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And that’s when it happened. Honestly I was surprised it hadn’t happened earlier. My father was not a patient man and he had managed to keep his temper under control for three years. But that day he could not take it anymore. The colt that had let him down in every single way he possible could and still dared trying to talk back to him had finally pushed him over the edge. In a flash he’d gotten from one side of the room over to me and I felt the impact of his large hooves. This wasn’t anything like the time he’d kicked me when he found out I’d been playing with Marcel. No this time he was not satisfied with just one kick. He beat me over and over again. All his pent up rage from these past three years came out and was directly aimed at my body. For a moment I genuinely feared for my life. Even though I was practically immortal even I wouldn’t survive a skull crushed to bits and pieces. I looked over towards my mother who seemed frozen in her place. And the smallest part of me actually believed that she was in shock. However when looking at her eyes it was easy to tell they weren’t reflecting fear. Excitement. That was what I saw. She didn’t fear her son might die, she was witnessing a scene she’d wanted to be a part of herself but my father had beaten her to it. When I slowly started to lose consciousness and my body got limp my father finally stopped. I had a hard time defining what my body felt like at that moment. Pure and utter agony would be my first guess but there was also this strange feeling of numbness even though it still hurt. My father’s breathing was hard and he stood over me shaking on his legs. I guess for a moment he felt guilty but it didn’t last long. Hell it didn’t even last short. He stepped away from me and shook out his head to get his sticky hair out of his sweaty face. “I think we finally got through to him”, was what he said as he and my mother left the room. I could hear him instructing a guard not to let anyone in here for a while. It would probably be a disgrace if anyone found me like this. I waited until I couldn’t hear their hoof steps anymore I didn’t want to give them any reason to come back. But when I knew they were gone I cried. I cried for hours until it was only noise because there weren’t any tears left to be shed. My body was so damaged it healed at an incredibly slow rate. But mentally I wasn’t healing at all. Crooked as it may sound but even though I hated my parents for the way they were they were still my parents. Though I didn’t like to admit it but there was a part of me that wanted them to care, that wanted them to accept me for who I was. And up until now I could make myself believe that there was hope for something like that. My fathers beating and my mother’s reaction made me realize there was no such opportunity and there had never been one. It was in that moment that I lost all hope and I stopped crying.

After that day it was like my parents had found the light as in how to teach me. Any and all behaviour that they found unsatisfactory was met with physical punishment. Was I to be nice to a servant or any demon that was lower in rank than me it would be properly reprimanded. Showing kindness or weakness at any occasion also led them to punish me. However they never referred to it as punishment they thought of it as an education system. And a very effective one at that. It didn’t take too long for me want to avoid the abuse that accompanied my misbehaving. So as they wished I stopped being nice, I stopped laughing, I stopped crying and I stopped feeling. As a matter of fact I grew detached from everything and stopped caring about anything. Where I would have stuck up for the servants when my family would beat them for doing something wrong I now just looked the other way. I paid even less attention to my studies than I had been before and when I was 15 years old my parents finally decided to stop the lessons altogether. They officially gave up on me becoming the King’s advisor. They did not however give up on me needing to uphold the family name. And that was when the punishment turned into downright abuse. They no longer beat me when I disobeyed them, I didn’t give them much to punish me for these days anyway. Because of my new attitude where I cared about nothing I also did nothing. In a way I wasn’t doing anything wrong but I also wasn’t doing anything right. That angered my parents maybe even more than when I would act up against them. So now that they didn’t have any reason to beat me anymore they simply vented their frustrations and anger onto me. They would kick me, bite me and choke me simply because they hated the very sight of me. I never once tried to fight back. For one I knew very well that I was in no way strong enough to even defend myself. And secondly I just didn’t really care anymore. I had gotten used to the pain. I had to. There was no way I would have been able to deal with all the abuse if I didn’t teach myself not to care. I tried to stay out of my parent’s way for most of the day but almost every night they would find me.

