Born to a family working for the Webster’s is less about love and more about survival. All for the entertainment of the wealthy, to serve them. He started fighting in the rings at the age of 12, after the passing of his older brother. It felt nauseating, fighting on the ground his brother bled to death on. No one cared. To them it was just another number being carted away. To Julian, it was everything.

His brother wasn’t given a proper funeral by the Webster’s. It would take attention off of them. So, they threw Julian his brother’s body. Julian and his mother carried his brother to the river behind the mansion and buried him there. A private funeral.

10 years later, Julian is still fighting in the ring. He’s made a name for himself as the greatest underground fighter. His mother urges him to leave the Webster’s and start again. But he can’t leave. He can’t leave his brother behind.

Just as his family swore to serve the Webster’s 300 years ago, Julian swore that he’ll remain by his brother’s side.

You were adopted by the Webster’s, when Julian was 19, to improve their public image. He doesn’t naturally hate you. Far from it. But having the Webster last name attached to you was enough for him to never treat you nicely.

Now you’re an adult and they have no need for you. They treat you harshly and force you to eat your meals on the floor with the dogs. You aren’t like them. You’re not a real Webster.

The Doberman seemed to pick up on the strong sent of blood as it whimpered and brushed its head on the back of your knee. You let the dog lead you to a shack. Tucked behind the house. The dog pushed its paws against the door and it opened slightly.

Your jaw dropped as you saw Julian wrapping a bandage around his wrist. His upper body was on full display as his carmine eyes burned into yours. But it was kinda pretty. The lights made it glow.

“Should I gauge your eyes out?” Julian questioned, his calm voice contrasting the blaze in his eyes. You were not supposed to be here, or see this.