Matthew stared up at the vacant sky, unable to stop himself from feeling a tinge of regret about what he was doing. He knew he had been told his entire life about the divinity of sacrifice and how there couldn't be anything more natural than what he was going to do tonight. He looked down again at the newspaper in his hands, the picture of a naturally smug-looking and greasy haired twenty-something man with the words 'WANTED' stamped across the page alongside the name 'James Thornton'. Only two weeks ago he had successfully robbed one of the city's largest banks; he managed to kill half of the hostages as well as all of his goons before he made off with the cash like a ghost in daylight. A real professional, despite his appearances. He couldn't help but feel like what he was going to do tonight wasn't a good idea. Of course he wanted power, but it didn't do his parents much good. Both slaughtered by demons. [I]Maybe both burning in Hell now.[/I] Matthew thought before he was interrupted by the flickering lights in the corner of his vision. He glanced towards them, it was the stars. Fireworks shot off in the distance. Birds shot from the surrounding trees in fear. A black truck skidded into the driveway from which a thirty-something handsome looking man jumped out, waving Matthew over. "Come help. We've got him son!" His grandfather yelled, and Matthew forced a grin and ran across the lawn towards the truck. ------------------------------------------------------- His grandmother, Marion, beckoned Matthew inside the dimly lit lounge. She placed a hand on Matthew's back and guided him near the centre of the room with a gentle smile on her face. He could feel the excitement radiating from her; she had been waiting for his Emergence since he arrived in America. As had his grandfather Thomas. He was standing behind James, who was sat on a chair with a paper bag covering his head. He had been bewitched to have lost all his senses, and only occasionally moved an appendage. A lamb to the slaughter. "So, we're gonnae do it just like we practised, right?" Marion said with a gentle Scottish accent. "Just think pal, in a wee minute you'll be the next in the line. Liggen is gunna' be powerful again, a just know it." Thomas crooned from behind the chair, paying little attention to the subdued hostage. "C'mere, I'll get the knife." Marion said, walking slowly towards the purple pillow which rested in the starlight of the window. Upon it sat the ceremonial knife for Liggen, which was nothing more than a plain knife with a large and very old looking wooden hilt with a crow etched into it. It had seen so many centuries, Matthew was worried it would snap the moment he used it. The moment they had turned their backs, a blood curdling scream filled the large room, painful enough to cause the flames in the wide fireplace to hesitate. Matthew spun around quickly. James was standing up, pulling the bag from his head whilst he dropped Thomas to the ground with a horrible thud. The illusion of youth had faded from his grandfather's normally cheery face, instead there was an old man choking on his blood and writhing in pain from the knife that had dug itself deep through the centre of his chest. "Jesus Christ." Matthew muttered, the irony of the name escaping him in this whole fucked up situation. James turned to face Matthew and his grandmother. Matthew froze as he realised that James was not James - he was someone else, a tall red haired man with a large burn scar across his face. "You'll pay for that!" Marion screeched, raising her hands in the air, magic crackling in the air around her. Matthew took the opportunity to grab the ceremonial knife from the window. The mysterious red haired man stepped forward and shifted his weight towards Matthew as he flung forward another small knife. "No!" Marion hissed, pushing herself in front of her grandson and knocking him backwards with her elbow. Matthew caught her in his arms as she gasped in pain bent forward in agony, crumpling onto the dark wooden floor. "They were so [i]obsessed[/i] with making sure you had someone to kill, they didn't even notice the illusion." The red haired man laughed, pulling an empty vial from his black jacket covered in zipper pockets. He smashed it into the fireplace. "But.. how? Where's James?" Matthew found himself asking. He didn't even notice he was crying so heavily his words were barely distinguishable. "James was an idea, a character. I had to set up a trap for some witches looking for a 'deserving' criminal. He was pretty deserving, don't you think?" The man chuckled. He didn't mind taking his time. He knew he could easily kill an unarmed non-magical Witch. His grandmother croaked, her body becoming more limp in Matthew's hands. He didn't know if it was because her heart was breaking or the pain from the knife buried in her stomach. "You killed.. all those people.. to make a trap? You've killed far more people than I ever would have you sick fuck! You've already used more magic than I have before. What sort of witch hunter are you?" Matthew spat. The man's smile vanished. "A fucking good one." He said vacantly, reaching for another knife from his belt. Matthew glanced down at his grandmother, who he found looking up at him with expecting eyes. "Do it." She whispered. "Do it or die with us." She croaked. Matthew nodded. He lifted the ceremonial dagger and dug it through his grandmother's heart in one swift movement. The room instantly lit up with sparks, which dropped to the floor and bounced across the walls and ceiling, illuminating everything in silver and gold. "You little shit!" The man screamed, hurling another knife through the blinding lights. Matthew had long since moved from his grandmothers corpse. He moved through the lights, seeing through his own illusion like it wasn't there. It only took seconds for Matthew to kill the man this time. And when he did, the light sparks vanished and all that was left was a candle-lit room of corpses.