(Old Version) The Blood of the Covenant

Chapter One: Matthew

Matthew hated the city, and for completely understandable reasons. It was dirty, dismal, and swarming with pigeons and rats. It was also dangerous, dark, and teeming with vandals, murderers, and villains.

But that wasn't why he hated it.

As a naive, sheltered boy of only twelve, the city of Amberchase was once something from a nightmare. It was a place where children, like him, couldn't play outside without their parents hovering over them diligently. It was a place where people disappeared in the blink of an eye, dragged into the shadows and never to be found again. It was a place of violence, muddied by the warfare between good and evil. Heroes and villains. Light and dark.

But now, at the age of fifteen, nothing about Amberchase seemed so frightening anymore.

War reigned in the streets; on top of buildings, tucked in the corners of alleyways, and pretty much anywhere in the open. Blood was spilled, bones were broken, and scars were given. Unfortunately, Matthew had grown accustomed to the city's darling qualities. But that didn't mean he hated it any less.

That would never change.

It was a gloomy afternoon--or at least he assumed it was the afternoon. It was impossible to see the sun buried under a blanket of thick, grey clouds. Cars rushed by, spraying muck on the civilians that commuted to their daily, dull lives. Stray cats dug through nearby dumpsters, hissing and scurrying away as soon as they spotted Matthew, who was sitting on the lid of one. He just watched them with hollow eyes, feeling absolutely miserable in the layer of gore makeup that coated his pale face.

"You see the world in black and white," he sang. "No color or life. You think you'll never get it right. But you're wrong, you might."

Matthew had loved Coldplay since he was twelve. In fact, he had almost perfectly memorized all of their songs. So, he had picked the song 'Low' to sing as he waited for motivation to magically arrive, feeling it fit his current situation.

He knew he had to get this assignment over with, but he was procrastinating severely. The sooner it was over, the sooner he'd return back to his boss's grand estate at the furthermost edges of the city: a pristine nineteenth-century colonial that radiated a sickening feeling. Just looking at it gave him a constant reminder of what he was: a villain's obedient little servant.

Nothing more, nothing less.

Maybe less, actually.

Matthew sighed loudly and forced himself off the lid of the dumpster, landing in a puddle of shining oil. He muttered a curse under his breath and glanced down at his shoes, instantly regretting wearing his favorite pair of red converse to this assignment. However, in the process, Matthew caught a glimpse of the stranger that was looking back at him. He could hardly recognize himself through the layer of faux blood coating his forehead, the deep bags under his eyes, and the hollowness of his cheeks. It was fake, of course, but believable.

Definitely believable.

Every time he came here for an assignment, the more he hated the fact that his makeup art improved, that he grew more accustomed to the city life, and that he needed to return to his boss successful. He hated that every day he grew further and further from the life of a hero that he wanted, and more towards the life of a villain. And there was no way he could avoid it. He was trapped. Just like the innocent heroes that his boss so desperately wanted him to retrieve would be. 

Matthew stuffed his hands in his pockets and followed the noise out into the busy street. The passersby that walked by barely paid any attention to him, glued to their phones, but occasionally someone would look up, frown, and shake their head. However, people's obliviousness gave him the advantage. The less the civilians were expecting it, the more havoc it created, and the better chance his little ruse could lure a naive hero into his trap.