the Erich family massacre 2

Liam's pov

When I finally regained consciousness, I instinctively dialled the code to the door, my heart pounding in my chest. I rushed outside, desperation propelling me forward as I fought back tears that threatened to spill over. I called out for my mum, my voice trembling, but deep down, I knew it was futile. Bowing my head, hot tears streamed down my cheeks, blurring my vision. My father had always insisted I be strong, throwing me into agonizing situations just to observe my reactions. I was haunted by the memory of that time I shot my childhood dog in front of him, the trust we shared shattered in an instant. "A man shouldn't display emotions," he'd said, but every fibre of my being rebelled against that belief.

Then came the low, agonizing moan that pierced through my grief. I turned sharply, instinctively seeking its source—Lyra. I hurried to her side, cradling her head in my lap, my hands trembling as I pressed down on her wounds, desperate to staunch the bleeding. I knew it was a futile effort, but instinct pushed me to try.

"Lyra, are you okay? Please, what's going on?" My voice cracked, a battle against the wave of sorrow crashing over me.

Her laugh—a chilling sound devoid of warmth—floated through the air. Confusion rippled through me; the laughter turned the air thick and metallic; Lyra's laughter, a broken, gurgling sound, was a counterpoint to the blood tide spilling from her lips.

"My sister and my family, we're all in on this..."

She gasped each word a painful exhalation. I stood frozen, a statue carved from shock, the world around me blurring into a nightmare

"I brought them here,"

She rasped, her eyes, once vibrant, now dull and glazed, fixed on mine with a venomous intensity.

"I hate you, Liam. I wish you died, you and your family. My sister hates you more. I…I…h.

The life flickered and died, leaving behind a hallow.

My mind, a fractured mirror, reflected only chaos. My father's words, cold echoed in the hollow chambers of my skull: Emotion will kill you. Emotions will ruin you. The truth of his warning, once abstract, now felt like a physical blow. I knelt beside my mother. Her eyes, wide and vacant, stared into the abyss. I gently closed them, a final act of tenderness, and placed her favourite white lily, its delicate petals stained crimson, on her still form. A silent tribute to a life extinguished too soon.

The room, once a sanctuary, was now a madhouse. I stumbled out, My father's body was gone, swallowed by the pile of the fallen. A grim certainty settled over me: he was buried beneath them instinct for survival kicked in, overriding the shock and grief. I found a large duffel bag and began to fill it with bundles of cash, Documents, vital pieces of my shattered past, followed. I retrieved my father's phone; its screen cracked, but its contact list was a weapon in my hands

The fog of shock began to dissipate, replaced by a cold, sharp clarity. I knew my enemy. I knew my purpose. I knew who would pay. I turned back to my Lyra's lifeless form, and to

My mother, the radiant beacon of warmth and kindness, did not deserve this. Her laughter, her gentle touch… all gone

I knew precisely what I had to do. Clarity struck with the force of a tempest—I recognized who I needed to hold close and, more importantly, who I sought my revenge against. With a heavy heart, I glanced back at my room, where the memories lingered like shadows, and pressed my lips against hers one final time. My mum—she didn't deserve this fate. She was the brightest light in my life, the kindest soul, radiating warmth and love in a world too often filled with darkness.

What could my family have possibly done to provoke such wrath from Lyra's family? Did every family wish to see us vanish from the earth, to sweep away our existence?

My fingers trembled as I unclasped the delicate silver bracelet from my mother's wrist. Each tiny, intricately carved charm was a memory, a tangible piece of her vibrant spirit. I pressed it to my lips, the cool metal a stark contrast to the burning rage that consumed me. This bracelet, a sovereign of her love, would be my constant companion, a reminder of the life stolen and the vengeance owed.

I looked back at Lyra, her lifeless eyes staring blankly at the ceiling. The first act was complete, a brutal, necessary step. But this was just the beginning. The next target, the one who orchestrated this horror, would not fall so easily. They would find no unsuspecting victim, no easy kill. They would find a storm of retribution, a whirlwind of grief-fueled vengeance.