Bloody Trade 1-3

Foreword: Well, got another idea that I ended up developing long enough to not post as a few snippets. Though I decided to also try writing it entirely in third person too. Please read through and give your opinion, thanks!

Chapter 1

A group of heavyset men walked out of a house with their cleaning tools, with a different pair bringing up the rear. One was a middle-aged man with long hair and neatly trimmed facial hair, while the other was old and wearing a hat, only as tall as the other’s shoulder. 

The younger man looked at the plastic-wrapped bundles in the back of the van facing the house entrance, his face not giving away any indication of his thoughts.

The older man looked at him as he peeled off the gloves on his hand. “Will I be hearing from you anytime soon?”

The question made the younger man turn to look at him. Instead of answering, he pulled out one of his hands from his pocket, placing a stack of twelve golden coins into the older man’s hand.

“Goodbye, Charlie,” He said shortly.

The old man, recognizing the dismissal for what it was, nodded back. “John.”

The van doors swung shut, and the cleaning crew drove off into the night. In the passenger seat of the van, the old man took off his hat and pulled out a cellphone. His finger hesitated for a moment, before it dialed a number that he almost never did.

Elsewhere, in a place very few people were able to access, a red phone rang. It only rang twice before a hand reached out to pick it up, holding it to a masked face.

“Hello.”

“It’s just as you said. We just finished hosting dinner for twelve,” Charlie’s voice spoke through the receiver.

“...” There was no reply at first. “Leave the dishes at the usual place, Charlie.”

“Matt.” 

The call ended, and the red phone was put back on its hook.

Somewhere else in New York City, a van drove up to an empty warehouse where a red shipping container waited. The vehicle stopped near the container, and the men came out to unload the bundles, one of them pulling open the metal door of the container for the rest to do the transfer. There was a smell around the place that many of them were familiar with in their cleaning duties, but none of them reacted other than giving wary looks into the darkness at the back of it, dumping the bundles where there was still light.

When the last one was dropped off and the door shut, a small spotlight flickered on a short ways off to the side, illuminating a small table with a pouch on it. Charlie went over and picked it up, dumping its contents into his hand; four golden coins clinked as they fell out. 

He closed his fingers over them, and turned to leave. No more words were said as the cleaning crew left the area.

Shortly after in another place, a mask-wearing figure in robes examined a human-sized plastic bundle lying on a table. A red hand reached out and rested on where the head would be, before trailing down along its length. As it passed, the plastic wrapping parted, the synthetic material peeling away as though of its own accord, revealing the dead body of a man within. The corpse was glassy-eyed in death, with bullet holes in the head showing the cause of death.

The hand reversed its direction, pausing to rest on the chest of the corpse. There was a brief moment as though reality itself was hazy, and anyone watching might have thought there was something moving from the corpse into the figure. But the next moment, everything was as it always was, just a person resting a red hand on a corpse.

“Hmph… not much.” The figure removed the hand from its place. “Clean that up, please.”

As the masked person turned to the next table, where yet another corpse lay, wizened baby-like creatures came crawling out of the surface of the table, clambering over the first corpse. Their hands gripped the clothes of the dead body, tugging at it. Gradually, the body began to sink into the table, vanishing into the smoky miasma the creatures crawled out from, until all that was left was the pristine surface of a table.

The same process was repeated for the other eleven bodies, before the person left the room, stripping off the robe to reveal a man with dark red hair, wearing red-tinted glasses. The robe was hung up on a rack, its fabric shimmering with a strange texture. The small room he entered was decorated in a warm red, with armchairs facing a fireplace, with a red phone on a small table next to the bigger one.

The man, Matt, walked towards the armchair, but part way there, he paused. Turning instead to the other armchair, he reached out and picked up the walking stick that leaned against its edge. Rather than use it, he planted the end of the heavy metal length between his feet, resting his hand on the head as he stared at the fire.

The next moment, the flames turned green, and a coughing boy came stumbling out of the fire, crashing onto the red carpet and scattering soot all over it.

Matt grunted, before rapping his cane on the floor again, causing the soot to vanish away. However, he made no move to help the boy up, watching as the youth got gingerly to his feet, staggering as though dizzy. 

“W-where? Th…this isn’t Diagon Alley…?”

“No, it is not,” Matt answered. 

“U-um, sorry! I didn’t mean to, I just- the Floo-” The boy stammered, clearly panicking at being in this unfamiliar situation.

He held a hand up. “Calm down. First, have a seat,” He indicated the armchair, “Then, we talk.”

The boy looked at the armchair, then back at the man warily, but eventually sat down. He wore a pair of round glasses, and had messy black hair that mostly hid the lightning bolt scar on his forehead. His clothes, clean of the soot from the fireplace, was a casual set of ordinary clothes that looked out of place compared to the decor and the man’s own neat shirt and trousers. 

Matt sat down in the other armchair, his hands still planted on the head of the upright cane. One of them was a distinct red, which the boy’s eyes kept returning to even after taking in the features of the room. 

“So, who might you be?” Matt finally asked.

“...Harry, sir. Harry Potter.” The boy answered with trepidation.

