Johann Strauss was born to a prostitute, who lived in one of the many whorehouses in the city of Concor, capital of the Kingdom of Concorro. As a child, he grew up with dreams of living a successful life, taking care of his mother, and maybe even raising his own family in a small house outside the city. He knew it would be difficult, but he wanted to try regardless if only to prove his pessimistic mother wrong.

As he grew up, he began to learn. He learned how to earn money through street games and scams and theft. He scavenged through the garbage and brought home books and scrolls to teach himself how to read and write. He learned how to act and speak in a way that made others pity him enough to give him spare change.

He made acquaintances (no friends for there was no friendship to be found in the streets), made enemies (desperation was motive enough to drive anyone to do something stupid), found love (it wasn’t a crush god fucking damn it!), and a hundred and one other things besides.

He also learned that innocence was a fool’s word. And that he was better off without it.

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When he was twelve years old, Johann Strauss took his first life.

He had been part of a gang at the time, a polite term for a group of street urchin. The motley ensemble was led by a particular piece of work, with the inability to accept failure and a sword sharp enough that no-one dared cross or defy his commands. Under his leadership, the ‘gang’ had made a plan to rob the Adventurer’s Guild, seizing the monthly gold earnings just as it was to be transported in the late hours of the night and making off with it before any of the Adventurers could rally and put up a fight.

Turns out several dozen underfed, under equipped street urchins were nowhere near enough to take on a dozen men and women armed with monster-slaying weapons and had decades of battle experience.

Johann saw his ‘gang’ members slaughtered to the last, the pleading cries of the dying silenced with firm stomps to their head. He only had a dagger to him name at the time, an old thing that was more rust than actual steel. He abandoned his post as a ‘distraction’ ran for one of the carriages transporting the gold, stuffed his pockets with as much as they could carry, and fled.

Or, at least, tried to. Someone grabbed his arm.

“Where do you think you’re—“

The voice sounded familiar, but it was distant and muted. A whisper compared to the screams of the dead and dying and the sound of his blood rushing through his ears. He turned without looking, and brought his knife down on the hand stopping him from escaping. The hand let go and Johann ran as fast as his legs could carry him.

He ran and ran and ran and ran and ran until the screams became distant whispers and his lung burned from effort. He ran through the late night crowd, who were drawn to the mess at the Guild like moths to a flame and grew in number with every passing second.

He ducked into several alleys and took as many turns as he could before diving into a ramshackle tent. One of many that lined the various back alleys of Concor. It was home to the homeless and dispirited. The broke and broken of the Concorro. Unfortunates who didn’t have the resources or ability to make a living of their own.

His entrance into the tent awoke its occupant; a girl, about his age, with matted hair and dull eyes and pasty skin dressed in rags that might have been mistaken for clothes. She blinked a few times at his sudden appearance through the fog of sleep, trying to see or comprehend what was happening to her in the dark confines of her home. Then her senses came to her and she opened her mouth to scream.

Heart pounding in his ears and fear gripping his heart like a vice, Johann leapt for her and backhanded her face.

She fell on her front, scream cut short and a sob coming out in its place. He sat on her back, wrapped both hands over where he thought her mouth and nose were, and squeezed.

“Shh.” He begged. “Be quiet.”

The girl fought back, struggled. But her frame was skinny and weak while Johann’s was built from hardship. He was stronger than her, heavier, and his strength was amplified by the fear being caught and killed like the other of his little merry gang. She couldn’t escape.

“Please.” Johann begged again. “J-Just stay quiet, a-and I promise—“

Footsteps. Heavy with slight jingling of metal on metal. Johann fell quiet and squeezed the girl under him tighter, determined to keep her from giving him away through whimpers or cries for help.

“Did you find him?” a voice asked, young but gruff.

“No.” a second voice answered, unmistakably female. “Witnesses said he went in here.”

“Couldn’t have gone far. Should we check the tents?” the first voice asked. Johann’s heart leapt to his throat and his grip on the girl under him tightened.

“If he’s in one of them, then the people inside would’ve said something already wouldn’t they?” the second rebutted. “No beggar would let some random bloodstained kid in their tent if they could help it.”

“But he’s got gold. He could’ve paid them.” The first protested.

“But would he? A kid’s that desperate enough to steal from the Guild wouldn’t be stupid enough to pay a beggar to keep quiet.” He second scoffed. “He’s probably wading in the sewers or something by now. Probably even turned into rat chow.”

