Chapter 5: Debt

The word was small. Simple. Yet it weighed heavier than anything else in Ryen's world.

At first, it was just a quiet worry that lingered in the background of his home. His father muttered about it under his breath, his mother lost sleep over it. Ryen saw the strain in their faces, the way his father's voice grew sharper, the way his mother's hands trembled when she thought no one was watching.

Their family had once been stable. They owned a small clothing business—a modest shop, nothing extravagant, but enough to provide for them. Enough to keep them comfortable.

But then, the sabotage happened.

Ryen didn't understand all the details. Only that their suppliers suddenly cut ties, their merchandise mysteriously went missing, and the customers who once trusted them turned away without explanation.

Someone had ruined them.

His father suspected a rival, but proving it was impossible. And in the end, it didn't matter. What mattered was that they were drowning.

At first, his parents tried to hold on. They borrowed money, thinking they could recover. But the losses kept coming, and soon, they weren't borrowing to rebuild—they were borrowing to survive.

Loan sharks came next.

They were polite at first. Smiling men with soft voices and sharp eyes. They spoke in reassurances, in promises of easy repayment. They gave money freely, asking only for a signature in return.

Ryen's mother had been the one to sign.

And that was where it all began.

Ryen was twelve when he saw his father beaten for the first time.

It was quick. Brutal. A reminder.

His father fought back, of course. He wasn't a good man—not a kind father or a faithful husband—but he was proud. He wouldn't let them take everything from him without a fight.

They made an example out of him.

When they left, he was alive. Barely.

His mother did not cry. She cleaned the blood, stitched his wounds, and said nothing.

Ryen sat in the corner, watching. He did not cry either.

He had seen this coming. He knew how people worked. And he knew that these men—these sharks—were not here for money anymore.

They were here for his mother.

And that night, for the first time, he felt something break inside him.

It happened days later.

They came again, and this time, they did not ask for money.

This time, they made their demands clear.

His mother was young. Beautiful. Too beautiful. And that made her valuable in ways that had nothing to do with money.

His father fought them.

And they killed him for it.

It was not a quick death. It was slow. A warning.

Steel glinted under the dim candlelight as they plunged the blade into his father's gut. Once, twice—over and over until his body slumped forward, twitching against the dirt.

Blood pooled around him, dark and thick.

His mother did not scream.

Ryen did not move. Did not cry. He only watched.

And he saw everything.

His father's terror, his mother's helplessness. The way the men laughed. The way they spoke as if none of this mattered.

He knew people. He knew how to read them.

And in that moment, he saw something he had never seen before.

Monsters.

Not the kind from stories. Not the kind with claws and fangs.

Real ones.

And his mother saw them too.

Ryen watched the light leave her eyes. Not from death, but from something worse. Something final.

She broke.

And then, she did what broken people do.

She gave up.

Days passed.

His mother was still alive, but she was not his mother anymore.

She did not speak. Did not fight.

She was an empty shell, waiting to be taken.

That night, they came for her.

They dragged her forward, hands gripping her arms, voices murmuring about how soft she was, how lucky she was to be given this 'chance' to repay the debt.

Ryen could not move. Could not think.

But then—

His mother lifted her head.

Her eyes, hollow and lifeless just moments before, now burned with something sharp. Something terrifying.

She looked at Ryen.

And smiled.

Then—

She bit down on her own tongue.

Hard.

Blood gushed from her mouth, pouring down her chin, staining her pale skin a deep crimson.

She collapsed.

Her body spasmed, choking on the very blood that gave her life.

The men cursed, shaking her, slapping her, trying to stop it. But it was too late.

She had taken the only thing they wanted from her.

Silence.

Then, one of the men cursed and kicked over a chair.

"This bitch—!"

"Forget it." Another spat, wiping his blade. "She's dead. We'll cut our losses."

"Fuck that. What about the kid?"

Ryen, still unmoving, felt their gazes turn to him.

But before they could act, a voice rang from outside.

The neighbors had gathered.

The whole town had heard.

Whispers of what had happened spread like wildfire. The people who had once ignored the suffering of the family—who had turned away and pretended not to see—now stood outside with torches and blades.

Because they knew.

They had tolerated these men for too long. Let them leech off their town, let them take and take until there was nothing left.

But this?

This was the final straw.

A woman had taken her own life rather than let them have her. A man had been butchered in his own home. And a boy—an orphan now—stood drenched in his family's blood.

It was enough.

The first rock was thrown.

And then another.

The loan sharks barely had time to react before the doors were kicked in and the town descended upon them.

Ryen watched as the men who had ruined his family were dragged out into the streets.

Watched as the town turned into something raw, something primal.

Watched as justice—if it could be called that—was carried out with merciless hands.

By the time dawn came, the sharks were gone.

Banished. Or dead.

Ryen did not care.

Because as he stood there, alone, staring at the bloodstained floor where his parents once lived, once fought, once loved—

He knew.

This world did not reward kindness.

It devoured it.

And from that moment on, Ryen vowed—

He would never be devoured.