25

[ARTEMY]
At the age of ten,
I tiptoed into the chilling basement, cautiously shutting the door behind me to avoid drawing any attention. In the center of the room, a man was bound to a chair, his face and clothes stained with blood. He slumped against the restraints, emitting whimpering sounds of agony that reached my ears even from a distance.
Gazing at him, an intense surge of fiery anger coursed through my veins. It was a wrath of murderous proportions.
Kill him. Make him suffer. Spill his blood. These thoughts screamed in my mind as my body trembled with the intensity of my fury.
He was one of them-a Cavalieri. An Italian. I could still recall his face from that dreadful night, the night when he and others tormented my mother. I could see the sick amusement in his laughter.
Purposefully striding forward, I stood face-to-face with him. His gaze met mine, and if it were possible, his swollen eyes widened in fear.
He attempted to utter words, but only a muffled, gurgling sound escaped from behind the gag. Clenching my hands into fists, I unleashed a powerful blow to his face, the sickening crunch of his nose echoing through the room as my knuckles collided with his flesh.
He screamed, and I laughed.
His pain brought me an inexplicable pleasure. My heart soared with sadistic delight, yet it hungered for more. I yearned for his blood, to witness his torment.
I hungered to end his life.
Only then would I find satisfaction.
Approaching a table at the back of the room, I surveyed the array of weapons laid out before me. There were so many options, each with its own distinct style and size. Though unfamiliar with the basement’s secrets, I had heard whispers and rumors circulating within the mansion’s walls.
With the big knife, its spiral blade gleaming ominously, I retraced my steps towards the man I despised with every fiber of my being. His trembling figure, bound tightly to the chair, betrayed his fear as he futilely shook his head and tried to distance himself from me.
Yet, escape was not an option for him. He was at my mercy, a captive audience to the vengeance I was about to unleash. Mercy no longer held any meaning in my world.
Grasping the knife tightly in my hand, I pressed it unyieldingly against his cheek, drawing it downward with force. A pained scream escaped his lips, only to be stifled by the atmosphere of terror that enveloped us. I watched as the blood flowed, and my heart quickened its pace, propelled by a surge of adrenaline. More. More. More. My mind echoed the mantra, urging me onward.
Without hesitation, I marked his other cheek with a deep, jagged gash. The knife danced across his arms, leaving behind long, grievous wounds that bled profusely. Blood painted the scene in macabre hues as I moved to his chest, carving so deeply that his bones came into view.
His body grew limp, incapable of resistance, as he bled out, his head hanging in a grotesque display of defeat. The onslaught had taken its toll, and I could sense his fading consciousness.
But I was far from finished.
He was still breathing, still clinging to life, while my mother lay in eternal silence. He deserved to experience the same pain that had shattered my world. Fury surged within me, and with a roar, I withdrew the knife from his chest, only to thrust it mercilessly into his heart, twisting it agonizingly.
In response, his head snapped back, his futile struggles against the restraints intensifying. The torment in his eyes gradually faded, replaced by a lifeless gaze, as the final remnants of life ebbed away.
Within seconds, he ceased to draw breath. His vacant, dead eyes stared back at me, a haunting reminder of the void left in my heart. With trembling hands, I retrieved the knife from his chest, surveying the aftermath. My entire being was drenched in blood, not a patch of skin left untouched by its gruesome stain. It enveloped me, blinding my senses.
A gasp escaped my lips, the weight of my actions crashing upon me. Yet, remorse did not accompany the revelation. Instead, I felt a strange mixture of relief and satisfaction. But it was an incomplete satisfaction. Others still needed to pay.
One by one, I vowed to hunt them down, to deliver the retribution they deserved. And so, I embarked on a path stained with blood, determined to exact my vengeance upon them all.
The sound of the door bursting open echoed through the room, jolting me from my thoughts. I spun around to find my father storming in, accompanied by a group of his men. Their eyes widened in astonishment when they saw me, and I could hear my father’s gasp of disbelief.
“Artemy!” he yelled, rushing toward me. He halted in front of me, snatching the knife from my hand and tossing it aside, its metallic clatter resonating on the floor next to the lifeless body.
“What have you done? Oh, Artemy, what have you done?” he exclaimed, his voice filled with anguish.
I met his gaze, my voice raspy as I spoke. “I will avenge my mother.”
My father’s eyes widened further, his expression transforming into utter shock. I understood his disbelief. It was the first time I had spoken a single word in three years, ever since that fateful night when everything changed, when I lost everything.
“I swear to eliminate them all. Every single Cavalieri,” I declared, my voice foreign even to my own ears. My father remained silent for a moment, and then he straightened his posture, his expression turning resolute.
“Very well,” he responded, his voice devoid of emotion, cold as ice.
With those words, I turned away and left. I didn’t spare a glance at his men, but kept my eyes fixed ahead, my shoulders squared with determination and my head held high.
This was my new reality.
My mother had been mistaken.
I was no longer her sweet, gentle, and quiet boy.
I had become a monster.
As I walked through the dimly lit corridor, I forcefully pushed thoughts of “my angel” out of my mind. Angels didn’t exist.
A monster like me could never possess an angel.
***
Present Day
I jolted awake, my heart racing as the memories lingered vividly in my mind. They were painful reminders, and I swiftly buried them deep within myself. There was no room for weakness. Dwelling on the past was a luxury I couldn’t afford.
I couldn’t fathom why that dream had revisited me, resurfacing fragments of the past, but it ignited a fiery rage within me. Taking a moment to collect myself, I closed my eyes and suppressed my emotions along with the memories.
No room for weakness.