Kid Vicious aka "The Falcon"'s page

Part 1

"Look at him, he's so weak!" The shove that came next put Merrick on his backside, his school-grays fouled on the muddy cobblestone.

Another bully kicked him in the side. "Go home and cry. Mother will take care of her little boy!" The pack of older boys laughed and took turns kicking the smaller child, finally leaving him to sob face-down in the dirt outside the school gate.

"Well now, aren't you a pathetic soul," announced a gravelly voice.

Merrick turned his head to see a gaunt older man staring down on him from around a post on the opposite side of the thoroughfare.

"Why do they torment you, boy?"

Forcing himself up, Merrick sat on his feet. "They hate me. The hate my father."

"Hmm? And who is your father?" asked the strange man.

Merrick considered him before answering. There was a sinister tone to his concern, and he looked disheveled, out of place. How long had he been standing there? Was he waiting for someone at the school? But he seemed interested in Merrick, which was enough to loosen the boy's tongue.

"Davos Falconbridge. He's a merch--"

"I know who he is!" the man snapped. He paused to regard Merrick. Then he smiled. "Well, the best revenge is revenge, I always say. Toughen up, boy. Here, take this." He produced from a pocket a little knife.

Merrick took to his feet and stepped closer, struck by the notion that he could do anything about the bullies, and that it should involve greater violence. But how he hated them. And then he was standing next to the older man, and the knife was pressed into the palm of his small hand. It felt warm, almost familiar.

"There now. It's not hard to figure it out. Good luck, boy." And with that, the old fellow drew a hood low, covering the exaggerated features of his face. A moment later Merrick stood alone, wondering what to do next.

*****

It wasn't difficult for Merrick to convince his father he needed to learn how to defend himself. A new conviction stirred in the young boy, and Davos, who was embarrassed by weakness in his son, was all too pleased to pay for private martial training with a member of the Daveryn Guard. Each day after school Merrick was given a gold piece to pay for the lessons. Although he benefitted from rigorous exercise, he was unable to shake a natural clumsiness with a weapon in his hand. When he asked to be trained with the little knife, the guardsman laughed at him and boxed his ears.

Not long after that, Merrick took his gold piece elsewhere. Afraid to tell his parents, he looked to the outskirts, away from the keen eyes of the guard. There a gang of boys beat him and stole his gold, but another older figure took pity on him and carried him to a ramshackle rooftop abode.

The man settled on a wooden bench and appraised the broken boy. "Why are you here?"

"I'm a disappointment," Merrick explained, his voice low. "Wherever I go I get kicked in the mud. I was hoping..." His voice trailed off.

"To be treated with compassion, is that it? Daveryn's self-righteousness punishes you, for no reason?" The man stared at Merrick coldly. "You are angry. Your heart is filled with a rage you do not know how to channel. You come to the outskirts looking for, what? A way out?"

Merrick shivered. There was something not right about this man. Sort of like the man that gave him the knife, but darker still.

The old man slouched to one side. There was an almost snake-like suppleness to his movement. "I could teach you to fight. Do you want to learn to fight?"

Merrick's mouth hung open. He felt stupid and insecure. But the man had him figured; he was angry. Hateful, even. And everything in this gods-be-damned city made him feel out of place. All he wanted was to disappear, but that was impossible. His father would find him and humiliate him, and the bullying would get worse. If Merrick was going to survive, he had to find a way to deal with all of the s~$# in his life.

"Yes."

The man continued to stare at him, his eyes narrowing as if calculating something. "I will take you as my student. You will learn how to fight, and how to kill, if necessary, for that is reality of life outside Daveryn's disgusting facade. Do you understand?"

Merrick swallowed and stood a little straighter. "Yes."

"Good. But I'm not taking you on from charity. You must pay me. Let's say, ten gold crowns each week. Can you manage that?"

The boy felt ill; it was an outragous sum of coin. But... he could take it from his father if he was clever. "I can."

"Tell no one of our arrangement. Come in the morning, while the brightest stars are still visible before the dawn. Bring the gold, and bring your anger. Never lose that."

Merrick nodded. "What do I call you?" asked the boy.

The man stood up to full height, his frame wiry but muscular. "I am your Master now. You will call by no other name."

Part 2

The beatings did not begin right away.

