The orphanage "New Hope" stood on the outskirts of Evansville city, where cracked roads and scattered trash resembled old wounds that never healed. The aging building, with its peeling paint and iron-barred windows, was a place where orphans' dreams often faded beneath the dim glow of flickering neon lights.
For Elias Thorn, who was twelve years old at the time, the orphanage was his entire world. With a wide smile that warmed the hearts of anyone who saw it and boundless energy, he was always the center of attention among his friends. "Come on, let's play hide and seek!" he shouted one day, his voice brimming with enthusiasm as he pulled his ten-year-old little sister, Lily, into the fun.
Lily was the light of Elias's life. Her wavy blond hair flowed like ocean waves, and her laughter, like the ringing of tiny bells echoing through the orphanage corridors, made every day feel like an endless celebration. They had been orphaned since early childhood, after a tragic accident claimed their parents' lives on a rainy night, when their car skidded off the road, leaving two small children alone in a cruel world.
At the orphanage, Elias and Lily depended on each other. Every night, Elias always sought Lily out to sleep together, a small habit they kept to protect each other in this cold and unfamiliar place. They lay on a narrow bed, whispering stories about their dreams: Elias wanted to become a police officer to help people, while Lily dreamed of having a house with a garden full of flowers. "I promise, Lily, tomorrow we'll wake up early and play all day," he whispered as he held his sister tightly, making the moments before sleep feel so warm and happy, like a mother's embrace they could barely remember.
Those days were filled with simple games: building forts from discarded cardboard, running through the muddy backyard, or sharing horror stories under blankets while rain poured outside. Elias, with his natural charisma, was always the leader, the one who organized games, comforted those who cried, and protected Lily from the mockery of other children. "Don't be afraid, I'm here," he said to Lily during stormy nights, his hand gripping hers tightly. Those moments felt eternal, full of hope amid the orphanage's limitations.
But that fragile happiness was shattered. When Elias was sixteen, the night arrived like an unforgettable nightmare. He woke in the middle of the night, tormented by thirst, his throat dry after a long day cleaning the orphanage. He decided to look for Lily, who usually slept in the girls' dormitory, even though the orphanage rules forbade boys from entering after nightfall.
His steps were slow in the dark, damp corridor, the stench of spoiled food wafting from the kitchen. Then a strange sound from the storage room in the back made him stop abruptly—a muffled, choked scream, followed by horrifying, coarse laughter. His heart pounded like a war drum as he drew closer, his legs feeling unbearably heavy. The storage room door was half open, candlelight faintly illuminating a horrific scene inside: Lily lay sprawled on the cold, filthy floor, her clothes torn like rags, her small body covered in swollen blue bruises, and fresh blood flowing around her thighs, forming a glistening red pool beneath the dim light.
Mr. Hargrove, the obese and cruel orphanage caretaker with a bulging belly and muscular arms like a butcher's, stood over her, his pants half down, his face flushed with lust and burning rage. The stench of rancid sweat and fresh blood filled the air, making Elias nauseous. "Lily!" Elias screamed, charging in like a wounded wild animal. His sister did not move, her eyes open but empty, devoid of the life that once shone so brightly. Hargrove turned, sneering with his yellowed teeth. "Your sister was naughty, Elias. So I taught her a lesson tonight," he said hoarsely, like a wolf satisfied after a kill.
Something shattered inside Elias. The cheerful, optimistic boy vanished in an instant, replaced by a blinding wave of rage. With trembling, adrenaline-filled hands, he grabbed a rusty old shovel from the corner of the room and swung it at Hargrove's head with all his strength. Blood sprayed from Hargrove's temple like a crimson fountain, but the monster was stronger, his massive body like a stone wall. He easily wrested the shovel away and beat Elias repeatedly until his bones felt like they were cracking and the world spun. When Elias regained consciousness, he was locked in the orphanage basement—a dark, damp isolation room crawling with rats gnawing on scraps of food. Hargrove ensured the torment was total: no contact with the other children, rotten food tossed in once a day through a narrow gap, and routine whippings every night to "discipline" him, leaving burning scars on his skin.
Two years passed like an endless living hell. Elias could not speak to anyone; the friends he once played with were never seen again. The isolation broke his kindness, turning him cold, his eyes filled with hatred and smoldering vengeance. He survived by counting days on the damp walls, nurturing his grudge like an unextinguishable fire. Every night, nightmares came relentlessly. Happy days with Lily turned into her dying screams, her laughter replaced by cries of agony. Elias often woke drenched in cold sweat, his fists clenched, vowing that one day he would take revenge. His body grew thinner from malnutrition, but his mind sharpened, like a blade honed by suffering.