I grew quiet and easily distracted. Sometimes when I was hiding out during the day I would end up wandering to places inside the inner circle I’d never been before. I would snap back to reality only to find I had no idea where I was. When I was 17 not much had changed only for the fact that I was even more mentally unstable than before. I started to develop Post Traumatic Stress Disorder and I was having a hard time dealing with it. Not only that but for some reason Asraq the king of demons had ordered for me to be present during formal meetings of the board. There was absolutely no reason for this since I knew nothing about what they were talking about and I wasn’t involved either. Asraq had always been an odd king. I wouldn’t be surprised if the reason he requested my attendance was purely for his entertainment. He probably enjoyed seeing my parents all tense and trying to keep an eye on me during the meetings. Even on big and public occasions I was forced to come along. Unfortunately my distracted nature was getting worse and it inevitably happened that I wandered off during an important meetings. My parents were outraged for I had shamed them publicly. After the second time it happened they decided to put a collar and a leash on me so that I wouldn’t be able to wander off on my own. They also found it to be a great choking device for when they were beating me. The beatings I got from them only got worse and it was hard to make myself believe I didn’t care anymore. Especially with the post traumatic stress disorder it was obvious that I actually did care otherwise it wouldn’t have gotten to me like this. So I had to cope with the pain in another way. I kind of triggered a masochistic streak inside of me because when I realized not caring didn’t help anymore I started to enjoy the pain. The first time it happened it freaked my parents right the hell out. My father crashed his hooves into me as he spat his words of disgust for my existence and I started to laugh. My life literally existed out of being hurt and being shunned and I could suddenly see the humour in that. I mean wasn’t it just freaking hilarious that I was the only one around this place that was different? My father took a confused step backwards at my weird laughter. I had peered up towards him then a sick grin spreading across my face. “Is it no longer fun when we both enjoy it? Come on do your worst father! Don’t you hate the fucking sight of my face?” I taunted and laughed and sure enough my father’s anger was easily ignited again. He continued to beat me and I laughed and laughed.

That night marked the beginning of a whole new me. Strangely enough enjoying the pain worked, it helped me get through the beatings a lot better than trying not to care. The small feeling of power I received from taunting them to continue was revelating. I actually felt like I was able to control a tiny little part of my life. Granted that control made it worse but it was my own doing. That in itself was something entirely new to me. Regrettably enjoying the new pain that was inflicted on me was not enough to keep the flashbacks of my old beatings away. When those flashbacks came I lost myself. My mind would become a foggy haze of torture which I could not escape. I would scream and curl myself up in the darkest corner I could find until it was over. Over time I figured out that hurting myself during those flashbacks would make them go away quicker. But hurting myself was not enough I found out. As I got older and more unstable I figured that I didn’t have much to lose. One night when I could feel those flashbacks crawling up I searched for one of the castle guards. The dark coated stallion with the neatly kept mohawk had a reputation for being quite sadistic. I approached him and taunted him in the hopes he would snap. At first the guard was more freaked out than angry. The crazy son of the Sasaki family had just walked up to him and started calling him names. He knew perfectly well that hurting me would get him into trouble if anyone found out. But his temper could only be pushed so far before he lunged at me and did things to me even my parents hadn’t thought of before. The castle guards were well equipped with weapons and this particular demon had quickly found another use for those. But it worked. The flashbacks never came because of him hurting me, distracting me. This guard was the first one I used to distract me from the flashbacks and not the last. I mocked and insulted the guards until they’d beat me when I was near flashbacks. I would be able to escape the hell of those memories and they had someone to vent their frustrations on. The fact that I was royalty made it even more fun for them. What better way to boost your ego than by hurting someone of higher status who would literally beg you for it? Tediously enough the guards were not quite smart enough to keep their mouths shut. Rumors started to spread after a month or so and on the second month of this arrangement my parents found out. To say that they were furious would be an understatement. They were in a state of rage I had never seen before and I received the worst beating I had ever gotten from them. I would have been okay with that being my punishment but they didn’t stop there. They were so disgusted by me sullying their name they decided to put an end to it. Every night they would lock me up inside my room so that I couldn’t taunt any more guards into abusing me. And the many nights that followed in that contained chamber drove me near insane. I could hardly keep the flashbacks away on my own and they only increased as did the nightmares. I knew one thing: I would not last long locked up in that chamber.

And the semi last part of Akkan's backstory! The actual last part is 'Locked up' which I uploaded a few months ago as a text. His backstory ends with his parents locking him up at night and Akkan growing even more unstable because no he can't distract himself anymore from the flashbacks that are caused by his post tramautic stress disorder. He's changed a lot over the years and this is the result of all the abuse.

And yeah this is what happens when I try dramatic expressions and front faces Not happy about this drawing at all but yeahh. It's supposed to be him laughing and taunting his father to abuse him for the first time. Hopefully you can see his father's shadow hovering over him. Akkan is supposed to be laying on the ground on his back but that's not very clear.

But hey Akkan's backstory is now concluded and it's almost time to begin the actual story! Now all I need to do is draw Acuzio's backstory. That one can hopefully be done in just one part instead of three. He's not quite so complicated as Akkan xD

Anywho I hope you can enjoy the story and drawing! Let me know what you think! c:

Akkan & Art: Me Paardjee
No reference used.