Every night Merrick would steal one or two gold coins from his father's chest in the study - the key was hidden in a secret comparment under one of the drawers in the elder Falconbridge's massive walnut desk. The boy had long known his father's habits and it was easy to sneak into the darkened chamber and feel his way to key and coin. He made up a simple story about dedicating himself to a physical routine that required he wake before dawn and go for a long run prior to the beginning of the school day. There was enough truth in it that Merrick felt ease in telling it. He would arrive at the Master's home in the heart of the outskirts, a slum by any other name, his pockets heavy with gold. Having run that far, he was already tired, but the Master would have none of it, and sent him into the broken, crooked thoroughfares, catching the odd cat or small dog for the Master's supper. When Merrick returned he was flush, heart racing, gulping air into his chest, but the Master allowed no rest. Right away he was on his hands, pushing his body weight up and down, and then the same while on his back. Next the Master would throw things at him - wood plates, spoons, a pot or two, and the cat, forcing Merrick to catch or deflect on command. But this was nothing compared to what would come when the Master matched fists and feet with the boy.

The Master never hit Merrick about the head; it was best not to arouse suspicion. But he punched and kicked the boy with great force across the arms and legs and torso, front and back. At first he would tell Merrick what was coming, and then later he would telegraph his attacks, but eventually he merely rained blows on the young man. Merrick either defended correctly or took the bruise, but he learned quickly that complaining only made things worse. And yet, when given pause to counter, Merrick showed what he had learned. He was stronger now, faster, and confident. One might say deadly.

That a year passed almost escaped Merrick's thought. The bullies continued to mock him and box his ears, but then the day came when Merrick struck one of them so hard with his elbow that the other boy's jaw cracked sideways and he fell, laying on the cobblestone bleeding and twitching with his tongue hanging out. The other boys vomited and s*$* themselves, then ran away screaming. The Lord Merchant Davos Falconbridge received a call that hour from the school Camerariat and the High Cleric. Merrick's father was incensed; the other boy was nearly killed. The resulting lecture rattled the boy's ears and shamed his mother, but in his heart, Merrick felt... power.

After a month of daily penance and home confinement, Merrick was allowed to return to school, and to the Master.

"Show me how you hit him." the Master asked. Merrick closed his eyes, replaying the fight. He dodged the clumsy punch, then jabbed a fist into the larger child's gut, following with that hard elbow to the side of the face. The altercation lasted three seconds. "Excellent," said the Master. "Now try that on me." Merrick was kicked so hard on his back he thought he might die. "Now go fetch me something to eat."

*****

Another year passed. Merrick transformed and as he grew taller, faster, and stronger. One early morning Merrick spied a street urchin skulking in the shadows, eyeing an older woman carrying a small loaf of dark bread. The dirty child leapt at her with a little knife and she gave up her evening meal. Merrick watched and did not intervene. The next day it was Merrick who faced the knife.

"You've got gold in your pocket. Give it to me," said the other boy, his voice a mix of desperation and fear. The knife was worn but sharp and it reminded Merrick of the one given to him by the stranger at the school so long ago.

Seizing on his assailant's hesitation, Merrick grabbed the boy's arm and pulled, tripping him and landing atop his back. The boy's wrist snapped and the knife clattered to the ground. The child howled and cried out.

"Who do you steal for?" asked Merrick.

But the boy wailed and could not speak. He clutched at his twisted hand and squirmed to get away. Merrick let him go, not for pity, but rather to observe him flee into the sewers. Two days later the same boy was back, has arm in a sling, and three others were with him. This was the moment. If Merrick showed weakness he would never be able to return. He had to fight. He had to win.

The boys were aggressive but not coordinated. Merrick slipped the first knife attack and threw his attacker down. Then as the next boy came at him he kicked him in the chest, then immediately crouched and spun, cathing a third boy in the knee. When the last boy tried to get around him, Merrick caught him by the arm and broke his nose. The fight was over almost as quickly as it had begun.

"You've done well, boy," said an old familiar voice. The gaunt man - the one who had given Merrick his knife - emerged from the shadows. "Took my advice. Good for you. Now I need something in return. You see, those were my boys. They're just like you, only they don't have rich families to run back to. I show them how to survive, and there are many more of them."

"Who are you?" Merrick asked. He looked side to side for another ambush.

The old man smiled but his eyes betrayed cold malice. "Some call me Horace DeShane. Honestly, I've forgotten whatever my name used to be. A name is just a name; it's what you do that matters. I look after those who got no one else. You were that child some time ago. You know how I mean. But you ain't from here and my Little Devils are hungry. You can start paying me back by giving me that gold in your pocket."

Merrick was afraid of DeShane, but he also felt a pull of sympathy, and possibly some measure of gratitude. But he could not part with the gold. "No."

DeShane eyed him deviously. "What's it for then?"

