Before you rush to defend his actions, this is a detailed, OBJECTIVE view of Kenneth's life. The narrator is enforcing the policy of open-mindedness before you judge this (shitty) person for how humans act in intense situations. To fully document Kenneth's mental instabilities, we must go further back into his life.

A young Kenneth sat before an altar. He laid his weight on his calves, the rest on his knees. Before him stood a cloaked figure, speaking words of an old prayer. The words seemed to echo throughout the inner chamber of the temple, but none of them seemed to connect. Kenneth felt his childish body clam up, fear eating its way through his intestines. Kenneth's preacher had already informed him what was going to happen to him, but accepting another soul into his body sounded awful. Already, he had two others floating in and out of his consciousness. He could feel them in the corners of his mind, twitching a finger, wiggling a toe. Adding another one only encouraged his lapses in sanity. Being 13 was already exhausting, his life only continued to stray into darkness.

A sense of urgency clambered its way up Kenneth's spine. Every instinct screamed to flee. Too bad Kenneth couldn't get away. The long manacles jingled around his feet. The head priest moved forward, stroking Kenneth's blonde hair. Brief memories drizzled past his eyes of the priest doing that same move to him two days prior, but in a much worse context. Even though disgust flooded his entire system, it didn't stop the priest from forcing Kenneth to look into his dead eyes. They felt lifeless, like a gutted fish. The eyes were bright red, embers. A juxtaposition of life itself. The priest didn't seem to give a shit about the stares when he cut Kenneth's throat. Huh, that wasn't in the procedure, he thought before blacking out.

The priest's laugh was unfeeling. Once the small child had finally shut up, he waved over some of the brethren to begin the chants. A binding host for the leader of the Devourers of God was the last step to their eternal downfall of Nockfell, at least at first. Once the leader has garnered enough power, and a willing host, the final demon will bring forth the end of humanity. At least, that is what is foretold. When Kenneth Phelps dropped unconscious and bleeding on their ancient floor, the priest could only humor the desperate cull of another one of the whore Phelpses. Within the Devourers of God, the Phelps were notorious for their unwavering support. Once the chants' final words echoed on the steep walls, Kenneth's darling head snapped up, tearing the recently clotted wound. Red flickered in and out of his iris as his head swung drunkenly side-to-side. The priest roughly grabbed at the crown of the boy's head, pulling him closer to inspect his eyes. Long seconds passed as Kenneth's internal struggle continued, but with the finality of strength, Kenneth's dark brown eyes returned and stayed.

Kenneth's head snapped back with the forceful shove, but the result stayed the same. "Fucking useless boy. How dare you deem yourself worthy to lead over a master from hell? Do you know who you are toying with, child? Enjoy constantly fighting for control because you will wish you chose submission." The priest left, mumbling obscenities until they faded into the walls.

Throughout Kenneth's many years, he had wished to submit, but he had met her. Travis's mother, Kenneth's lover. In the senior year of high school, their two families arranged a meeting with the two very new adults. Many speculated that they were perfect for each other. Kenneth, blond, proud, and determined, and Her, submissive, pragmatic, and tender. It was a match made in heaven. She was a strong Latina who loved Kenneth with passion. At the start. The demons in his head hated her, despised and disparaged her because she gave Kenneth another reason to fight, to change. A year after their marriage and sophomore year in college, She was pregnant. She dropped out, Kenneth got a job, and they happily awaited their new child.

The child was not his. After the birth of their first child and the rapid insemination of the second, Kenneth learned about the uncouth helping hands of his wife. He was furious. The first child was given to the Devourers of God as a throw-away, Kenneth waited until the birth of his blood child before she was thrown in a ditch, broken and bleeding. Kenneth does not tolerate lying whores. What Kenneth did not know is that the child's father had recently become a member of DOG.

That brings us to today. Kenneth wakes from his drunken slumber, foggily trying to remember the previous day. His son woke up in a similar state. Kenneth sat up sorely, his hand landing in a puddle of whiskey, He sniffed, that was the good shit. He thumps his head, slowly recollecting his saunter into the church and the strategy meeting for donations. After his rousing dedication was shown, he clomped home and started to drink. And drink. And drink. He does not remember why he drank the way he did if he even needs a reason anymore.

