Legacy of the Sabretooth

The scene descended into awkwardness, but from a personal standpoint, Victor found it darkly amusing.

After all, the man who had beaten and imprisoned him daily now flopped on the floor like a suffocating carp, gasping for air. Victor felt a twisted satisfaction. For a moment, he considered letting Old Clyde choke to death—sparing himself the moral dilemma of patricide.

Yet Victor ultimately intervened. He hoisted his father onto the table facedown, pinned him with one hand, and delivered a forceful slap to his back.

Thwack!

The lodged pie chunk flew out. Old Clyde clutched his throat, wheezing like a beached salmon. Though saved, Victor had no intention of forgiving a year of torment.

As Old Clyde staggered upright, a small but powerful fist smashed into his face.

Crack!

The unprepared man crumpled. Victor pounced, straddling him.

"You'll pay for everything, Father!"

Fists rained down, turning Old Clyde's face into a bloody pulp. Just as Victor raised a meat hook for the final blow, Mrs. Clyde's scream froze the room.

"No! Victor! You can't kill him!"

The shout snapped Victor back to clarity—a lapse Old Clyde exploited by hurling him across the room.

As father and son prepared to clash again, Mrs. Clyde threw herself between them.

"Stop! If you must fight to the death, kill me first! I won't lose either of you!"

Old Clyde hesitated. Though Victor's intrusion had nearly killed him, the boy had also saved him. The basement chains were useless now. Victor's restraint, meanwhile, stemmed from Mrs. Clyde's unwavering kindness—a mother's love that mirrored memories of his own parents from a past life.

Before transmigration, "Wei Ke" had been a filial son from a poor family. His parents sacrificed everything for him, and he'd vowed to repay them through success. Now, robbed of that chance, he clung to Mrs. Clyde's fearful yet persistent care. The original Victor's happy childhood memories—of a father's pride and a brother's laughter—only deepened this resolve.

"I'm still your son," Victor growled. "But the beast you helped create is gone. Thanks to her." He nodded at Mrs. Clyde.

Old Clyde eyed him warily. "Demon or boy—which are you?"

"Your son survived becoming a monster because of his mother. Maybe you should've trusted that sooner."

"...I'll be watching. Hurt anyone, and I'll send you to Hell myself."

"Noted. Now, Mom—I'm starving."

Mrs. Clyde wept with relief as she hurried to the kitchen. Left alone, the two men warily cleaned the wrecked dining room—chairs righted, shattered plates swept. Suspicion lingered, but the killing intent had faded.

Dinner passed in tense civility. Victor devoured his favorite fruit pie while Mrs. Clyde fussily wiped his chin. Old Clyde ate mechanically, never fully lowering his guard.

Later, Victor shocked them by requesting to remain in the basement. "Feels like home now."

The truth? He needed space to train without endangering others. Old Clyde approved—he'd never fully trust this sharp-toothed, self-healing version of his son. A compromise was struck: Victor could roam freely under supervision, but nights would still be spent below.

Mrs. Clyde hid her heartache. Even after tragedy and madness, a mother's love endured. In the original timeline, the feral Victor still cared for her until her death. Now, her compassion had reignited hope—a fragile truce between father and son.

Rebuilding trust would take time. But as the family retired that night—Victor to his modified cellar, the Clyde to their guarded bedroom—the impossible had happened:

A broken home had begun to mend.