Merrick remembered the Master's first order: tell no one of their arrangement. "You'll have to kill me for it." he said with a bravery that was unnatural to him.

DeShane said nothing for the longest time, then laughed. "I won't do that. But here, let's talk about your father."

Part 3

Everything happened too fast. Merrick didn't tell the Master about Horace DeShane for the same reason he didn't tell his father about the Master. He just didn't want things to be complicated. That happened anyway.

Within a month DeShane was plotting to break into the Falconbridge estate. "No one would get hurt," he promised. Besides, Merrick hated his old man as much as everyone else did, and his reasons were personal, so why not give the bastard a taste of his own medicine?

For a creepy old guy, DeShane was surprisingly nimble in the shadows. He and his band of Little Devils emerged from the sewers and evaded the Night Watch stationed outside the Falconbridge estate. He showed them how to get into the house so that the watchman wouldn't know until it was too late. He told DeShane where the most lavish valuables were kept, and where to find the key to the chest in the study. He explained where his parents would be at this hour and that they would be unquestionably willing to be locked in the cellar when confronted. And of course, they wouldn't be overly concerned with their son's wherabouts or welfare, because when had that ever been the case?

Merrick remained out front on lookout. It was his job to deflect the Night Watch from suspicion. DeShane led his crew inside from the back alley but things almost immediately went sideways. Merrick heard a scream, then the sound of children screaming like devils. He rushed back inside too late. His mother's throat was cut and his father lay face-down on the floor, bleeding out from a rough castration. DeShane held a bloody dagger and a fistful of gems and was reaching for more.

The old villain sneered as Merrick stood mortified in the hall. "You are your own man now, kid," said DeShane. "How's it feel to be free?"

Merrick coiled up against his mother's lifeless body until the Guard arrived early the next morning. Little of the Falconbridge fortune remained and his father's creditors demanded the estate. Left with nothing, his spirit crushed, he returned to the only person who had helped him in his miserable life, the Master.

*****

"He stole your birthright," the Master replied once Merrick had told him the full story. The old man was indifferent to the murder of the boy's parents. "Take it back." That the old man's first instinct was revenge did not surprise Merrick. Now a young man of fifteen years, remorse and pity were long ago beaten out of him. Once his mother had been laid to rest he became incapable of sadness.

"Do you know him?" Merrick asked.

"Of course. As I have known that for the past months you took in with him and his Little Devils. I wonder, what do you feel now?"

Merrick shook his head. "I hate him."

"Why? Did you not also hate your father? What care did you have for your mother? Did they not leave you to fend for yourself, giving you nothing when they had everything? Did they not deprive you of all but food and shelter? Did you mother ever challenge the Lord Merchant in his home when it came to your welfare?"

The questions were unbearable, and Merrick stared back at the Master with empty hatred. But the Master only slouched in his snake-like manner, the edges of his mouth curling into a thin smile. "Good," he said plainly. "There's your power. Use it. Kill DeShane and take what is yours. All of it."

*****

Merrick descended into the fetid sewers, the knife from DeShane tucked between his thogh and the hem of his pants. The air thick with rot and despair, and from all directions distant laughter echoed ominously. His steps echoed through the labyrinthine passages, each one a haunting prelude to the confrontation that awaited him.

The first attack came abruptly, a feral boy lunging at him from the shadows. Merrick twisted away and sent a kick to the child's head. The attacker recoiled, shrieking, and dissolved into the darkness. More followed, their faces twisted in cruel glee as they tested him, but Merrick’s determination was unyielding. He fought them off, his fists and feet carving a bloody path to his final destination, a central intersection beneath the distrcit where the city's wealthiest residents lived. Where Merrick once lived.

When he reached the heart of the lair, Horace DeShane awaited him with a crooked smile, surrounded by his small army of murderous kids. "Ah, my precious boy," DeShane sneered. "Come to claim your share of the spoils, have you?"

Merrick's rage boiled over, his voice shaking as he spoke. "You took everything from me. Now I'm taking everything from you."

DeShane regarded him seriously, shadows playing tricks with his expressions in the torch light. "You mean that. After I befriended you, gave you courage, freed you from your awful father, you come here to what? End my life?"

Merrick spit, taking several steps toward DeShane. "You used me and threw me away, the same as you treat all the rest!"

The old man retreated and was about to say something, his hands reaching behind his back, but Merrick was faster, and in a flash the old knife was in his hand, slashing out, cutting through the soft flesh of DeShane's belly, dropping the villain to his knees. His guts spilled onto the piss and s!%@ on the sewer floor, and then he collapsed into a heap.