Travis woke up in a more panicked fashion. He woke before the impact of his father's fist struck him. His heart seized in panic and his mind felt fuzzy. His ribs, back, and wrist burned and his eye ached. He couldn't see. Labored breaths bumped his ribs as the feeling of the cloth surrounding him came into focus. He tried to pay attention to the sensation of the wrapped bandages and blankets. And the blindfold. He flushed, wishing he could forget that Sal and Larry had to help him. He needed a hospital, not two teenagers who Might know first aid. The buzz in his brain finally faded as the sound of quiet arguing took over.

"I want an apology. I get it, little dude, I do, but he needs to fucking apologize, I swear on my mother."

"Your mother is a milf, I wouldn't do that, dude." Travis sputtered.

"Hey, man, how ya feelin?" Larry asked, at least, Travis thought it was Larry.

"Fuckin terrible." Larry gasped but held back berating Travis's less-than-holy language. Sal threw him a plastic look and walked closer to Travis. "I need to get a look at your eye, see if we need more professional help."

They did.

Travis barely bobbed his head, readying himself as much as possible for the light. It wasn't enough. The retina still sensed the light, pulling the damaged lens and cornea apart. His eye burned and needled at Sally's distorted prosthetic filled his vision. The two degrees of clarity made his stomach drop. Travis desperately looked for any sign of prognosis from that stupid mask but to no avail. Larry was a bigger help, as he was currently losing last night's dinner in the trash can. Travis watched to retch, but the sensation was empty. You have to eat if you want a satisfying vomit.

"Can you see out of that eye?" Sally Face asked, even as ever.

"Sort of? It is disorienting. Like water across a window. The light burns." Travis's head rolled slightly.

Larry groaned from the corner, leaving for the bathroom. Sal sat back on his haunches, sucking in a deep breath. "We are gonna have to get somebody for this. I am way out of my depth on this. In the meantime, let me check your other injuries."

Travis felt irritation crawling on his skin. How can Sal be so calm about this? His eye is fucked! His dad fucked him up enough to go to the hospital countless times, destroyed, and may be permanently disabled because of him! Travis growled, deep in his throat. "Shut the FUCK UP Sally Face," Travis winced. "Please." His tone ended awkwardly, along with the silence that followed.

Larry effectively destroyed the quiet when the door hit the wall, just to freeze like the pest he was. Travis glared at him, well, the best he could, considering. "Uh anyway bros, I got some granola bars to take down. And we are all gonna eat 'em."

Travis took it ungratefully, moaning at the prospect of eating. Larry rolled his eyes and moved on to Sal. His little dude seemed deep in thought. Their meal was a silent one.

Kenneth stared at his beautiful dining table, slowly picking away at his eggs and fruit. The voices were loud today. His child was not where he left him, which left him reeling. Someone had to know and they would die for that knowledge. Leave it to his disgrace of a son to decimate a carefully built reputation. After the abrupt "leaving" of his wife, he had strived to become powerful in spite. The ritual would have to commence sooner than planned. If word got out, officially at least, that Kenneth Phelps beat his son, he would be put in quite a tough spot. How could he cover the death of two people? Kenneth thought he had taught Travis better than that, but someone so loose-lipped warranted a more forceful action. Kenneth hummed quietly, he knew a good candidate.

Travis's visit to the hospital was an eventful one. The doctor had to schedule an ocularist and evisceration, leaving Travis with no idea how he would afford it. He was a rich kid, sure, but having thousands laying on hand wasn't exactly a possibility for him. Sally Face and Larry waited with him, carefully taking notes on how to care for a broken intraocular lens. Sal noted with irritation how little the medical staff had asked about the cause. Of course, the nurses of Nockfell don't care. Travis had gone quiet, eye downcast. The white bandages across his face made his skin look more gray, or maybe that was just him. "I have to go back, don't I?" Sal and Larry stared at him in disbelief.

"Like fuckin hell you are, dumb bastard!" Larry piped up first, making Travis flinch at his overbearing and sharp tone. Sal quickly followed him, softer, "Travis, you could have been killed, maybe you still will."

"What is the plan then? How do you wanna scrape up three thousand dollars and get me there? This isn't just a couple of dollars and days, guys. He will find me, then you. At the end of the day, he is my guardian." Travis felt defeated, exhausted truly.

Sal and Larry looked furious. So did Kenneth. The atmosphere changed rapidly with the presence of the pastor. "So, you are the boys my Trav has been disappearing with?" His eyes scanned them, dark and fuming, "Would you boys mind if I had a word with my son before I take him home?"

The question loomed over the room, leaving an air of helplessness and finality; Larry snarled as he walked away with Sal. "Bye, blondie," echoed through the stagnant walls.

