Damien was having a hard time adapting to the situation. No matter how much food he cooked, the hunger around him consumed it like lightning. He tried everything—spices, meat, even large portions—but it didn't matter. It vanished the moment it was served. At some point, he gave up on making anything special and just prepared the usual meals for his so-called family. Yet, every time he picked up the knife or stirred the pot, bile rose in his throat.
The thought of those people—his father and the wretched women he called wives—made him sick.
His father, once a man people revered, had become nothing more than a monster in Damien's eyes. A cruel, selfish man who only saw others in terms of their usefulness. If not for Damien, his sisters, and his mother being somewhat beneficial, they would've been discarded long ago like trash. Damien knew it deep down—if the day came when they were no longer useful, his father wouldn't hesitate.
His father had many wives. Wretched women who had attached themselves to him for status, power, and wealth. None of them had a heart—only fake smiles and cruel words. The ones who bore sons became his father's favorites. Sons were trophies, proof of manhood. Daughters? Useless. Discardable.
Since they gave birth to more than three boys, some of these women became 'special' in his father's eyes. But it was all hollow. Love was never involved. Only greed and ego.
His mother… She was different. She had only given birth to Damien and his two younger sisters. For that, she was seen as little more than a maid. A glorified cook, expected to serve while enduring constant humiliation. For four long years, his father hadn't so much as touched her. Damien saw it—the longing in her eyes, the hunger for love, for someone to just see her.
But no one did.
No one dared.
His mother carried the pain silently, wearing a mask that fooled no one. Behind those tired eyes was a woman starving for affection, desperate to feel human again. Yet, even that was stripped from her.
The stepmothers were the worst. Cruel, manipulative women who treated his mother and sisters like dirt. Every glance, every word from their painted lips was laced with venom. They mocked his mother, laughed at his sisters, and poisoned the household with their evil.
And no one cared.
Even worse, they severed every bond Damien's family had. Friends disappeared. Relatives pretended not to know them. It was as if they had been cursed—ghosts lingering in a house that was never theirs.
What Damien hated most was what they did to his sisters. One was fifteen, barely a child. The other had just turned twelve. Yet, both of them carried the weight of decades of suffering on their tiny shoulders. Emotionless. Numb. Dead inside. They were supposed to be vibrant, carefree children—but those women had stolen that from them.
They had turned his sisters into walking corpses.
Damien clenched his fists until his nails pierced his skin. Every moment in that house was agony. Every glance from his father was filled with disdain. Every word from the stepmothers made his blood boil.
The hatred Damien carried wasn't simple. It was deep. Vast. Endless. It was like an ocean, drowning him, suffocating him. He wanted to kill them all. To rip them apart and feed their hearts to the dogs.
While chopping vegetables, he whispered, "Humans like them… they don't deserve to live."
And then… he heard it.
A voice. Soft. Whispering.
"Let me feed on them."
Damien froze, the knife pausing mid-air. He glanced around, but there was no one. Just the crackling of the fire and the bubbling stew.
"What…?" he muttered.
"Let me feed on them..." the voice repeated, closer this time. In his head, yet everywhere.
"You… you can feed on humans?" Damien asked slowly, his voice trembling between fear and curiosity.
No response. But the silence was louder than any answer. It meant yes.
A shiver ran down Damien's spine. A grin slowly curled his lips. He wasn't imagining things. Something—someone—was listening. And it wanted the same thing he did.
Revenge.
For the first time, Damien felt powerful. No longer the weak boy cooking for monsters. He had something—someone—on his side.
But he couldn't rush. A massacre would attract attention. The police would come. Reporters. Cameras. His sisters—already broken—might shatter completely. No, he needed something cleaner. Something perfect.
And then it hit him.
Assassination.
It was common knowledge that his father had enemies. Rich, powerful men always did. Assassination attempts weren't new. A few had failed spectacularly in the past.
Damien smirked. "This time… it won't fail."
The stepmothers? Insignificant. Their lives meant nothing. No one would search for them. If anyone asked, he'd say they ran away. Who would care? Who would even bother to ask?
"I can take them… one by one. They won't even scream." The voice was gleeful, almost playful.
"Not yet," Damien whispered. "When I say the word… not before."
"Agreed."
His heart raced. Finally, after years of suffering, he had power. Real power. Enough to make them all pay.
He looked at his sisters—two fragile girls barely hanging on. He couldn't save them from the past, but he could protect their future. He would free them. No matter the cost.
The voice whispered again, "Their souls… will be delicious."
Damien's grin widened. "Good. Make them suffer. Make them beg."
"They will."
And Damien believed it. He could almost taste it—the sweet, intoxicating taste of revenge.
For now, he would wait. He would play the obedient son. Cook their meals. Smile at their taunts. But when the time came, he would unleash hell.
"Soon," he whispered. "Soon, they'll all know what it means to suffer."
His father's death would be the first domino. The stepmothers would follow. One by one, until there was nothing left of those who had tormented them.
The voice purred, "I hunger, Damien… I hunger for their pain."
Damien closed his eyes, embracing the darkness. "Feed. But only when I say. Until then, watch them. Learn their fears. Know their weaknesses."
"As you wish… Master."
Master.
The word sent a thrill down Damien's spine. For once, he wasn't a slave to fate. He was in control.
And when the day came… the world would remember his name.
Damien smiled, the fire in his eyes burning brighter than ever. Finally… finally, he could have his revenge.
And nothing—not even the gods—could stop him.