Description

First part: paardjee.deviantart.com/art/Th…
Previous part: paardjee.deviantart.com/art/Th…
Next/extra part: paardjee.deviantart.com/art/Lo…

And that’s when it happened. Honestly I was surprised it hadn’t happened earlier. My father was not a patient man and he had managed to keep his temper under control for three years. But that day he could not take it anymore. The colt that had let him down in every single way he possible could and still dared trying to talk back to him had finally pushed him over the edge. In a flash he’d gotten from one side of the room over to me and I felt the impact of his large hooves. This wasn’t anything like the time he’d kicked me when he found out I’d been playing with Marcel. No this time he was not satisfied with just one kick. He beat me over and over again. All his pent up rage from these past three years came out and was directly aimed at my body. For a moment I genuinely feared for my life. Even though I was practically immortal even I wouldn’t survive a skull crushed to bits and pieces. I looked over towards my mother who seemed frozen in her place. And the smallest part of me actually believed that she was in shock. However when looking at her eyes it was easy to tell they weren’t reflecting fear. Excitement. That was what I saw. She didn’t fear her son might die, she was witnessing a scene she’d wanted to be a part of herself but my father had beaten her to it. When I slowly started to lose consciousness and my body got limp my father finally stopped. I had a hard time defining what my body felt like at that moment. Pure and utter agony would be my first guess but there was also this strange feeling of numbness even though it still hurt. My father’s breathing was hard and he stood over me shaking on his legs. I guess for a moment he felt guilty but it didn’t last long. Hell it didn’t even last short. He stepped away from me and shook out his head to get his sticky hair out of his sweaty face. “I think we finally got through to him”, was what he said as he and my mother left the room. I could hear him instructing a guard not to let anyone in here for a while. It would probably be a disgrace if anyone found me like this. I waited until I couldn’t hear their hoof steps anymore I didn’t want to give them any reason to come back. But when I knew they were gone I cried. I cried for hours until it was only noise because there weren’t any tears left to be shed. My body was so damaged it healed at an incredibly slow rate. But mentally I wasn’t healing at all. Crooked as it may sound but even though I hated my parents for the way they were they were still my parents. Though I didn’t like to admit it but there was a part of me that wanted them to care, that wanted them to accept me for who I was. And up until now I could make myself believe that there was hope for something like that. My fathers beating and my mother’s reaction made me realize there was no such opportunity and there had never been one. It was in that moment that I lost all hope and I stopped crying.

After that day it was like my parents had found the light as in how to teach me. Any and all behaviour that they found unsatisfactory was met with physical punishment. Was I to be nice to a servant or any demon that was lower in rank than me it would be properly reprimanded. Showing kindness or weakness at any occasion also led them to punish me. However they never referred to it as punishment they thought of it as an education system. And a very effective one at that. It didn’t take too long for me want to avoid the abuse that accompanied my misbehaving. So as they wished I stopped being nice, I stopped laughing, I stopped crying and I stopped feeling. As a matter of fact I grew detached from everything and stopped caring about anything. Where I would have stuck up for the servants when my family would beat them for doing something wrong I now just looked the other way. I paid even less attention to my studies than I had been before and when I was 15 years old my parents finally decided to stop the lessons altogether. They officially gave up on me becoming the King’s advisor. They did not however give up on me needing to uphold the family name. And that was when the punishment turned into downright abuse. They no longer beat me when I disobeyed them, I didn’t give them much to punish me for these days anyway. Because of my new attitude where I cared about nothing I also did nothing. In a way I wasn’t doing anything wrong but I also wasn’t doing anything right. That angered my parents maybe even more than when I would act up against them. So now that they didn’t have any reason to beat me anymore they simply vented their frustrations and anger onto me. They would kick me, bite me and choke me simply because they hated the very sight of me. I never once tried to fight back. For one I knew very well that I was in no way strong enough to even defend myself. And secondly I just didn’t really care anymore. I had gotten used to the pain. I had to. There was no way I would have been able to deal with all the abuse if I didn’t teach myself not to care. I tried to stay out of my parent’s way for most of the day but almost every night they would find me.

