Black Hood:, Nick Venom [the little red hen read aloud .TXT] 📗

Chapter One "Prologue"

Five years ago, Wick, the leader of all of the gangs in the slums, appeared at a one-story house. The house was a deteriorating brick house; its faint paint was nothing more than a memory.

Wick approached the house, his slick backed hair and dress shirt making him seem “professional” but his attitude was nowhere close. His face resembled a rat and his attitude fit the description. He was very arrogant in his behavior and actions. 

  A father, desperate, decided to take a loan out from Wick’s gang to feed us. However, this heavy burden crushed the father’s family's only hope of escaping the slums. The loan gathered a heavy interest increase which led to Wick being fed up that the payments weren’t being returned on time. He was furious and wanted his money, even if he had to roughen up the father and his family.

 

Wick knocked on the door and waited. Two of his henchmen idled behind him. Roy, the father, slowly revealed his face. His messy hair and bags under his eyes weren’t trying to hide his lack of sleep or tearful nights. 

Wick tapped his foot impatiently. Roy extended the door, revealing his oversized cloak, extended down to his feet and acting more like a robe than anything. Roy had the hoodie of the cloak laying against his nape. “Hey… Wick.” Roy shyly muttered.

“I’m going to cut to the chase. Where’s my money?”

“I need some more time to g-get the money,” Roy said. He took a step back. Inside the house, time stood still, aside from careless toddler Linette who was too infatuated with playing with the raggedy toys then to care about the current situation. She had short blonde hair that didn’t venture far down her scalp and she wore the family outfit of a cloak covering their skinny and empty bodies.

“Roy, Roy, Roy.” Wick chuckled. “I need my money today!” He told him. “Unless you have a problem with it?”

“No, no problem here. I’ll get you the money today.” Roy promised. He turned around to talk to his wife when he was hit over the head by one of the henchmen. One of the henchmen wielded a baseball bat and the other, a knife. The henchmen with the knife pounced on Roy and stabbed him with the knife until there was a lake of blood puddled around him. Roy’s wife, Liyah, screamed at the top of her lungs. She wildly threw her arms around exposing her body, the thin cloak she wore not concealing anything. Her body was skinny and dirty but the lustful men cared no less. 

“Bloody murder!” She screamed. She repeated the words again and again, every time getting louder. Linette was now afraid and scrambled to hide behind the eldest brother, Wyatt. Wyatt’s overgrown hair crossed his eyes and went past his neck. He wore the family cloak, hiding something in his nonexistent pockets. His eyes were a deep blue, attracting many stares. His hazel hair and tanned skin would’ve made him a model in the capital, but here he was, a dirty boy stuck in the slums.

Wick grew tired of the screaming and ordered his men to grab Liyah. “I wouldn’t mind if you used your body to pay back the loan,” He suggested. Liyah stopped screaming and shook her head furiously. She looked around for a weapon, but one of Wick’s henchmen grabbed her head and slammed it into the counter.

“What are you doing?” Wyatt shouted. He brandished a knife. “Let go of her!” He pointed the knife at Wick.

Wick smirked. “Have you ever heard of the phrase, don't bring a knife to a-” Wick was interrupted by a gunshot ringing out. “-gunfight.” Wyatt held his wound tightly, a hole in his chest near his heart. He grasped at the wound with one hand and pushed Linette away with the other. Linette, clueless, watched as Wyatt crumbled to the ground, blood spurting out. 

“Clean the bodies and take her back to my place.” Wick barked. One of the henchmen left the house and came back---a few minutes later---to take the bodies away to the nearby lake that was filled with sewage and corpses. Liyah was taken away and never seen again. Some say that she was used and thrown away. Others remarked that she's still alive.

These details remained vibrant and ever-lasting in one person’s mind. Roy, Wyatt, and Liyah were taken away, leaving behind three-year-old Linette and one other survivor. Linette’s older brother and middle child of the family, Spec Aiken. He witnessed the entire fiasco unfold in front of him; his father and elder brother were killed and his mother taken away. The only other person that survived was his sister Linette.

With the events engraved in Spec’s mind, he had to mature mentally and physically quickly. He was an eleven-year-old with no idea about what was happening to him, watching with fright. He had to become stronger to protect himself. He had to become stronger to protect the remnants of his family.

 

TBC…

 

Chapter Two "Neighbor"

Spec knocked on the neighbor’s door. “It’s me, Spec.” He whispered. He looked around the empty and abandoned neighborhood. Many who resided in the neighborhood either escaped or died. Not many remained behind. 

