"Mumma! Mumma!" The two other Moriarty brothers cried, lying on or close to their beds at night as the eldest scraped his silver pocket knives into the rugged wooden floor. Their parents vigorously pummelled on the bolted door that stood between them, pleading for their innocent kids from psychotic child that escaped the female vessel those many years ago.

The youngest quivered in the corner of the children's room, cuddling a distorted looking teddy. The fuzz ball had its marble-like eyes torn from its string sockets, holes scattered across it's body marking where the organs would be on a life size animal. The middle child sat upon the bed closest to the young one, holding the hand of his dear sibling while he panicked, fearing for his life that hadn't even started out. The child would never hurt his siblings, or so he thought for now. There was a use for such feeble-minded descendants. James' hopes was to, eventually, make them see that this way of life was greater than the one they lead and had lead for the time they have been living. It was safe to say that James Moriarty was the smartest of all three, and most cunning. The child had a passion for mathematics and science, experimenting with new equations to create devious recipe for death. From an early age, he knew where each individual important artery sat in the human body, and how to cause malfunction to these pitiful slabs of meat. He truly was his Mother's little devil.

The banging eventually stopped and turned to a weary scraping on the other side. James moved from his spot in the middle of the room where he was surrounded by blood stained items and clothes. Creaking of the floor boards unsettled James' siblings further as they whimpered. The open window bringing in the icy breeze from the winter nights, the curtains rattling on the pole as the moon shed light on the heels of this monster. The little mastermind moved to the only window in the room and slammed it shut, padlocking it as he stepped back once more. James understood pain, but he never felt it. His bare feet scraped across the wooden floor, sharp and broken nails sticking out from the cracks in the old floor boards. James' left hand rose and fell across the door as he pressed his ear up against it, listening to the weeping of his broken and damaged parents. It was difficult for them. Three young boys, and one who was an unstable wreck from the time he could walk.

Between sobs, the parents let out distressed sighs and murmurs of their son's names. Richard. Robert. Never once did they call for James. It never bothered the eldest, he knew his intentions and he planned to carry them through until the end. A young mind had a blue print for destruction of the Moriarty name tattooed across his powerful mind, and it wasn't about to be erased like a smudge on an artist's canvas. James started out as the quiet little boy, large hazel coloured eyes and dark ruffled hair. Sweet and innocent enough. The moment he started walking was when the demise of his innocent self began and the rising of an indestructible prince started.

The young prince's fourth birthday came around, his parents oblivious to the strength and power this child was gaining as he sucked information in like a black hole. At four, the couple brought their son a small rabbit. James never named the little one, he simply turned his umber orbs up to the Irish parents in what seemed like confusion as they left them to play. Days went to weeks, and the weeks turned to months. James had not yet seen the appeal in a pet, it only gave him a curiosity for inflicting pain - but he did not want it to experience death. On the fateful day, the child crawled into the tool shed of the garden (which was always open a crack), and dragged out an immense pair of gardening scissors. Making his way to the cage that his rabbit slept and opened the top, gripping the ears of the sleeping beauty. A frightful, ear piercing screech came from the rabbit and James stood holding only the ears to his "pet", blood pouring like a waterfall from the suffering bunny head. That day started the rein for terror and slowly removed all sympathy from this young child.

Now 9 years old, he is no different to he was then other than he was a lot stronger with his willpower to push down any sympathetic feels, until they turned to ash. And tonight, was about to be his time to rid of the people he hated most.

Clink. Clink. Clink. James turned the key of the bolts on his side of the door. A twist of the frozen handle and a yank made the door swing open, his parents stood above him with tears streaming down their pale faces. They pushed past this prince to reach the sobbing children, who opened their arms in anguish. The parents had always been extremely gullible to their eldest child. After all the misery, they were still willing to trust him. He hadn't expected it this time, for them to trust his decision in opening the child's door. Did they not think? Of course not, they were too busy thinking about their younger sprogs that they would forget about devil's witty plans. The dark room was now filled with the noise of faint snivelling and shaking silhouettes, while James stood in the door way, his back turned to them and his hazel eyes locked on photographs that sat upon a cabinet. These memories held love and affection toward James, although he now doesn't remember what that feels like to his now icy heart. It would take a lot for someone like him to ever feel affectionate again.

"One last time," this Irish prince spoke as he turned away from the memories that meant nothing. "Richard, Robert," the eldest yelled, anger underlying his accent and making it seem thicker. Both let go of their parents. And both had learned to do as their brother asked or face consequences. This prince knew he could use his brothers, he wanted to keep them around for his future plans when they would come in handy for a marvellous plot. Robert came first, holding the hand of Richard as they slowly dragged themselves away from the warmth of their loving parents.

Sudden scrambling began from the couple who frantically came after their youngest, but James stopped them in their path as he pulled a set of matches from his trouser pockets. Scraping a match across the side of the box, James stood in awe of the orange and yellow flame waving in front of his hazel coloured eyes. If his plan was right, the floor would burn through and his parents would soon fall to their death or lose their life from carbon monoxide poisoning. Each carving into the floor the boy made, meant more places for the flammable liquid to spread into.

Criminal in the making, James Moriarty, dropped the match into a line of kerosene. The fire flooded to the middle of the room, not far from where the two had stopped dead in their tracks.

Burning eyes behind the fire glared at the two, a sinister grin tugging on the corner of the mastermind's lips. At that moment, he slammed the door shut and bolted it from that end with the key he slipped from the back. The young prince and his two brothers made their escape as the fire spread. In the middle of the room lay a set of kerosene cans, prepared for the destruction and fall of the Moriarty household. Amber flames violently attacked the blue cans as the three heirs to the "throne" of the Moriarty name escaped the front door. Cataclysmic wails escaped the house into the night, the fire bursting through the windows of the children's room. Only James looked back, feeling satisfied by the shrilling screams that rang in his small ears.

It didn't take long to plan. All the child needed was willing participants that helped move the death move swimmingly. It was time for the Moriarty name to mean something, for the Moriarty name to be known and feared by the rest of the world. And here is where it began.

Welcome to the rising of a Prince who will grow up to become King of Destruction and Demise.