I grew quiet and easily distracted. Sometimes when I was hiding out during the day I would end up wandering to places inside the inner circle I’d never been before. I would snap back to reality only to find I had no idea where I was. When I was 17 not much had changed only for the fact that I was even more mentally unstable than before. I started to develop Post Traumatic Stress Disorder and I was having a hard time dealing with it. Not only that but for some reason Asraq the king of demons had ordered for me to be present during formal meetings of the board. There was absolutely no reason for this since I knew nothing about what they were talking about and I wasn’t involved either. Asraq had always been an odd king. I wouldn’t be surprised if the reason he requested my attendance was purely for his entertainment. He probably enjoyed seeing my parents all tense and trying to keep an eye on me during the meetings. Even on big and public occasions I was forced to come along. Unfortunately my distracted nature was getting worse and it inevitably happened that I wandered off during an important meetings. My parents were outraged for I had shamed them publicly. After the second time it happened they decided to put a collar and a leash on me so that I wouldn’t be able to wander off on my own. They also found it to be a great choking device for when they were beating me. The beatings I got from them only got worse and it was hard to make myself believe I didn’t care anymore. Especially with the post traumatic stress disorder it was obvious that I actually did care otherwise it wouldn’t have gotten to me like this. So I had to cope with the pain in another way. I kind of triggered a masochistic streak inside of me because when I realized not caring didn’t help anymore I started to enjoy the pain. The first time it happened it freaked my parents right the hell out. My father crashed his hooves into me as he spat his words of disgust for my existence and I started to laugh. My life literally existed out of being hurt and being shunned and I could suddenly see the humour in that. I mean wasn’t it just freaking hilarious that I was the only one around this place that was different? My father took a confused step backwards at my weird laughter. I had peered up towards him then a sick grin spreading across my face. “Is it no longer fun when we both enjoy it? Come on do your worst father! Don’t you hate the fucking sight of my face?” I taunted and laughed and sure enough my father’s anger was easily ignited again. He continued to beat me and I laughed and laughed.

That night marked the beginning of a whole new me. Strangely enough enjoying the pain worked, it helped me get through the beatings a lot better than trying not to care. The small feeling of power I received from taunting them to continue was revelating. I actually felt like I was able to control a tiny little part of my life. Granted that control made it worse but it was my own doing. That in itself was something entirely new to me. Regrettably enjoying the new pain that was inflicted on me was not enough to keep the flashbacks of my old beatings away. When those flashbacks came I lost myself. My mind would become a foggy haze of torture which I could not escape. I would scream and curl myself up in the darkest corner I could find until it was over. Over time I figured out that hurting myself during those flashbacks would make them go away quicker. But hurting myself was not enough I found out. As I got older and more unstable I figured that I didn’t have much to lose. One night when I could feel those flashbacks crawling up I searched for one of the castle guards. The dark coated stallion with the neatly kept mohawk had a reputation for being quite sadistic. I approached him and taunted him in the hopes he would snap. At first the guard was more freaked out than angry. The crazy son of the Sasaki family had just walked up to him and started calling him names. He knew perfectly well that hurting me would get him into trouble if anyone found out. But his temper could only be pushed so far before he lunged at me and did things to me even my parents hadn’t thought of before. The castle guards were well equipped with weapons and this particular demon had quickly found another use for those. But it worked. The flashbacks never came because of him hurting me, distracting me. This guard was the first one I used to distract me from the flashbacks and not the last. I mocked and insulted the guards until they’d beat me when I was near flashbacks. I would be able to escape the hell of those memories and they had someone to vent their frustrations on. The fact that I was royalty made it even more fun for them. What better way to boost your ego than by hurting someone of higher status who would literally beg you for it? Tediously enough the guards were not quite smart enough to keep their mouths shut. Rumors started to spread after a month or so and on the second month of this arrangement my parents found out. To say that they were furious would be an understatement. They were in a state of rage I had never seen before and I received the worst beating I had ever gotten from them. I would have been okay with that being my punishment but they didn’t stop there. They were so disgusted by me sullying their name they decided to put an end to it. Every night they would lock me up inside my room so that I couldn’t taunt any more guards into abusing me. And the many nights that followed in that contained chamber drove me near insane. I could hardly keep the flashbacks away on my own and they only increased as did the nightmares. I knew one thing: I would not last long locked up in that chamber.

And the semi last part of Akkan's backstory! The actual last part is 'Locked up' which I uploaded a few months ago as a text. His backstory ends with his parents locking him up at night and Akkan growing even more unstable because no he can't distract himself anymore from the flashbacks that are caused by his post tramautic stress disorder. He's changed a lot over the years and this is the result of all the abuse.

And yeah this is what happens when I try dramatic expressions and front faces Not happy about this drawing at all but yeahh. It's supposed to be him laughing and taunting his father to abuse him for the first time. Hopefully you can see his father's shadow hovering over him. Akkan is supposed to be laying on the ground on his back but that's not very clear.

But hey Akkan's backstory is now concluded and it's almost time to begin the actual story! Now all I need to do is draw Acuzio's backstory. That one can hopefully be done in just one part instead of three. He's not quite so complicated as Akkan xD

Anywho I hope you can enjoy the story and drawing! Let me know what you think! c:

Akkan & Art: Me Paardjee
No reference used.