However, Matthew Harold was still kicking, living in the neighborhood despite the gangs and their intimidation. Matt took over the father role from Roy and helped out with the siblings.

He opened the door and welcomed Spec. He walked inside and Matt closed the door behind him. “Where’s your sister?” He asked.

“School,” 

Matt shook his head. “It’s at that fancy school right?”

Spec nodded, grinning proudly. “She got a scholarship for math.”

“Excellent!” Matt shouted. “We should celebrate!” Matt threw his arms into the air and started awkwardly dancing

“Grandpa!” shouted a familiar voice. Appearing from a dark hallway was Matt’s granddaughter, Madeline. She was given the nickname Maddie and was mostly known by it. Her black locks curled and swelled up into two pigtails. A piece of fancy and colorful ribbon was used to tie her hair up. She smiled at Spec, a flag rising into the air. “What’s happening?”

“Little Lin made it to one of those fancy schools downtown!” Matt exclaimed.

“She did?”

“Yeah,” His proud smile then turned serious. “Don’t tell Lin, but I’m thinking about finding people to let her live downtown.”

Matt jerked his head back. He spoke softly. “You’re giving her up?” Spec didn’t respond. Maddie put her left arm over her mouth with her eyes wide. The silence built up creating a mass clump of tension. Both Matt and Maddie were shocked at Spec’s declaration. The slums weren’t safe and anybody would give an arm and a leg to escape, but for only one of the close siblings to leave was devastating. Lin would leave her brother in the slums where he could die at any moment. 

Somebody knocked on the door. Spec took the moment to briefly escape the tension. He looked through the peephole, afraid of seeing Wick. Fortunately, it was two kids, scathed and dirty, standing outside; street rats. Spec opened the door. The street rats looked up at Spec’s rather tall frame. “Hello,” He started.

“Do you have spare change or food?” One of the street rats straightforwardly asked. Spec didn’t glance back at Matt or Maddie, instead, putting his hand into his right pocket and taking out loose change. He handed the loose change over to the street rats. The street rat that asked for the change grabbed it and held it in his hand. The other street rat, this one being a girl, eyes’ widened. “Thank you, sir.” The street rat turned around to walk away but bumped into a guy who appeared behind him.

“I see that you’ve become very charitable.” Wink noted. He smirked at Spec. “If only your father was the same,”  He mocked. He looked over at the street rats and ushered them out off the porch. He smiled at Spec before walking away. Once out of sight, Spec spat on the ground and closed the ground. 

“That bastard really came here to mock us!” shouted Matt.

“He should drop dead,” Maddie said.

“Maybe he should,” Spec whispered. His mind wandered around---pondering on ways to kill Wick---when his mind focused on one item that remained in his house. His family heirloom. The only treasure Spec had from his family left untouched. His double-ended black scythe.

 

TBC…

Chapter Three "Scythe and Slums"

Spec returned home. He entered his house and went down to the basement. The basement was eight feet in height and big enough to fit twenty adults standing next to each other, a small gap between each person. 

Spec passed the front of the basement and headed towards the back of the basement, which was blocked off with semi-empty crates. He got through the barricades and found what he was looking for. A scythe was kept in a glass display box, dust scattered on the box and the weapon itself. Spec opened the box and stared at the scythe, hesitating to grab it.

After some slight hesitation, he reached in and took the scythe out of the box, inspecting the etched design. The scythe was double-ended and had a pattern of small circular holes appearing in the middle of the blades. 

The scythe’s handles were made from darkwood, a mix of wood and mana. The mixture gave the wood a blackish-look. However, the scythe wasn’t as weak as wood, being reinforced by the mana into hard steel. 

Spec looked at the scythe’s etched designs, the names on his father, brother, and past wielders on it. However, the biggest name on the scythe was the name of the scythe; Deathstrike. The Deathstrike double-edge scythe was an heirloom passed down by generation after generation. 

Behind Deathstrike was a black leather journal. The journal’s contents were an inspirational story. A story of every Deathstrike wielder. His father and brother’s short-lived stories were written in the evolving journal. Spec picked the journal up and the nearby pen, writing a sentence in his entry of the journal. 

“12th Deathstriker. Spec Aiken. My story begins now.” He closed the journal. His hand, however, lingered over the journal. He wanted to peek at his father and brother’s chapters but decided against it. 

He put the journal back before closing the box, taking Deathstrike along with him. He left the basement and ascended the stairs, returning to the first floor. He then went to his room, a