Now, Elias was eighteen. That night began as usual, Hargrove descended into the basement with heavy footsteps echoing on the wooden stairs, a small knife gleaming in his right hand, ready to torture. The stench of cheap alcohol poured from his breath, his eyes red with drunkenness. "Tonight's special, boy. I'll carve a new picture into your skin," Hargrove said, grinning as he slowly stabbed the knife into Elias's arm, savoring every moment of pain. Warm blood flowed like a stream, but Elias did not scream; he was used to pain. His eyes were cold, waiting for an opportunity that had never come in two long years.
Suddenly, the ground shook violently, as if a giant had awakened from its slumber. A massive earthquake rocked the orphanage, walls cracking with horrifying sounds, the basement ceiling collapsing like the sky falling. Large stones rained down, one slamming into Hargrove's back with deafening force.
As Elias thought he would be buried alive, entombed along with his unfulfilled vengeance, the quake abruptly stopped, leaving thick dust in the air. Elias survived, coughing violently, but Hargrove lay collapsed before him, right at Elias's chained feet. The knife slipped from Hargrove's hand, clattering across the floor to Elias. Hargrove whimpered weakly, his spine shattered like dry wood, blood spilling from his mouth. "Please… boy… help me…" he begged, his voice broken with pain.
Elias looked at him without mercy, the frozen heart within him melting into burning vengeance. His chains had loosened from the tremor, and he was free to grab the knife, its handle cold and slick with his own blood. "Help? You think you deserve help? Take this—for my sister, you pig," Elias shouted, his voice echoing through the ruined basement. He stabbed the knife into Hargrove's right eye, blood spraying like a dark crimson fountain as Hargrove screamed in agony, his body thrashing like a beheaded snake.
Elias yanked the knife free, then, with blood-soaked hands, tore open Hargrove's filthy trousers, exposing his limp, pathetic genitals. "Now it's my turn to torture you. Feel this, pig," Elias roared coldly, his voice thick with hatred. He stabbed Hargrove's testicles deeply and brutally, twisting the blade until they tore like rags, blood pouring out and flooding the floor. Hargrove howled like a dying animal, his body convulsing uncontrollably. Elias pulled the knife out and, with a swift, precise motion, severed Hargrove's penis at the base, blood erupting again like a burst of flame, mixed with weakening, broken screams. The chunk of flesh fell to the floor with a wet sound, rolling into the ever-expanding pool of blood.
But Elias was not satisfied. The vengeance for what Hargrove had done to Lily burned like hellfire in his chest. He stabbed Hargrove's neck, slowly twisting the blade to tear through the artery, feeling the vibration of ripping flesh beneath the steel. Blood splashed onto Elias's face, warm and sticky like red paint, but he did not stop, his cold eyes unblinking. The next stab went into the chest, straight into the heart, driven with the full force of two years of pent-up hatred. Hargrove convulsed briefly, his body twitching like a dying fish, then fell still forever, his remaining eye wide open in eternal terror. Blood pooled across the basement floor, the stench sharp and fishy, mixed with the even fouler odor of fresh, gaping wounds.
As Elias contemplated ending his own life, exhausted by this cruel world, he heard a ding like a digital bell, and two transparent panels appeared before his eyes, like the game status screens he used to read in stolen comics. His malnourished, wounded body healed instantly, the gashes on his arms vanishing, his strength fully restored. Confused as to whether this was real or merely a hallucination at the moment of death, he pinched his cheek hard and felt genuine pain. He then examined the panels more closely.
[Congratulations on killing an ordinary human. You have met the requirements for Awakening and obtained 50 Faith Points (FP).]
[Awakening Complete]
Name: Elias Thorn
Job: Prophet
Level: 1
Stats: Strength 10, Agility 10, Intelligence 15, Charisma 20, Vitality 10
SP: 0
FP: 50
Skill: Brainwash (Cost 10 FP, no cooldown. Target becomes an Initiate-level follower if successful.)
Elias stared at the panel for a moment, his breathing still heavy and unsteady. He heard commotion above, panicked screams from the orphanage children, the sound of collapsing structures, and unfamiliar growls, like beasts from hell itself. Dust still filled the air, and faint light filtering through the broken ceiling revealed a world that had already changed.
"This… is a new beginning," he murmured softly, his voice filled with cold resolve. With the knife still in his hand, he stood up, ready to face whatever awaited him above.