“The old bastard’s gonna have our heads if we don’t get the gold back.” The first grumbled.

“What’s with you? It’s just gold. We can replace it with ours later.” The second pauses. “Unless…”

“Shut up.”

“Oh Gods, the brat got you?” the second laughed. “I can’t believe this; a Silver-rank like you got cut by a street urchin? Show me.”

“Fuck you.” The first curses, walking away. “C’mon, let’s get outta here.”

“Don’t be a pussy bitch, show me the cut!” the second laughs, trailing after. “Matt’s going to lap this up…”

Johann waited for a full two minutes, listening to the sounds of his breathing and the pounding of his fearful heart. He counts to a thousand, and then a thousand more just to be safe. Then he lets out the breath he’s been holding and slumps to the ground, on the girl he sat on, the relief too much for him to bear. He feels a lot of things then; joy, awe, insanity. He wants to jump around screaming and crumple to the ground crying. He wants to go straight home and sleep off the fatigue in his arms. He wants to eat, a proper solid meal rather than the gruel and slops his mother hands him for dinner.

Then he remembers the girl he kept quiet.

He scrambles away, every positive emotion that was festering in his heart disappearing in an instant. He stares at her, notes how he chest isn’t rising or falling, or how he can’t seem to hear her breathe.

He reaches out with a hand and pokes her calf. She doesn’t respond.

He pinches her thigh. She doesn’t respond.

Taking a deep breath, he flips her to her back and stares at the corpse strewn in front of him.

His vision had adjusted to the low light after some time in the dark and he made out several features on her that he missed. She had long brown hair and dull green eyes at reminded him of a forest. The right side of her face sported an ugly bruise that was beginning to form, but if he ignored it then he could have said that she looked pretty. Her clothes had shifted in her struggles, revealing a developing chest with bright pink nipples. Her skirt had ridden up to her thighs, and Johann caught a glimpse of her young womanhood under it.

He didn’t know what made him do it, but he reaches out with a shaking hand to caress the corpse’s thigh. He felt the skin, soft and plump under his calloused hands, and noted how they were still warm. He didn’t think when his treacherous hand wanders higher, under the skirt and brushing against the girl’s womanhood.

It felt wet.

Johann—no, the thing that was Johann grew bolder, reaching higher under the dead girl’s dress-rags to grope at what lay beneath; more soft and supple skin, several small scars, defined ribs and hipbones. His hands reached the corpse’s chest and found that the dress-rags were keeping him from going further. He growled and tore the cloth scraps, revealing the entirety of the corpse to his hungry eyes.

Her body was too healthy to have been a mere street urchin. Her flesh too plump and soft to be a born on the streets. The child of a disgraced noble, then. Such a person winding up on the streets weren’t uncommon; noble families rose and fell like the tide, there one moment and gone the next. Sometimes, these families make heirs, and those heirs only ever manage to enjoy a fraction of luxury before being thrown out into the harsh world beyond their manor walls. Sometimes, those heirs survive their life on the streets to claw their way back into nobility. Most of the time, they die alone and forgotten, like the girl Johann was violating.

The world fell away, leaving behind only Johann, the tent he was in, and the dead body he was violating. Her flesh was warm and unyielding, plump and ripe like fresh fruit in the market. He kissed her, and tasted faint vanilla and tangy cinnamon. He smelled, luxuriating in her scent and devouring it like a starving dog. He felt his manhood harden to life, brushing against the dead girl’s womanhood.

Johann twitched, and grabbed his throbbing member with a shaking hand. Something deep in him spurred him, made him move, made him want. He guided it to the dead girl’s entrance and thrust his hips forward.

He felt warm and wet and glorious. He felt alive and let out a deep moan to signify it. He felt the unyielding meat below him wrap around his member in a soft embrace, felt every inch of it undulating to his every move and twitch, felt something hot pool in his balls and shooting out--

Euphoria.

He fell on the corpse, spent and panting. He stared into its dull eyes, felt himself harden to life yet again as a familiar fire settled in the pit of his stomach. He began to move again, thrusting against, hiis gaze never straying from that pair of dead eyes that gazed blankly back.

If his mother asks, then he could always say that he got a little too caught up in his 'gang's plans and wound up sleeping on the streets.

She wouldn't need to know about the corpse he spent hours fucking.