"FILTHY!"
"You're FILTHY, you fucking little monster, FILTHY!"
"Get out of my sight, you filthy, good for nothing, false son! GO TO HELL!"
He said those words often, too often. He cajoled and cannibalized the boy into fear beyond the edge of sanity. He loomed over his shoulder and stared, never ceasing his disgust. He spat and fumed and beat the boy, the boy who did not know, the boy who was so young. The boy's heart became ripped too many times to count, too many times to be felt anymore.

The boy did not love him. He remembered remembering his love for him, but that was long ago, when the boy was only a treasure and not a person, when there was a mother and a sister and a family. He was lost without any love. The horizon was not in his eyes anymore; instead, the boy only looked down, down at deep abyss below him. Every day, he stepped closer and closer to the edge and farther away from himself. There was only one thing that could bring him back, back across, but that was lost. He was lost.

After all the years of bearing his tortured soul, the boy drifted away from the love he once and never felt. He found a new, powerful family, at least what he thought a family should be, and he refused to ever leave it. The boy had found what he never had and always wanted. He formed his own ideals, his own stories, his own new life. He became one with both himself and his new god.

He didn't need the man any more. He was his own person – even if neither he nor anyone else liked the new him. No one alive had ever loved who he used to be, so the boy accepted his new fate with his head held high. He tasted the power with the zeal of a newborn, and he liked it. He liked the strength he now wielded in those once helpless arms. He liked knowing that it was now the man who was scared of him and not the other way around. He liked knowing that nothing would ever hurt him again, not like the man or the loss of what he had forgotten.

His body, bruised and small, became hardened from the calluses of endless injuries. The boy stopped being a boy and became a man. He stopped caring. He rid his memory of the man, the filthy, fucking man. He forgot the soft voice of a mother he only remembered remembering, the blue sky, the rich, deep earth, the endless stars in the horizon he never again looked to. He had forgotten who he was on the inside. He only knew one thing, one burning, hurting ember in his otherwise chilling heart: he was Hidan.