CHAPTER ONE

“WHACK!”

The ruthless crack of the whip slashing against my exposed back fills the otherwise empty room with sadistic echos. Each echo reverberates throughout my brain, throughout my soul, adding themselves to the multitude of echos previous. I close my eyes, grit my teeth, and bear through each slash, each whip, each painful sting. With every slash, my hate grows, my anger builds up - all directed at Denom Archer.

I hate Denom! Simple as that. For the things he’s done to me. The things he’s said to me. Just everything. I just hope he drops dead today or tomorrow, however unlikely that is.

Anyone else would pity Denom. Even respect him - he was once a part of those lofty immortal cultivators. Until a tragedy befell on him, there was no way he would associate himself with the Sun Village we live in. I would feel pity for him as well, if I didn’t know the real Denom. The corybantic and demented Denom. The abusive and irate Denom. The man who sat there in his own pity, his own remorse, then has the nerve to glare at me and take me to his favorite room in the house: Punishment Room.

The Punishment Room, simply stated, is the tiny basement where Denom releases his anguish on me. A place of building emotions, tears, and anger; it's the place where I spend the most amount of time in reflection. The place where I can slowly build up my fury and hate. With every “punishment” my desire for Denom’s death intensifies. It’s the place where I realize what I am - the son and slave of Denom Archer. I am Anmos Archer.

“WHACK!”

“He took everything away from me!”

“WHACK!”

“Life was perfect. All until he came!”

“WHACK!”

“I could tell he had eyes on her!”

“WHACK!

“But what could I do? His clan, his background, I had none of that!”

The “he” Denom’s talking about? For all the times I hear about him, I don’t know his name. All I know is he took my mother and competed with Denom, eventually kicking him out the sect. Denom and the competitor had around the same amount of talent, but Denom had determination and hard work which separated him from the competitor. Unfortunately, Denom didn’t have the background the competitor had - not even close. So the sect eventually decided to place the competitor as the “chosen” of the sect. Using the pressure from his clan, Denom was kicked out. My mother was kidnapped and taken under the clan’s power.

After Denom was sent into a descending spiral only assisted by alcohol and emotional trauma, his cultivation slowly dwindling. He was left with me, one of four children. I don’t know where the other three children are, I’m the only one that was left with Denom - how lucky my siblings are.

“Huff. Huff. Sniff. Sniff.” Sniffing, I try to wipe my eyes to prevent the tears from continuing to flow. I don’t whine, if I do I put myself at danger for another “punishment”. Denom puts the whip to the side, sliding his back on the wall as he sits down, spreading his legs out. I try to do the same, but I make sure my exposed back doesn’t scrape against the wall. I lift my head, my amber eyes observing the man in front of me.

“An-Anmos. I’-I’m so sorry. I didn’t mean to. Please have mercy on your father.” I know now the switched has been flicked. The switch that causes a terrifying change in my father’s persona, attitude, and character. The irate and abusive Denom changed into the loving and proper father Denom. But deep down I know that switch isn’t only in him. Perhaps it causes an even more terrifying change within me. I guess you could say that it’s the only family heirloom we could afford.

“It’s alright Dad. I understand.” The switch’s effects have begun. The previous me would never call him Dad, at most father. Yet now I’m the new Anmos. The kind, intelligent, and happy Anmos. The ideal father and son pair that met a tragedy, our neighbors say. I wish it was that simple.

“Alright. Get your shirt, go upstairs and prepare for bed.” Denom looks at me with his warm brown eyes, carefully placing gauze on all the open cuts and scrapes. He then gives me some remedy medicine, wiped all the blood away, and put my shirt on. He then put his own shirt on, and walked up the creaky stairs.

“Everything to be forgotten.” Denom softly whispered from the stairs. Oh how I wish so.