The Summoner ( Highschool dxd x male reader x Warhammer40k )

Chapter 2

WARNING: This chapter will contain a large section of neglect, I do not I repeat do not condone this parental relationship, neither have I experienced nor seen it. This is not me taking the mick out of situations that can happen like these in the real world.

Last Time:

The only thing I could feel was the slap that my Dad just gave me!

Chapter 2

Time skip 1 year

Location: Hell (Same house as last time)

Y/N's POV

My Dad had chucked me into my room. Me the six-year-old boy just got thrown into his room by my Dad. I quickly got on my bed and wept with my face buried beneath my pillow not understanding what or why this was happening. 

I didn't dare leave my room in fear of being hit. It turns out that as my Dad dropped off my daily meal and drink it turns out that he saw something about my eyes "glowing" Pfft yeah right and then summoning that weird ravenous crustacean. Okay, now that was strange. 

Time skip 1 week 

No one's POV 

Y/N was there lying on the cold, dirty, and splinter-filled floor of the attic, the change in the young boy's face was so drastic that if you put a photo of before and current together you would call them to separate boys. Y/N had only one emotion painted on his face and that was anger. This is because between when his Mum had died by his indirect hands his Dad had already "conveniently" found another love of his life, but Y/N had overheard them talking about how his bitch of a Mum is now gone and they can have their relationship out in the open finally. It turns out that they had been together 2 years before Y/N's Mum and 'Dad' had him.  

Y/N: I'll kill both of them watch me I'll avenge my Mum's name and forever stop them from sullying her name again. I'll tear their throats out and once I gain more power I'll murder both of them in her name and escape this hell hole.

At this moment Y/N hadn't seen daylight in years and had become pale and his hair had become oily and long. His face was gaunt and the cheekbones were his most defining feature out of this whole appearance. His hand was covered in scratches and splinters that were up to a centimeter thick from the wooden floor. 

Time skip to 3 months later

Y/N had kept on hearing this distorted voice in his head at first he had thought he was going insane from lack of interaction and the little amount of food and water. It also turns out that the whore and douche bag of a Dad had their own Son to supposedly replace Y/N and they had the gall to name after Y/N and call it N/N. 

At this point, Y/N is seething with anger that he has started listening to the distorted voice inside of his head.

