(Old Version) The Blood of the Covenant

Chapter Two: Micah

Micah Pierce was seeing stars.

Somehow.

He laid in a crumpled heap on the damp ground, watching sparks of light dance behind his tightly-shut eyelids as he waited for his head to stop spinning. But judging by the way his temple throbbed so incessantly, that wasn't going to happen anytime soon. He was doomed to a sleepless night of dizziness. But this wasn't a pleasant kind of dizzy. This was miserable, nauseating disorientation.

He didn't know how long he'd been laying here. He just knew it had been long enough that the sun had gone down. No longer could he feel its heat, meager as it had been throughout the day. The musty city air wrapped around him like a cold, wet blanket of pure discomfort. It was salt in his wounds, really. He was already aching from head to toe, his head throbbing in time with the beating of his heart. Bloodied and bruised, the moist chill of the air was just another thing to make his night so... memorable.

Not that he'd likely actually remember much of it. The blow that he'd taken to the head... that had been a nasty one.

He never should've gotten into that fight. But he couldn't help it. He was going stir-crazy, and that man just hadn't been able to keep his mouth shut about things he clearly didn't understand. The things he'd said... Micah wasn't the kind of guy to take that talk sitting down. If only he'd realized ahead of time that the man had had a posse of friends to back him up once Micah had gotten the upper hand. Once they'd jumped in, it was over. Micah could only do so much against more than half a dozen angry grown men.

When they were done with him, they'd dumped him here. Wherever here was. All he could sense was filthy ground under his palms and feel the soft night breeze as it funneled through the buildings on each side of him. An alley or side-street of some kind, he assumed. The perfect place to accumulate infections in the cuts he'd collected in his beating.

His sister was going to kill him.

That particular thought pierced clear through the haze that hung over his pain-addled mind. Maybe he'd just been beaten black and blue by a handful of thugs, but that was nothing compared to the earful he'd get from his beloved sister once he got back home so late, looking the way he did. Judging by the way he felt right now, he was sure he looked like hell. She'd have a horde of questions that he couldn't really answer, and that would only make things worse.

He pressed his hands into the ground, pushing up to knees. He winced as sore muscles twinged at the movement. God, he hurt. He was such an idiot. He sat back on his heels, squeezing his eyes shut as his head whirled with vertigo. He carefully probed at the knot that had swelled at his temple, wondering just how bad it was. He hissed as a stinging sensation lanced through his scalp. There was no way he wasn't concussed. Even an idiot could figure that out at this point.

He dropped his hand from his head to his hoodie pocket. Nothing. Then to the pockets of his pants. Still nothing. He clenched his jaw, frustration and anger coursing through him. They'd taken his phone. Of course they had. What a bunch of assholes.

He'd just gotten a new one. But it wasn't like it had been an expensive brand, one actually worth stealing. He'd learned that lesson over the years. No expensive phones for him, not when he broke them so often. Had they really just taken his phone out of spite? He hoped he never ran into them again. Not for his sake, but for theirs. He'd been off his game today. But next time, he'd show them just who they'd messed with.

He snorted at the thought, shaking his head. He never learned, did he? That was exactly the kind of thinking that had gotten him into this mess.

There was no point in indulging in such vengeful fantasies right now, anyways. He was easy prey to any two-bit pickpocket or mugger right now. He needed to get off the streets. He needed to get back home before he landed in trouble he couldn't get himself out of.