Fist struck flesh, a cry escaped the young boy and he would have fallen to his knees if he wasn’t being held up by his hair. He would have fallen after the first strike, but what was this? The tenth or eleventh? Satak had lost count. The number had lost meaning. Only the pain remained and with every strike another wave of pain coursed through his broken nose, both eyes swelled and blood flowed freely from the many cuts on his lips.

The scene was a brutal one, horrifying even, as a grown man held Satak by the hair with one hand and repeatedly struck him in the face with the other. Uncle Halget had come home drunk again, mumbling about a bad game of dice and cursed luck and from there his mood had grown fouler.

“You ungrateful,” A fist struck Satak in the face. “ son of a” again, and again. “Bitch!” The word was emphasized as Satak wad dropped from Halgets grip and brutally kicked, the force broke ribs and sent the thirteen year old boy rolling across the ground grasping to get air.

Satak, with all his strength, pulled himself to his elbows and looked up just in time to see the heel of a boot coming at him, and then darkness.

The first drops of rain woke Satak, the sky was still dark, only a few hours had gone by but already the blood on his face was starting to dry. Every breath came in pain and Satak knew that one of his ribs was broken. Anger burned in the young boys heart as he picked his head up off the dirt. He looked through his shoulder long raven black, unkempt, unwashed and blood matted hair at the white washed stone walls his Uncle called home.

He reminded himself to push away the pain and the hate, push it deep as he pulled himself off the ground and stand straight the best he could. He looked back to the small shack that was his, he wasn’t even allowed to stay in the house, the thought only provoked more hatred. With weak steps Satak slowly made his way to the small hut, the storm intensifying around him, the rain coming down like sheets of glass and lightening streaking the sky. It was going to be a bad storm.

This night was different from the rest for Satak, the anger kept rising, bubbling and over flowing and despite his injuries and fatigue he shook with an anger he didn’t understand.

He made his way inside his hut, to the small personal shrine to the goddess Jenaka where the medallion he had gotten from his mother hung. He stared at the piece of brass for a long time and let his anger build, anger at this goddess, his dead mother, his Uncle Halget and most of all, himself.

He briefly wondered how many hours had been spent praying in front of that simple alter, which was nothing more then a wooden box, two mostly burned candles and a brass dish he had taken from the kitchen with dirty water in it. He had received no help, no sign…he was condemned to live in this hell hole for the rest of his life.

On his knees in front of the altar Satak threw his head back and let out a cry of pent up emotion, a scream that the storm hid with thunder. Satak cursed the goddess and despite the pain rose to his knees in a rush, snatching his mothers medallion and kicking his wooden box over, scattering it’s contents.

“Worthless.” Satak muttered to himself, “ I swear this now, I will kill my Uncle…all of them…they will die..” He said in barely more than a whisper as he turned to face the lavished house, a mansion really, that his aunt, uncle and cousins all lived in. Protected by there high walls and their hired guards….Satak didn’t care, he didn’t reason or focus he simply willed their death, he wanted them all to feel his pain and share his agony.

“I’ll do whatever it takes,” He whispered again as he stepped out into the heavy rain, his fists clenched at hi side, head down and eyes closed tight with every muscle in his body held tight. “Fuck you gods.” He finished, throwing the still clenched medallion into the mud at his feet.