to sit upright.

“I’ll do anything, just stop!” Tears streamed down his face, and snot mixed with blood formed from his nose. His body trembled at the pain, something he had not felt in a very long time.

Astraea paused for a moment, her eyes narrowing as she took in the sight before her. During this time, she felt a strange surge of energy coursing through her veins. It was small and barely noticeable, but there nonetheless. It felt as if a small whirlwind of energy was forming at her heart, giving her strength.

The Commandments, she thought to herself. Erasmus’s teachings were coming full circle.

Uncle Roger, in his desperation, mistook Astraea’s momentary pause for mercy, crawling to her with his remaining unbroken leg and placing his snot-covered face before her feet.

“Please…don’t kill me,” he stuttered, fear evident in his eyes. “I’m sorry. I was wrong!”

Astraea looked down at the pathetic human prostrating himself before her. For the longest time, Uncle Roger was someone she feared, someone she had gone to great lengths to please and appease.

Stolen from its rightful author, this tale is not meant to be on Amazon; report any sightings.

Yet now, he seemed so insignificant, a hollow shell of his former self. Never again would he torment her with the threat of his presence.

“...”

She was now at the crossroads she had envisioned. Astraea paused, contemplating her next move. This was truly her last chance to go back, to keep her hands clean from Sin. From an onlooker’s perspective, Uncle Roger had received more than enough punishment.

She could still hold onto who she was.

But then, what would her new life shape itself to be?

Images began racing through Astraea’s head of a future she didn’t know. Living quietly in the remote countryside with just Erasmus at her side, the sun shining brightly and the grass blowing in the calm wind. She could be happy, forgetting about everything that happened.

…

But what was the point in forgetting?

What if someone came back, stronger than her, demanding she suffer again?

I won’t let that ever happen, Astraea thought, her lips quivering at the thought.

Never again.

With a quiet calmness, she crouched down and looked Uncle Roger in the eyes.

“It’s your time now,” she said, kicking him squarely in the stomach.

Thud.

Uncle Roger landed unceremoniously onto his back, his chest heavy as he struggled to breath through his injuries.

Astraea planted her foot on his neck, slowly applying pressure to his windpipe. Uncle Roger's eyes widened, and he struggled to break free, using his good arm to claw at Astraea's leg. Dark blood oozed from the scratches, but Astraea stood unfazed. He resembled a drowning insect, limbs flailing in water, the struggle slow and inevitable.

“Have mercy!” He gasped, trying to take in air. “If I die…you’ll never know! About your mother, about why you’re here!”

Astraea hesitated at his sudden confession, slightly loosening her footing on his windpipe. The topic was not something she was expecting to hear tonight.

At the positive response, Uncle Roger took this as a sign to keep going.

"Only me and Aunt Helen know the truth. There’s a reason we took you in. A reason Aunt Helen hates you so much."

“I see,” Astraea responded. “So why don’t you start talking?”

“Take your foot off first,” Uncle Roger’s eyes gleamed. He wasn’t sure if she noticed, but their fight had moved them towards the guest area. On the lampstand was a horn used by the farm communities to signal an emergency. As soon as she loosened her footing, he would--

Step.

Uncle Rogers' eyes bulged as Astraea’s foot put pressure onto his neck once more, this time with force enough to crush his windpipe.

“…why!” He choked, barely able to get the word out. His face began turning red, then purple from the lack of air coming in.

Astraea looked at him calmly as his life slowly ebbed away. His limbed flailed helplessly as he tried to gasp for air, his efforts in vain.

“I changed my mind, Uncle Roger.”

“If both of you know,” she said, watching him struggle to hold consciousness.

“Then only one of you needs to talk."

With a final press of her foot into his neck, Uncle Roger's body seized, his arm flopping to the floor. His legs no longer moved, and his eyes rolled to the back of his head, foam collecting at his mouth. After decades of torment, he could no longer inflict suffering, his last breath passing in pain and confusion.

Suddenly, a surge of Energi enveloped Astraea.

The Daemon of Darkness smiled eagerly in the shadows, noting the brief glow cast on her. She felt a stream of Sin enter her body, the core at her heart growing larger and larger, threatening to spill outwards.

“We’ll need to address that later,” a voice inside her head said.

Erasmus? Astraea replied, shocked she could hear him.

“Yes,” he replied.

“As my Apostle, we can communicate telepathically. But do continue. You haven’t finished yet.”

She nodded at his words, and proceeded back to the bedroom, her emotions high with the carnage she had just caused. As she opened the door, a figure sat at the edge of the bed, looking expectantly at her.

Aunt Helen’s eyes were red, and her knuckles were bleeding from biting into them. She had heard all of Uncle Roger’s screams, and knew there was no way for her to escape.

“Come,” Astraea beckoned. Aunt Helen hesitated but then silently obliged, shuffling her feet across the hallway and into the living room. It was made very quickly to her that she could not overpower Astraea.

Aunt Helen flinched at the sight of Uncle Roger’s corpse, strewn lifeless into the corner, his body still warm. Astraea ignored Aunt Helen's reaction and beckoned her into a particular spot near the kitchen, a place she knew all too well.

“Unbutton yourself.” Astraea said, pointing to the buttons on the back of Aunt Helen’s nightgown.

“You dare–” Aunt Helen finally hissed, her voice trembling with both fear and defiance.

“Yes, I dare,” Astraea retorted, her eyes narrowing as she held Aunt Helen's gaze, making it clear what would happen if she disobeyed.

Without another word, Aunt Helen began unbuttoning the back of her blouse, her fingers fumbling with the small buttons as her hands shook. The popping sounds, once familiar to Aunt Helen, now felt like a slow march towards vengeance.

Yet this time, it was Aunt Helen, and not Astraea doing the unbuttoning. The roles had shifted, power dynamics upended, and Astraea held all the reins of control.

Astraea watched in satisfaction as Aunt Helen's facade of strength slowly peeled away, revealing the fragility she had hidden behind a mask of cruelty. Finally, with all of them unbuttoned, Aunt Helen revealed her back to show glossy white skin.

There was some blue and purple mottling from Uncle Roger’s infliction, but it looked much better than Astraea’s.

“Your back is pristine,” Astraea commented, taking a finger and running it down Aunt Helen’s spine, the touch both gentle and taunting. She felt Aunt Helen flinch at her touch, a stark contrast to the once-commanding woman she knew.

“But I don’t like it,” Astraea spoke plainly, her voice cold as she reached for the whip.

"So let’s change that."