Travis met his father's eyes with trepidation, questions shaping his frame. Kenneth smiled down at his kin, teeth bared and eyes burning. The tension was palpable, twisting between the two opposing forces; Travis didn't know the last time he breathed. "What do those two faggots know, you trembling imbecile of scum?" His clean hands gripped Travis's jaw forcefully, borderline painful.

"Nothing, sir. I told them nothing. I asked one of them to meet me at the hospital and the other one came with him. They only saw my damaged eye. I am sorry, sir," he felt his throat tighten with panic, "I'm sorry, sir."

Kenneth took a lengthy moment judging his son's answer. Even though it was possible, he weighed his options. Could he afford to dispose of four bodies? He released the grip on Travis's face and stepped away. "I'm going to go get you discharged, and when you leave, you will smile up at me occasionally and lean into me. Is that clear?" Travis's worry lines deepened.

"Yes, sir."

When they arrived, Kenneth closed the door delicately, switching the lock and holding Travis's shoulder in a bruising grip. "Travis, you are a sinner, correct?" He felt his son shiver.

"Yes, sir."

"We are gonna go to the confessionals, Travis, and you will give your sins to the Lord. Understood?"

"Yes, sir."

Kenneth chuckled darkly, "You sound like a broken record, boy. Is there anything you want to say to your old man?"

"No, sir." Kenneth laughed fully this time, tight and deranged.

"We are going. Walk in front of me, lad."

How many times had Travis seen this booth? How many times had he begged God to absolve the way he felt, the filth that had become his life. Kenneth settled into his chamber, finally relaxing into his well-practiced role. Travis sighed before beginning. "Bless me, Father, for I have sinned. My last confession was a week ago and these are my sins. I have sinned against God by being ashamed and distracted by others. I have sinned against others by being angry, deceitful, obscene, impure, and proud. I am sorry for all of these sins, and for any that I cannot now remember."

"You will receive your penance later." Travis's head whipped to the side. What did his father mean? His father had never allowed him to receive penance on a later date. Travis breathed in quickly, "O my God, because you are so good, I am very sorry that I have sinned against you, and by the help of your grace, I will not sin again. Amen."

"Good work, Travis. Before you are freed, I must confess my own sins. May God have mercy on me."

Travis sat back, bewildered. What was his father playing at? Both of them knew this was not correct. "I beg forgiveness for the sins I will commit. I beg forgiveness for the death of Travis's mother, the work that proceeded, and the future I will create. I beg forgiveness for the detainment of Philip. I am sorry for my sins. I will repent later. My God and His grace, I beg forgiveness and by the help of your holiness, I will not sin again. Amen."

"God the Father of mercies, through the death and resurrection of His Son, has reconciled the world to Himself and sent the Holy Spirit among us for the forgiveness of sins. Through the ministry of the Church, may God give your pardon and peace, and I absolve you from your sins in the name of the Son and of the Holy Spirit. Amen." Kenneth jumped up, opening his side and throwing open Travis's door.

Travis startled at the sudden light, his muscles locking. "Come, Travis, let's go home." Kenneth's voice was heavy with emotion, but Travis had no idea which one it was.

Travis automatically made his way to the kitchen, starting to pull out ingredients for a simple lunch. Kenneth sat at the bar, watching his son bustle around the kitchen. So much like her. He doesn't remember when Travis had become such a domestic pussy, but it makes him laugh under his breath. "Son, how have you been impure?"

Travis stilled, eyes widening and face flushing. "I am not sure what you mean, father."

"SIR!" He corrected, but Kenneth was already out of his seat. He tsked, a slap sounding throughout the kitchen.

"And I thought only your mother was a slut. Tell me, boy, what have you done? And with who? Some bitch? To think my blood is so lowly, so weak, and lying to my face. So help me God if you do not answer me honestly." Kenneth rumbled, watching his son begin to cower away from him.

"I-I never...I am sorry, Sir! Please, stop." A nimble slap had his teeth rattling, "I- ...Ph-Philip."

Kenneth saw red. "My son isn't a faggot and God is going to teach you that. Submit."

Travis felt all of the air leave his lungs as he cascaded to the floor, back and bandages exposed. Travis heard the crunch before he felt it. In milliseconds, his position changed as he curled to the side, holding his now broken ankle. Gasping sobs fell of deaf ears as Kenneth picked up his lunch and went to his study.