The Boy of the Bounty

Chapter One

Clypher stood erect above a boy, about the age of fifteen, staring into his open, yet unconscious looking eyes; those piercing, horrid violet eyes. That's all he saw in him, eyes. They focused on his soul, pierced through it. Those defiant eyes that seemed to make him somehow shake violently. But how could he resist? How could he not stare? He could feel the hot red blood coursing through his veins, his heart beating rapidly. He could recall perfectly what had just happened, but with uncertainty that it was actually real. Those things, those eyes, he felt as if they would rip him apart before he lived to tell the tale, but it was him. He had to bring him back to his house quickly. He crouched down beside him, having second thoughts of doing such an appalling task. He touched his hand on the ripped part of clothing beside the boy and revealed a name. It couldn't be his name; it was too short to be. He shook his head in denial, why did it have to be him? Memories rushed back and flooded his head with that boy and the moments before.

-------------------- Flashback ----------------

"Are you ready to leave?" A voice echoed from behind the corner. It sounded friendly enough, but Clypher was watching the whole thing happen from around the corner. They weren't aware he was peering out of it quietly when the event was taking place. "Leave me alone!" A girl shouted. She was struggling to get away from his unyielding grasp. "Are you ready to go, girl?" His raspy voice repeated. "No!" She shrieked, kicking and trying to grab at his throat. Red ringlets of her hair fell in front of her eyes, making it harder to see. Clypher was about to help when the sound of boots walking on the cemented ground stopped him. "Stop," his voice commanded. It was dead cold with authority. He gripped a sword tightly in his right hand, but it resembled nothing of what he had seen over the years; Clypher was completely amazed. The sword glistened in the moonlight, the two sharp points at the end almost resembling a key, but clearly was not. It was meant to kill, meant to rip apart anything thrown at it. It was shaped like a pole, but sharper than one, more elegant than one. The smooth exterior was more than just for showing off, though, and you could clearly see that just by glancing at it. Not only was the blade quaint and beautiful, but the hilt as well. It resembled a cracked heart with very interesting colors smudged together. Dark blue and dark pink, with a little smudge of black for good measure. The handle was like a scepter's, thin, cold, and heart shaped, but without the middle. Just the outline of the essence of a heart, but darker yet. A black wing was attached to each the left and right sides. And below, there was another stud of the hilt, the painful end of it. A complete stone of a black heart oscillated with the sword's movements, connected by a light weight silver chain. "Hm?" The sound rubbed on the inside of his lips as he let go of the screaming girl. With a few tears welling in her eyes, she fled from the scene. "Thank you." She whispered. He smiled and nodded. "Go somewhere safe now, you hear?" He said, diverting his gaze from his enemy to the girl, than back again. "You know, you have to pay for abuse like that here." He glared, his silver shoulder length hair completing the look of dominance over the situation. "Not now I don't." He spoke in his unclear, raspy kind of voice. He pulled out a small silver pistol from his jean pocket. It had to be loaded for times like this. He grinned a disgusting grin that matched his unshaven face. He pulled back the trigger and the hammer clicked, blasting a powerful force of air and a tiny little bullet at the boy. He had reflexes like a cat, however, and moved his pole-like sword to deflect the attack. His deflection failed by an inch, the weapon was too thin. It resulted in a fast, tiny wave of destruction. It stuck through his chest and his eyes jolted open. The attack repeated until he fell to his knees and threw his sword. It flew recklessly through the air and landed right in front of Clypher. He couldn't take it anymore, he came out of the shadowy corner of the corridor and picked up the weapon the silver haired boy had dropped. It felt good to hold the sword; it had almost felt as if he was in power. He ran at him at a quick sprint, surprisingly cutting his soft, meaty flesh. He watched him split open in a mass of blood and some of his insides. He grimaced, throwing the bloodstained weapon to the side to tend to the boy's wounds, the bullets that had hit him. What a horrible sight it had been for Clypher, an awful sight indeed. And even if that wasn't enough, those eyes, those ugly, horrid eyes. There was no way to get rid of them.

----------------- End Flashback ----------------

He had seemed so angelic, there was no way that he was the one. But he had to be; his name was plastered all over the small town. The posters had named a very high price for him dead, and he was probably already. "Sin the killer." He had remembered one person saying. But how could he kill? He just possibly saved the life of a girl. It was impossible that he could hurt anybody, but he knew nothing about him. "Sin the killer," Clypher mused. "I guess I should get you back to my house before you're killed yourself." He wore a look of intense seriousness.