The Little Devils watched in stunned silence as Merrick stood over their fallen leader, but they instinctively knew what had just happened. This was no mere murder; it was a change of leadership. Merrick dropped the knife onto DeShane's corpse and cast his eyes around the intersection. "Follow me, or face the same fate." His voice was confident and commanding. He felt exhalted, not only from the killing but from the power he had taken from it.

The children looked to each other, then stepped before him one by one, their loyalty transferred in an instant. Gathering the stolen loot from untold plots, Merrick led them out of the sewers and back to the Master.

Any hope Merrick might have had for redemption was quickly dashed. The Master’s expression was calculating as he regarded the boy and the group of dirty street urchins in his wake. "Very good," the Master said, his tone almost approving. "Your training is complete and now the real work begins. You’ll tear this whole wretched city down, my son. You’ll make them bleed. Every last one."

From behind him, the army of children took up in cheers at the Master's words. Merrick exhaled slowly, relishing in his new power. He realized the violence was never going to end, and he didn't want it to.

Merrick, an adolescent boy, is bullied relentlessly by older boys outside his school mainly because of his father, Davos Falconbridge, a prominent merchant. The father's sins are not made clear, but the story hints at the man's greed and cruel temperament. While wallowing in pain and despair, Merrick encounters a mysterious, disheveled man who takes an unsettling interest in him. The man provides Merrick with a small knife, urging him to toughen up and seek revenge.

Inspired by the man's words and his own simmering anger, Merrick convinces his father to pay for his martial training, though he struggles with clumsiness and is mocked for requesting instruction with his knife. Frustrated and desperate, he takes his training elsewhere, only to be mugged by a gang of boys. An enigmatic man rescues him and offers him a chance to learn to fight, recognizing Merrick's deep-seated rage. The boy agrees to become the man's student despite the heavy cost of ten gold crowns a week, vowing to conceal their arrangement. The man, who identifies only as "the Master," assures Merrick that his lessons will align with the harsh realities of life outside the city's facade.

Merrick begins training under the Master, paying for lessons by stealing gold coins from his father. Under the guise of a morning fitness routine, Merrick endures grueling physical and combat training. The Master subjects him to relentless exercises and later withstand brutal beatings. The Master's unorthodox methods leave Merrick bruised but increasingly skilled, resilient, and dangerous.

A year passes, and Merrick's newfound strength manifests violently when he retaliates against a bully at school, breaking the boy's jaw and nearly killing him. Despite punishment and his father's outrage, Merrick feels a dark sense of power. Returning to the Master after his confinement, Merrick demonstrates the attack, earning the Master's praise before being reminded of his subordinate place.

As time goes on, Merrick becomes stronger and more confident. One day, a street urchin attempts to rob him with a knife. Merrick disarms and injures the boy, allowing him to flee but taking note of his retreat into the sewers. Days later, the boy returns with reinforcements, and Merrick decisively defeats them in a swift and calculated fight.

The gaunt man who originally gave Merrick the knife, now revealed to be Horace DeShane, steps from the shadows. He commends Merrick but demands repayment for the guidance and strength Merrick gained from his initial gifts. DeShane introduces himself as the leader of a gang of street children, whom he calls his "Little Devils," and pressures Merrick to hand over the gold in his pocket. Merrick refuses, deflecting DeShane's prying questions about his coin and allegiance, showing a blend of fear and defiance. DeShane, intrigued, does not press further but shifts the conversation ominously to Merrick's father, hinting at deeper entanglements to come.

In the final part of the story, Merrick becomes entangled in Horace DeShane's plot to rob the Falconbridge estate. Despite his hatred for his father, Merrick's role as lookout spirals into chaos when DeShane and his gang murder Merrick's parents. Left destitute and emotionally shattered, Merrick returns to the Master, who manipulates his anger and thirst for revenge, urging him to kill DeShane and reclaim his stolen birthright.

Merrick descends into the sewers, fighting off DeShane's gang of children before confronting the man himself. In a climactic showdown, Merrick kills DeShane, asserting dominance over the gang and declaring himself their new leader. He leads the children back to the Master, who praises Merrick's transformation and reveals his ultimate plan: to use Merrick and his new army to bring chaos and destruction to the city.

Merrick, now fully consumed by power and violence, accepts his role, realizing that the cycle of brutality will never end—and he no longer wants it to. This conclusion cements his descent into darkness and sets the stage for the Master's larger, sinister ambitions.

