Chapter 4:
The boy shouted, "Stop it!"
His voice rang through the crumbling walls like a desperate thunderclap.
His father froze.
Wearing ragged jeans and no shirt, his chest heaving with intoxicated rage, the man turned slowly. His long, unkempt hair and tangled beard gave him the look of something feral—untamed and forgotten by the world. In one hand, a leather belt still trembled with leftover violence. In the other, a half-empty bottle of cheap liquor sloshed with every step.
He took a shaky step backward, eyes bloodshot and wild.
"Reena, you fucking bitch... you were lucky this time," he slurred, spitting the words out like venom.
Rajit had never cared about his family.
From as far back as Aksh could remember, his father had always been a storm of violence—a walking shadow that turned their home into a battlefield. There were no warm memories. No quiet evenings. No laughter around the dinner table.
Only screams. Only bruises. Only silence after the pain.
He beat Aksh so often and so brutally that survival became instinct. There were nights Aksh barely crawled back to consciousness, blood pooling around him, the world spinning like a drunken carousel.
And worst of all... he didn't even spare Tejasvi.
His little sister—small, delicate, barely seven—had tasted the cruelty of a man who should have protected her. But Rajit had never been able to hurt her directly. Every time he raised a hand toward her, Aksh stood in the way.
Again. And again. And again.
So then... why had Rajit stopped this time when Aksh told him to?
He hadn't always listened. In fact, up until six months ago, he never listened. No matter how loudly Aksh screamed or how fiercely he fought, the beatings continued like a storm that refused to pass.
And back then, Aksh didn't have red eyes or red hair. He had brown eyes and dark hair—just like his mother.
So... what happened six months ago?
It had started like any other day.
Aksh was returning home after another exhausting round of work—selling whatever scraps he could scavenge from the dump yards of the city's rich. His arms ached, his stomach was empty, and his shirt clung to him with grime and sweat.
He expected the usual: a drunken father, a crying mother, maybe silence if he was lucky.
But that day... was different.
When he pushed open the door to their broken little home, what he saw was something no twelve-year-old should ever have to witness.
His father stood in the center of the room, a hot iron rod in his hand—its tip glowing red with heat. The walls flickered with the reflection of molten metal.
Reena stood in front of him, her arms spread wide, shielding little Tejasvi behind her trembling frame.
Her voice was hoarse and shaking, but firm: "Don't you dare touch her."
Rajit's eyes gleamed with madness. "Bring Tejasvi to me," he snarled. "Or I'll shove this rod inside you."
Then Aksh rushed into the room, breath caught in his throat. "Please, stop!" he pleaded, throwing himself between his father and the others.
Rajit turned toward him with a twisted grin, the iron rod still glowing with searing heat. His eyes sparkled with cruel delight, feeding off the fear thick in the room.
"This little bitch tried to steal my money," he growled, nodding toward Tejasvi, "to buy medicine for her whore of a mother. If I don't discipline her today, how the hell will she learn?"
He chuckled—a sound more beast than man.
Aksh dropped to his knees, arms limp at his sides.
Tears didn't come.
He had forgotten how to cry.
There was no trembling lip, no wail clawing at his throat—just a hollow stillness, as if something inside him had already died long ago.
His voice, when it came, was flat and empty. "Please, Father... forgive her. I'll take the punishment. Hurt me instead. Just don't harm her."
Reena sobbed behind her hands, shielding Tejasvi with her body. The little girl shook like a leaf in a storm, unable to speak, her wide eyes frozen in sheer horror.
Aksh stood there... still.
His legs trembled. His fists clenched. But his voice, when it came, was steady—far too steady for a child.
"If I put the rod on my back instead of Mother... will you forgive her then?"
Rajit blinked.
And then, slowly, the wicked grin returned to his face.
"Hahahaha! Yes, of course," he said, spreading his arms mockingly. "That's what a dutiful son should do for his dear mother, isn't it?"
"Stop it, Aksh!" Reena screamed, her voice hoarse and breaking. "You don't have to do this! Please—I'll take it! I'll put that rod on my back! Just stop it, please, Aksh!"
But Aksh didn't listen.
Not because he didn't hear her. But because her words felt distant... unreal... like echoes in a dream he couldn't wake up from.
He stepped forward, his trembling hands reached for the glowing rod, but not a single tear marked his face.
