Chapter 2 DUNGEON OF DEATH

Kelvin's POV

The moment I stepped into the forest path, it felt like I had left the world I knew behind.

Cold. Silent. Still.

The sky was a gloomy shade of gray, the kind that made everything feel heavier than it was. The air was thick with dew, and every step I took pressed into damp soil. Birds weren't chirping. Even the wind sounded cautious.

The trees stretched like silent witnesses, tall and twisted, their bare branches scratching against each other like they were whispering warnings. Beneath my feet, dry leaves crunched, making every step echo louder than I wanted. The forest was alive, not with movement, but with memories. Fear lived here.

And now, so did death.

I tightened my grip on the paper in my hand, the blood pact my father had signed. His signature, written in his own blood, burned in my mind like fire. That piece of paper had sealed his fate. One mistake, or even a lie told about him, and his life became forfeit. That was the rule in Lord Sampson's mafia. Betrayal wasn't forgiven. It was eliminated.

The deeper I walked, the more my chest tightened. Not from fear... but from rage.

How could they do this to him? My father wasn't perfect, but he was loyal. He served that gang without question. He was never given the respect he deserved, only suspicion, threats, and now... this.

My mother's tears. My siblings' cries. They echoed in my mind. I was supposed to be the one they looked to for strength now, but I didn't even know what strength felt like anymore.

Suddenly, I stopped.

There it was.

The dungeon.

Hidden behind thorn-covered bushes, part of the structure sunk into the ground like it had been swallowed whole. The walls were built of thick stone, stained and cracked. Rusted metal doors guarded the front like jaws waiting to snap shut. I'd seen this place once as a kid, when my father made us take a shortcut home from the farm. He pointed to it and said, "Never go near there, Kelvin. That's where secrets are buried."

I didn't understand it then. I do now.

A voice snapped me out of my thoughts.

"Move him!"

It was close. Too close.

I dropped to the ground behind a thick log and crawled forward on my elbows, brushing aside fallen leaves and avoiding the dry twigs that could give me away.

From where I crouched, I saw them.

Lord Sampson stood tall in the clearing, dressed head to toe in black. His hands were gloved, and his posture screamed authority. Around him, at least eight men circled the dungeon entrance. Guns slung across their chests. No mercy in their eyes.

My heart leapt into my throat when I saw who they were dragging forward.

My father.

His shirt was torn, blood soaked the side of his face, and his legs barely held him up. They forced him to kneel. But even in that state, he didn't bow his head.

His eyes - though swollen - burned with dignity.

"Any last words, traitor?" Lord Sampson's voice was calm, cold, calculated.

My father didn't flinch.

"I've done nothing but serve you," he rasped. "Everything I've done - all of it - was for the Brotherhood."

Lord Sampson chuckled, pacing in slow circles around him. "Loyalty doesn't erase suspicion. And in our world... suspicion is death."

He stopped in front of him, staring down like a judge delivering sentence. "You know the rules."

One of the guards raised his gun.

I wanted to scream. To leap out. To shout, No! He's innocent!

But my limbs wouldn't move. I was frozen in that moment, every nerve screaming, yet my body refusing to obey. What could I do? I was a teenager with nothing but a piece of paper and a heart full of pain.

My father turned his head slightly. I swear... he looked straight at me. Like he knew I was there.

His lips moved.

I couldn't hear it clearly, but it looked like he said, "Run."

And then,

Bang.

Just one shot.

It echoed through the trees, louder than thunder.

He slumped forward. Blood poured from the back of his head. Silence followed. No gasp. No final cry.

He was gone.

I bit my hand to keep from screaming. My teeth dug into my skin, drawing blood. My chest ached, like something had broken inside me.

I had lost him.

The men didn't bury him. They didn't even close his eyes. They dragged his body to the side like he was just trash and left him there.

Tears blurred my vision.

I stayed hidden, waiting, watching as they filed out of the forest, chatting and laughing like nothing had happened. Even Lord Sampson walked away casually, as if he hadn't just murdered a man who once called him "brother."

Once the last one disappeared into the distance, I crawled out.

My knees hit the cold earth as I ran to him.

His face was pale now, lips parted, blood soaking his shirt. His eyes stared blankly at the sky.

I collapsed beside him. I didn't care about the blood. I pulled him into my arms, whispering, "I'm sorry, Dad... I should've done something... I should've stopped them..."

But he couldn't hear me.

I reached into my pocket and placed the blood pact on his chest, smoothing it out gently.

"This," I said, my voice trembling, "this is why you're dead. This damn paper. This sick game."

I looked at the sky, blinking back more tears than I could count.

Something inside me shifted. I could feel it - like the pieces of who I was before had been shattered and rearranged.

I wasn't the same boy who woke up this morning.

That boy had a father. A home. A family held together by fear, but still holding on.

Now? That family had been torn apart.

Lord Sampson had declared war - and I was the only one left to answer it.

I stood up slowly, knees shaking.

"I swear on your blood, Dad..." I whispered, staring into the forest. "He'll pay for this."

As I turned to leave, I looked one last time at the clearing, that cursed piece of land. The birds still refused to sing. The wind still whispered through the trees.

But something else stirred inside me.

Not just anger. Not just grief.

Purpose.

I didn't know how I was going to do it. I didn't know how long it would take. But I knew this wasn't the end. It was only the beginning.

I had a name to protect. A legacy to rebuild. And one day, the man who did this... would kneel just like my father did.

But unlike my father, he wouldn't leave this dungeon as a memory. He would leave it as dust.