???: T̶̠̺̝̻̟͍̫̼̳͎̱̺͎͍̓̉́͜ŕ̸̢̛̖͉͙̮͓̘̰͙̣͔̻̪̪͕̂̔͐̌̈́̔̋̄͂̀͝ȃ̶̱̪̠͐̇̇͆̽̀ĩ̶̛̖͍͎̟͈̘͙̙̞͍̹̻͍̓̌͊̇̆͊͂͘n̶̖͑̾͑̄̊ ̷̢̢̦͓͙͙̭̭͍͔̟̄͆̅̐̏͆̋̆͠ͅm̸̡̡̼̪̯͖̳̭͍̿̆̑͋͛̊͊a̸̱͍̔̊̈́̓̂̉̍͛͆̃s̴̛̛͍̖̺̪̀̈́̍̿̓̊͆͑̊̆̓̒̐t̵̢̢͍̱̺͍̳̗̣̬̹̻̗̱̽̽̽̏̀̾̍̓́͆̔͐̚̕̚e̶̢͈̹̻̬͙̳̔́ȓ̷̥̏͆͗̎̋̅̐̚͜,̴̫̟̥̃̈́͊͋̈̊̊̚ ̸͓͍̗͔̰̖̹̖͕͙̮̺̫̏̇̎̾̈͒̋͑̒̐̊̇̈́͜͝t̸̡̤͖̦̭̥̬͓̮͎̲͊͗͐͑̍͑̀͛̽̍̏ŗ̷̥̳͕̟̗̯̃͋͐̄͛͠͝ä̶̢̳͎̰̟̘̘̰̉̃̄̑̄͊́͜͠ḯ̷̧̗͖̙̰͕͍̒͂͛̂̒̓̃̉̇̾͑̚n̷̡̗̣̯͉͖̠̻̬̳̦̈́͋͗́͋̾̂̐̑̅̀̾́́͜͠ ̶͕̖̪̰̼̗̦̭̖̠̮̊̀̽̄̒̓͐́̐̓̄͑͒͘͠s̴͈̙̯͖̻̈̌͊͘ͅo̸̙͒̇̎ ̶̢̙̗̯̄̒͋̄͐̊͛̽̕ṱ̵̞͕̫̱̼͚͇̌͛͌͛̅̾̓͊͆̃̍ḩ̸̝̹̣̻͓̻͖͙͈̳̥͛a̵͇̫̩̤͕̰̟̓̌̄͊͛́́͂͋̅̑̀̋t̷̥̣̮̰̥̥͛̇̍̈́̓͊̿͠ ̸̧͙̘̰̖̜̼̩̻͈̭̘̅̐̒̋͘o̵̭̜̹̹͍͉̯͈̼͖̮̭͇͋̇͜͠n̵͕̤͓̗͍̫̾͐̔̍ͅē̶̹͖̿͘ ̵̻̝̓̅̓̿̓̇̆̏̔ḍ̶̼̭̜̙̤̗̤̬̮̝͔̝͋̋a̴͚̒̍̀́̍̾̄̅̎̄͑͊͘͠ÿ̵̧̛̳͖̘̻͇̾̊̈́̾̂̐̈́͝ ̵̨̘̝̠̭̰͇͈̮͐̄y̶͍͚̣̙̝͆o̸̮͍̔͂̈́̀̈͐́̒̀͑̉͋͠ů̵̟̠̘̭̙̳̗ ̶̧̮̱̲̬̖͉͈̀̀̽̇̅̉͝͝͝w̶̻̙̫̺̘͇̿͑̓̔͜i̷̢͈̩͓̞͚̼͙̎͘͜͠l̸̢̛̟̯̬͔̳͎̈́̽̇͊l̶̝̰̤͖̥̫̘̥͔̲̉̔́̀̒ ̶̩͉̮̱̼͉͔̤̼͔̣͔̲̀̔̎͌̈́͌̌͆̉̈͜͝b̵̧̛͓͈̠̣͚̗͉̗͖̤̣͕̤̀͗̓̓̈́̀͂̌̒̃͜͝ę̷͖͙̪͙̅̓́̔̂̾̊͌̽̌̌̓ ̵̜̠̂̄͑͑̐̓͠͠ą̶̡͈̪̫͍̪̼̯̞͐́͂̂́b̵̠͍̗̞͖̬͔͈͛̿̏̾̀̀͊̕͜l̶̙̻͓͓̲̞͇̏͋̅͒̓̏̏͗̎̕ȩ̶͕̠̹̰̗͕̗̘̰̐̾͒͐͂̄̾̓͗̈́͊̏͜ ̸̟̣͌t̵̳̱̜̄̄̐̍͜o̶̡̨͍̟̫̬̤͖̙̮̝̳̫̤̖̽͑̂̈́̌̄͑ ̷̧̨̙͑̓̐̌̌́͠k̶̢̞̦̦̺̹̱̥̩̩̰̳̺̰̬̓̾̒͝i̸̡͎̞̣̗̯̒̒̃̀͊́͌͗͝l̷̡̘̮̪͍̞̩̞͑͒̃͗̚ͅl̸̢͔͖͙̜̙̟̫͚̃̀̐ ̵̛̹̇́́̈́͋̇͊̔̕͠͝͠͝͝a̶̰̺̳̋͐̇͋̆̃͐̕ͅl̶̢̛̬̻̟̙̮̱̼̖̘͎̰̤̟͐̀͐̈́͑̍̽̔̐͜l̴̢͚̹̞̭̺̝̯͈͈̣̻͔̱̓͊̾͂͛̀ ̸̡̦̥̤̜̩̝̟̩̆̔̿̇̋͗͌̀t̷͖̆̓̆̆͝ͅͅh̶̥͗̈́o̸̢̭̳͗̽̐̀̂̂̂̐͜͝͝s̴̥͍̥̰͇̩͗ȩ̶͎̙͖̰̥͕̝͎͖̮͎͑͗̾́̓̈̕͘ ̵̟̼̗̙̬͉͓̮̰̹̜̪̫̖̉͊͗̉̐̀̽ͅw̴͕̝̜̉͒͛̿h̷͚̬̱̯͍̖̀̄̇̏̇̑̃͘o̵̲͎̺̪͕͘ ̶̨̨̢̢̼̝͔̹̖͇̘͎̪́̉͋̐̉͌ͅͅö̴̡̺̦̬́͑̈͗͗̑̊͆p̸͖̺͙͎̃͂̐͐̌̄͒͋͌͛͛͘ṗ̵̢̝̫͓̳̙̳͉͇̫͕͍̼̾̚o̶̻͑̆̉̀̄̇̂̉̿̍̇̕͠s̴̝̻̤̼̤̙̳͙̈͐̀̆͂͝e̷̙͚͔̰̲̱̳̰̲͈̩̦̙̎̀͋̈́̚͝ͅ ̷̙̬̭̜͎͉̬͇̘̹̲̖͉̦̈̂̏̌̆́̏̓̈́̂̃̕͜͝͝y̶̥͛̏̐̐̅́̐͑̕o̵̤̠̱͕̽͋͗͐̄͘u̶̼̲̙͇̬̣̦̅̐̒̀̄̈͑̕͝ͅ ̸̰̥̜͓͖̹̟͉̭͓̾͛͘͜͝ǎ̶̮̥̺̭̯̭͖̳̺̘̪̔̎͛̎͌̕͝͠n̷̞̗̏͗͌͒͐̚̚͝d̸̨̧̢̛̤͖̘̍̈̓̾̾̈́̒̅̓̈́͗́̈̕ ̷͎͚̪͔̱͖͔͖̥̙̇̄ͅt̷̨̛̫̳̻͇̺̂̆̀́̒ṛ̶͆̃̍u̶̧̩̘̳̹͙̐͂̎s̸͚̋̍̈́͂̋̕͠t̷̡͚͙̤́͛̐͛̑͌̀̔͛͗̃͝͝ ̴̗͐̌̂̃̉͐n̶̻̟̘̙͎̖̻̝̲͕̳̰̎̋̋̎̓̔̔͛̊̂̀̐̊̋͝ǫ̷̧͓̣̗͓̣̥͙̜̟͇̺̮̈́͐̊̏̀̄̾̽͋̚̚͝ ̶̡̥̞̱̪̘͚̞͕̯̫̭͎̏̈͛̐̅̅͠ớ̸̲̙͉̿̈́͑͐̏̀̃n̵̨͉̼̝̜̳̠̳̺͍͇̿͆̀̓̎̊̀̆́́̈́͘͘̕͜e̸͙̓̅̔̍͒̈̂̎͋͘.̷̦̳͙̟̤̞̰͊͝ͅ