Pain, fear, sadness—they were just shadows now. Blurred, meaningless. He had buried them so deep that even his soul didn't know where to find them.
Rajit barked, "Do it quickly, I don't have all day."
Aksh slowly brought the rod to his back.
But just as it was about to touch skin—
Reena surged forward with a cry and ripped the rod from his hands. In one swift motion, she pressed it to her own back and collapsed into Aksh's arms, teeth clenched, stifling every scream, holding him close as if her love could shield him from hell itself.
Rajit let out a menacing laugh, his voice cracking with madness. "Now would you look at that? Hahahaha! What a show!"
Reena, still holding Aksh tightly, her back blistered and smoking from the burn, looked up with tear-filled eyes. "Isn't it enough?" she begged, her voice barely a whisper. "Please... let the kids go."
But Rajit's grin only widened. Drool trickled down from the corner of his mouth like a rabid dog in heat. "You whore," he spat. "You only took the punishment meant for Aksh... but what about Tejasvi?" He raised the rod again, its heat warping the air. "Now," he growled, voice heavy with sick delight, "put this rod on your ass if you want me to forgive them both."
Reena's body trembled, but she didn't move. Her arms tightened protectively around Aksh.
Aksh, still in her embrace, stared blankly at the floor. His lips were dry and cracked. Then, barely louder than a breath, he mumbled, "Wh... why... why do you have to go to such extremes... you asshole?"
The room fell into chilling silence.
Rajit's grin vanished. His bloodshot eyes snapped to Aksh. "What the hell did you just say, you little shit?"
His voice had dropped to a growl, the kind that always came before something terrible.
Reena quickly moved in front of Aksh and cupped his mouth with trembling hands. "He's just a child!" she cried, desperation in every word. "He doesn't know what he's saying! I'll discipline him, please... just forgive him!"
But Aksh gently took her hand and lowered it. His voice came out low—cold and stripped of all fear. "This bastard doesn't deserve to be called a father."
Rajit's face twisted into something monstrous. Rage—raw and unfiltered—poured from his bloodshot eyes. "You little shit!" he roared. "I think I've been too damn lenient with you. That ends now!"
With a snarl, he raised the red-hot rod and lunged forward, swinging it toward Aksh like a predator delivering the final blow.
But Aksh... didn't flinch.
He looked up, his gaze steady—unblinking.
And then... his eyes began to change.
From soft brown to a glowing, terrifying crimson. Not just red—but blood-red, as if forged in the fire of every wound he'd ever suffered.
In that single second, the room shifted.
Something ancient stirred in the air. Something dangerous.
Rajit's momentum faltered. His body locked up mid-strike.
And then—he collapsed.
His knees hit the ground with a dull thud, and the rod clattered beside him, rolling away.
His breath came in short, panicked bursts. He stared up at Aksh, paralyzed—not by pain, but by pure, primal fear.
His instincts screamed louder than reason: If I strike this boy... I will die.
Aksh took a step forward.
Then another.
His crimson eyes blazed like dying stars, and with each step, the air around him shimmered—distorting like heat waves over a furnace. His hair began to shift, dark brown strands bleeding into a deep, radiant red.
A faint glow—soft at first—began to bloom from his skin. A red aura, light yet furious, surrounded him like a ghost of flame.
Every footfall scorched the floor. Tiny embers crackled beneath him. The walls trembled as if the house itself could feel what was awakening.
Rajit watched in horror, unable to move, unable to breathe. His drunken haze was gone—replaced by something worse. Dread.
But just as Aksh reached within arm's length...
His body faltered. His knees buckled.
And then—he collapsed.
Like a puppet whose strings had been cut, he hit the floor with a dull thud. The aura flickered... then vanished.
His small, frail body lay still. Unconscious. Spent.
Rajit sat there, gasping for breath, sweat pouring down his face. "Hah... hah..." he panted, forcing himself to believe the nightmare had passed. He glanced down— His pants were soaked.
The bastard had pissed himself.
"Hah... fuck..." he muttered, trying to stand. "Mood's ruined. Need more liquor."
He stumbled to his feet, casting one last look at Aksh—this time not with rage, but with something closer to fear. Then he turned and left the house, muttering under his breath.
The door slammed shut behind him.
And silence returned. Except this time... it wasn't the silence of fear. It was the calm before a coming storm.