The weather was cold, snowflakes were falling, making the ground filled with white snow, as much as it made the road prettier, it also made it much colder. People were wearing fur coats, protecting them from the freezing cold.

Amidst the busy road, where people were going back to their homes to enjoy the warmth from their fireplace, there stood a short boy with no shoes. His feet were red from the coldness and his body was involuntarily shivering, he rubbed his hands together to warm himself whilst cursing with a low voice

"Filthy beings, disregarding eyes, indifferent attitudes yet so different when faced with fear, true colors can't help but show themselves. Just what are we...."

As he pondered about this, he unconsciously followed the road back to his home with a shivering body that wasn't coated or protected from the weather. This city was quite a remote one in the empire and it wasn't bustling like the capital yet there were still merchants, rich nobles. Different city but the same kinds of people, same kind of system and same kind of lives, it's only the faces that are different.

With resentment to those enjoying their lives whilst feeding off the essence of the miserable, the bald-headed boy who never ceased rubbing his hands against each other made his way home with a very slow yet steady pace.

He didn't seem to mind that he wore so little and although a bit reluctantly, he still returned to the hut in the slums and opened the half-broken door which had many holes where the cold wind passed through.

In this very small hut, the bald-headed boy faced a drunk man, he was swaying in front of the kid and when he caught sight of the small figure in front of the door, he slowly walked to him and didn't hold back as he delivered a vicious punch on the kid's stomach.

As if expecting such treatment, the boy didn't scream, he just let out a low groan before he listened to the rambling of the drunk man along with the hitting.

After a few minutes, the man seemed to be tired, he stopped kicking the kid and grabbed a cup and wanted to drink it only to be disappointed that it was empty.

His vision shifted back to the kid, who was going to enter a small corner of the hut which seemed to be a very small room.

"You dirty waste! Go bring me alcohol, I want alcohol!"

Not pausing or even listening to the man, the bald-headed boy walked to the small room and put down the small curtain to block the view then he proceeded to ignore the man, who kept screaming for a while before he stopped. A few seconds later, the door of the hut was pushed open and the man left, clearly not minding the freezing cold weather as if alcohol was more important.

Sitting on a mat with an expressionless face. He inspected the few blue spots on his body before he put down his dirty shirt and stared at the cracked wall with a deadpan face.

"Hah! A father? A family? None of that matters, humans are versatile beings, bound by emotions, easily influenced, and so fragile. The so-called nobles also have red blood, same as us yet they are regarded as higher-beings, such absurd logic, such idiotic policies, such idiotic public!"

He sighed and used a sharp object to slash a small line on the wall which had countless other lines.

".... They speak of hope but I only see darkness, they speak of faith but I only see desperation, should I also abide by their rules?.... what are humans after all........"

"Huff... huff"

Standing in the small hut, which had an almost broken door and most of the little furniture present was now in a complete mess. The cold ground was now dyed with red blood, flowing and expanding to all its corners.

In the middle of such a small place stood a bald-headed boy, panting heavily as he held a sharp metal object in his hand, it had blood dripping from it but surprisingly, the boy was not shaking from fright or regretting his actions.

In front of him, laid a lifeless corpse of a middle-aged man, his eyes were full of anger and disbelief, showing how unwilling to die he felt when facing death.

He had a hideous slash-wound in his throat, it was precise and deadly, just one slash and no other bruise marks or slashes in his body. Blood kept gushing out from that wound, like a fountain, a completely disgusting and gory sight.

With cold eyes, emotionless and devoid of pity or regret, the boy stared at the dead body of his deceased father. He stood there unmoving, for a full minute before he looked down at his hand, and mumbled with a low voice

"Good people should live whilst bad people should die they said, but what if bad people pretend to be good and vice-versa? Ha! what a world, what a world indeed!"

Then, without any slight hesitation, he crouched down and dragged the lifeless corpse out of the hut. With unwavering expression, he literally cut the corpse in pieces and sneakily throw them into a large garbage dump a bit away from the hut. Since the weather was freezing cold, the small and pieces won't be found out anytime soon.

As he went back to the hut, he did a quick clean up and picked what was important to him, which was the sharp metal object he used to kill that man along with a rectangular paper with a red symbol on it.

After one final look at the small hut, which could barely be considered a place to live in, he threw the lighten-up match inside and left without taking a second look. In the freezing cold of the winter, in a normal night, a small hut was burning for two hours before the flames subdued and all that was left was black ashes.

Tonight was colder than usual, the city was empty as it was pretty late. The usually bustling road was now devoid of any person, however, at a certain point of time, a boy, with ragged clothes and bare feet, slowly walked down that road and left the city. Not even the guards were on duty, so his actions went unnoticed, as if he never existed as if he was but a meager existence, not meant to be known or pitied.....