" You cur!" Filth! You are not my seed!" John yelled, slamming Marcellus against the stone wall of his father's run-down house. He didn't cry even though he was young, not old enough to cook for himself. Instead, he looked at his old man, his brow furrowed in defiance.

"You murdered my wife, boy!" The second sip of beer that John took burned Marcellus' nose. His father had turned into a drunk, and Marcellus had drawn his wrath. “I told her to take the medicine. We couldn’t afford another mouth to feed,” his words slurred. “ But... but... her and her damn dreams. And what did the bitch leave me with? A magicless runt. Weakling!” He spat on Marcellus. He rubbed the saliva and alcohol off his swollen eye and tender face but said nothing to the swaying man. The abuse had become too common. The words could no longer hurt and when John realized it, his fist and legs became the delivery of pain.

And now he felt nothing but anger toward his father.

“Look at you. I feed you and give you clothes, but you look haggard. Ungrateful!” John struck him in the gut, causing stale bread and old vegetables to spill out.

“And you look at me with eyes of one of Hel’s beasts. You want to kill me, boy?” John's brow raised and he laughed. “I’m right here cur!” John said with outstretched arms. “Go on. Try it! I’ll end both of our misery.”

“I am not the cause of mothers' death fath-”

“You are not my seed boy! You look and act nothing like me. I wouldn’t produce such a weak boy.”

Marcellus studied his swaying father, barely able to stand without the help of a wall. He was sick and tired of it all. Maybe his father killing them both wasn’t such a bad idea, but he wanted to live like the others. His friends had long abandoned him due to his condition and his father becoming the neighborhood drunk didn’t help.

“If you don’t claim me, I don’t claim you bastard!” Marcellus yelled. Today his life would change, and it would start here. John had finally gone off the deep end. He held up the glass bottle as he hurled profane insults at his seed and struck at his head. John's movements were slow and clumsy. Marcellus took advantage of his inebriation and sidestepped him. As the bottle struck the stone, glass shattered everywhere. Marcellus didn’t close his eyes and he ignored all pain as he walked toward his downed father and picked up a large piece of broken glass.

He smiled at his wide-eyed father as he stalked closer and closer.

“ What are you doing boy?” John asked, and Marcellus abruptly stopped. This was not the hatred and disgust he was accustomed to. He was certain he heard a crack. Is there a hint of fear? The man who had been threatening him for the past seven years was terrified of dying. His inner being was affected by that thought. Marcellus couldn't explain his joy, but he knew his father was dying today, at his hands.

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“You always said you wanted to kill us both, father. I’ll be the son you always wanted and listen to you. I’m going to kill you.” No other words were uttered. Marcellus sped his small body as hard as he could, and john was too drunk to react. One swift motion was all it took. A flick of the wrist and a bit of a swing sent his father to Netherworld where Seglios would judge his soul.

He ignored the gargles, splatters, and coughs of blood. He tuned out the pleas for the forgiveness of John’s life and he watched, just as a predator watches his prey, John’s body slowed and came to a permanent rest. The day he dreamed of had finally come. Marcellus lost track of time, staring at the dead man slumped against the wall and his trance was interrupted by a few knocks on the door. The voice was feminine and familiar.

Their—his neighbor must have heard the yelling. His brain tried to think of everything that could happen. He didn’t want to go to jail or be a slave for the rest of his life, but what he had done was in self-defense. There was no regret or remorse. If he were to be punished for killing the man every knew abused him, he would simply curse this life and take his own.

“John? Marcellus? Open up,” she banged on the door. Marcellus to a look at his blood-soaked clothes and his right hand gripped the large glass hard enough to draw blood. He could hide the weapon or change his clothes. He could run out the window of his room and could escape, but he wanted them to see what they ignored. He always thought if someone or anyone interfered, that the abuse could stop or lessen, but they chose to act as if they were blind. Were they afraid? So, what? He was living with a beast.

He steeled his resolve and with a deep breath, walked across the glass-filled floor, wincing a bit, but steady. His hand grabbed the metal knob, and he once more went over his few options. This was the life given to him. He didn’t ask for it. He cursed his dead parents silently. The parents he killed.

Marcellus prayed to only one God, Inas, and had lost faith, but now he hoped the sea god would bestow him a blessing. He never asked for one before, but he hoped Inas pitied him enough to help.

Marcellus opened the door and Emily locked eyes for a brief second before her gaze traveled to his body and then to the lifeless one behind him. Her slender hand slowly grabbed the glass dripping with his blood and lowered herself to her knee.

“Tell me what happen, Marcellus.” Emily was one of the few who didn’t completely ignore his father's abuse or his demeaning remarks. She was also the first person he made an example of. A quick backhand knocked her unconscious and her lover suffered a lot more in her defense.

Marcellus explained everything but the feeling of elation he felt from killing his father and he studied her face carefully. He thought she was relieved and was surprised she wasn’t afraid. Her calmness calmed him. Emily stood up, taking Marcellus by the hand, and with a warm smile, led him out of the door.

And that was the last thing he could remember before waking up from sleep.