Azrael collapsed to his knees as a hard kick landed square in his stomach. All he could do was grit his teeth, bracing against the sharp pain that kept crashing over him like waves. He knew better than to fight back—any resistance would only make the punishment worse.
He held his breath, forcing himself not to cry out. If he could have bitten his tongue to stay silent, he might've done it. But he was too afraid of dying to take that risk.
A rough hand grabbed his jaw, yanking it upward and forcing him to look into the face of the one beating him. His black hair, damp with sweat, stuck to his skin as his head was pulled back.
"This bastard still dares to look at me?" Alwin's grin grew wider, his hand shooting through the air and landing a brutal slap on Azrael's cheek.
"You're being too soft on him, brother," Isaac chimed in, cackling as he watched Alwin slap Azrael again and again. "A devil's spawn like him needs to be beaten down if you want him to behave."
Azrael's face was swollen, bruised, and bleeding. The corner of his lip had split open, and his eyes were completely vacant, devoid of anger or resistance. His body swayed limply each time Alwin struck him.
Bored with the lack of fight, Alwin shoved Azrael's body away, no longer interested in toying with his cousin.
"Don't forget the firewood out back," he said coldly. "If it's not chopped by nightfall, I'll kill you."
With that, Alwin walked off, satisfied with the damage he'd inflicted.
Isaac, who had been watching from a distance, casually strolled over and draped an arm around his brother's shoulder. On the way, he gave Azrael's sprawled figure a lazy kick.
"Oh, and don't forget to fetch water from the village well," Isaac added casually. "Father's gonna lose it if there's no water when he gets home."
Azrael's lips twitched in pain, his entire mouth numb and stinging. He said nothing, just silently accepted their orders. At least today, they were letting him go early.
He didn't black out. That alone felt like a small victory. Today, he only had a few bruises. As his cousins walked away laughing, Azrael let out a trembling sigh of relief.
Slowly, he pushed himself off the ground, wincing as he sat up and examined his injuries. With a shaky hand, he wiped the blood from his lip, only to groan when the pain flared up again.
"These wounds hurt like hell... but I don't have time to cry about it," he muttered, sighing heavily as he forced himself to stand.
From the cracks in the wooden hut, a soft light split in. He turned toward the glow and watched the wind stir the leaves outside. It was oddly peaceful for a brief moment.
But he didn't have the luxury of peace.
"Damn it. I'm running out of time!"
Limping slightly, Azrael rushed out of the hut.
As Alwin had said, every heavy chore in the household was automatically dumped on Azrael—even when it wasn't supposed to be his responsibility. His cousins insisted that he owed them for letting him live with them.
And yet, no matter how much he obeyed, they always found a reason to punish him.
Shaking off his thoughts, Azrael headed to the backyard to chop the massive pile of firewood. He was confident he could finish before sunset. The real problem was fetching water from the village well—it was a thirty-minute walk each way.
Worried his punishment would worsen, Azrael worked faster, splitting wood with everything he had.
. . .
Azrael carefully loaded a large water barrel onto the wooden cart. Just as he gripped the handle, ready to pull it home, a voice rang out—angry and sharp.
"Azrael!"
His body froze. He recognised that voice instantly.
Time seemed to slow as he turned to see who had called his name.
Standing in the distance was a middle-aged man with a scar across his temple. His expression was stone cold, his eyes burning with fury as they locked onto Azrael's trembling form.
"Didn't I warn you not to make me angry?" Christopher—his uncle—began walking toward him.
Azrael's whole body started shaking as he watched his uncle approach. Under that penetrating glare, he could barely breathe.
"I—I'm sorry, Uncle," Azrael stammered, lowering his head, too afraid to meet Christopher's eyes.
"Sorry?" Christopher scoffed, his face twisted in disgust. "A cursed child like you dares to play innocent in front of me?"
Suddenly, a bolt of pain shot through Azrael's leg as Christopher kicked his shin hard. Azrael collapsed to the ground, screaming in pain.
"If I don't teach you a lesson, you'll end up killing me—just like how you killed my brother!"
Without warning, Christopher grabbed Azrael's hair and began dragging him away from the well.
Azrael screamed, begging him to stop. Every inch of his body ached, and he didn't know what hurt most.
Dozens of people stood nearby, waiting in line to fetch water. But not a single one stepped forward to help. Instead, they laughed and whispered cruelly behind their hands.
"No wonder Christopher treats him like that. That cursed child must've done something awful again."
"Better keep your distance. You might end up dead like his parents."
"I hope the Copper family finally gets rid of him. He'll curse this entire village."
Several villagers nodded in agreement, unwilling to share the fate of Azrael's parents, who had died in a gruesome tragedy years ago.
. . .
Azrael's throat was raw and sore from screaming, but none of his pleas mattered. Christopher didn't even glance back.
By the time they reached the house, Christopher dragged him straight to the basement—a place Azrael feared more than anything.
His face went pale as they descended into the cold, damp darkness.
"Uncle, please!" Azrael cried. "I know I was wrong. I promise I won't upset you again. Don't take me down here!"
"It's too late," Christopher growled, flashing a wide, malicious grin. "You'd better start praying—because you might not leave this place alive tonight."
Laughing like a madman, Christopher pulled Azrael deeper into the basement, ignoring the boy's desperate cries as he clawed and kicked in vain, trying to escape the monster that called himself family.