The trial was mercifully short. The little bastard Cockran had taken to writing things down, and the whole operation was in his bloody books. Learned how to bleach the pages and where to steal ink and quills. Smart little bastard - too smart for his own good and now he would get the whole gang killed. Merrick sneered at the punk kid. Who writes so damned much, anyway? What kid has that much time? Must not have been hungry enough. That was Merrick's fault; he let the gang eat too often. If he got out of this mess he'd make them all starve good till their stomachs shrank to peas and they got back to stealin' like they needed it to survive.

The Magistrate was a fat son of a whore wearing a gods-damned rabbit on his head. That's what it looked like, anyway, a fluffy white fur with a tail dangling over his forehead. He read the little Cock's pages one after another, spilling all the gang's secret plans to push these god-suffering a+~@%%$s into the planes of Hell. Sedition was the charge. What a load of s#!!. If Merrick wasn't shackled and bound he'd tear that fat pig's head off and spit down his windpipe. Regicide was a more worthy accusation. Too bad he hadn't gotten anywhere close to the King.

Another page: The next day we met Falcon again and he had more to tell us 'bout the plan. Charlie said it wasn't a good plan and Falcon broke his arm. The bleedin bones were sticking out and Charlie was screamin so Falcon hit him until he didn't say nothin no more. Still breathin, anyways, but I don't spect Charlie will be coming round again. We're all to meet at the Knot and come up where Falcon used to live, then take care of the Watch and get to the gate as fast as we can. Falcon says it shouldn't be a lot of trouble and we'll have proper swords and he's shown us some fighting moves. The gang is seventy-strong now. Doubled since Falcon took charge. Others call him Kid Vishus. I think he likes that name. Seems there is more kids wanna join the gang now that a kid runs it. Only a few of us know about the Master. He keeps away and lets Falcon run the gang, but thats where Falcon gets his plans...

"Iomadae's fattits! Shut the hell up, Cockran!" Merrick screamed. He couldn't take it anymore. Fighting his shackles, the powerful young man managed to flip the heavy table in front of him and stand menacingly. "Enough!" Ripping off the table leg to which his bindings were bolted, and leapt at the Magistrate, toppling the obese man and landing over him. Merrick bit the man's clear off, tearing the flesh from his skull. He somersaulted to get his feet under him and spun 'round, spitting the bloody ear in the direction of the judge. Then he turned to stare down Cockran, the little s#*@, but in the melee he had lost track of the guards, and the last thing he felt was something hard cracking into the back of his head.

The next thing Merrick knew he was back in a prison cell, half covered in rats. His head throbbed so bad he wished they'd finished the job. Why make him wait to be executed? A society this stupid deserved its fate. It didn't look like Merrick was gonna be around long enough to see them get what's coming, but they'd get it all the same. "What goes around, comes around," he muttered with a thin smile.

Horace DeShane's Legacy: After killing DeShane and taking over the "Little Devils" child gang, Merrick (aka "The Falcon" aka Kid Vicious) discovers a hidden ledger containing names and details of influential people DeShane blackmailed or sabotaged, including a few of the parents of the children in his gang. These revelations offer Merrick opportunities to continue to exploit those esteemed members of the community, but also expose him to adversaries who could seek to take their vengeance against him now that DeShane is gone, testing Merrick's mettle as a leader and fighter in his own right.

A Father's Sins: Merrick stumbles upon evidence that sheds light on the dark dealings of Davos Falconbridge, revealing why the man was feared, including correspondence that could be used to blackmail several prominent members of the aristocracy. Can Merrick use this knowledge to exploit those relationships and enhance his own power? Can he rebuild his father's empire? Will he risk retribution and a return to the prison?

City-wide Turmoil: The Master’s ultimate plan to overthrow the monarchy begins unfolding, dragging Merrick and the gang into a conspiracy that threatens the engulf the entire city in flame. Merrick must decide for how long he will continue to follow the Master and when he might challenge the Master for ultimate rule.

Street Urchins' Revolt: Merrick's leadership is challenged when some gang members grow resentful of his violent authority. Will Merrick tighten his grip to maintain control, or will he attempt to foster unity among his "Little Devils"?

The Rival: An old student of the Master returns, bearing skills surpassing Merrick's own. The rival begins encroaching on Merrick’s territory, leading to a clash of egos and strength that forces Merrick to evolve as both a fighter and a leader.

The Return of Horace DeShane: DeShane's followers whisper that the man has come back from the dead, and sightings of his gaunt figure begin spreading through the sewers. Is this a ghostly reckoning or a clever deception? Merrick must confront his fears and determine the truth.