Oddly, the man didn’t give the usual reaction from those who heard the boy’s name when he introduced himself; no double-take, no eyes flicking to the forehead, not that he could tell through those reflective glasses. 

“And how would Harry Potter end up in my living room?”

“The Floo, sir,” Harry shrunk into himself slightly, but continued to explain, “I was supposed to go to Diagon Alley.”

“Ah, it happens. First time?” 

Harry relaxed on hearing that response, because it meant that the older male was aware of the Wizarding World. “Yes, sir.” 

“Fortunately for you, this place isn’t far from Diagon Alley. The door outside leads to Knockturn Alley, and you can get there if you walk a bit.” Matt got to his feet, beckoning to the young lad. “Come on, boy, I’ll show you to the door.”

“Thank you?” The boy replied with uncertainty.

The man led the way, with Harry following behind. As they walked through a corridor with multiple firearms hanging from racks on the walls, Matt spoke without turning.

“Sometimes, Harry, it might be better to ask questions rather than staying silent.”

Harry jumped slightly at being suddenly addressed. “Pardon? I-I mean-” 

“A wise man once said, better to ask and look like a fool for a minute, rather than stay silent and remain a fool for life.” Matt turned slightly to look back at Harry over his shoulder. 

Harry didn’t reply, because throughout his upbringing by his aunt’s family, they always told him never to ask questions, especially those pertaining to the strange and magical world that he only learned about last year. It was a deeply ingrained habit that he found very hard to break. However, met with the strange appearance of the man whose house he had ended up in, Harry somehow managed to find the words.

“W-who are you? Sir,” He added at the end, wanting to remain polite.

Matt nodded. “Good start. I’m Matt. Matt Hunter.”

He was looking at Harry expectantly, and the boy understood what he was waiting for.

“Where is this place?”

Matt nodded again. “Another good question. This place is my home, as you have probably already guessed.”

He resumed walking, and Harry followed behind him, listening to the man explain more about the place he had stumbled into. 

“It is also my… shop, so to speak. I provide a variety of services here.” Matt pushed open the door at the end of the corridor, “For example, this place is a bar. For guests to slake their thirst.”

Harry’s eyes widened at the sight of a bar counter, with dozens of bottles on glass shelves behind it, and bar stools in front of it. However, Matt continued walking on, and the boy hurried after him, entering another corridor. He nearly stumbled when he saw the walls of this one carried deadly-looking blades instead.

“Obviously, don’t touch them. They’re very sharp,” Matt remarked.

“Yes, sir.” Harry made sure to stick to the center of the corridor as best as he could.

That increased care made him realize something about the man. Despite looking like a blind person, Matt walked around with sure movements, holding the cane not by the head, but by the neck like a… weapon.

“Most of my customers, though, prefer to trade in this room.”

Matt glanced back at Harry before opening the next door. It revealed the back of a shop counter, with a bell on the flat top. The opposite side of the room bore another door, colored a brighter shade than the rest of the dark red decor.

“That’s the door to Knockturn Alley,” Matt informed him.

“Thank you, Mr Hunter.”

Harry made to walk around, to get to the door, but he found the cane held out in his way. Looking up at the older man, he saw his own face reflected in those tinted lenses.

“One thing you should know, Harry, is that this shop is kind of special.”

“Special?” Harry echoed nervously.

“It attracts customers who have a special quality, one could say. I don’t think that you coming in through the Floo was an accident.”

“But it was,” Harry mumbled, “I meant to go to Diagon Alley.”

Matt sighed. “Questions, boy. In any case, I believe you should buy something before you leave.”

Harry looked around the room, which was rather sparse compared to the other wizarding shops he had seen before in Diagon Alley. In fact, there were only three things on display, all on pedestals against the wall to his left. Despite his trepidation at Matt’s behavior, Harry found himself following the man over to those pedestals.

The first one was a small statue of a woman crouching down on one knee, wearing a lion’s mask over her head, and carrying an hourglass across her shoulders with both hands. The second was a strange plant growing in a shallow pot; it looked like a closed flower bud that was entirely pale white and slightly glowing. Matt walked past those two, and stopped next to the third pedestal and the item that rested on top of it.

It was a porcelain doll of a woman, dressed in hat, cape and dress, with its hands cradled upwards in its lap. It was very well-made, but there was a strange feeling about it that made Harry leery of it.

“Um, no thanks, I don’t really want to buy this,” He said to Matt.

“I’m not asking you to.”

That response confused the boy. First, Matt was telling him to buy something, but now the man  was saying otherwise. 

“Touch her palms, Harry. You will understand.”

Harry didn’t move, but recalling Matt’s previous words, he asked the question he had. “What will happen if I do?”

“The echoes you carry will become your strength.”

“Echoes?”

“Remnants of will. You carry an oddly large amount of it despite being a young child. Most people don’t ever use them, but this shop accepts these echoes as currency.” Seeing Harry’s confused expression, Matt continued, “Do you want to be stronger? Faster? More powerful with magic? Then just touch the doll, and use those echoes to empower yourself.”

Hesitantly, Harry raised one hand, reaching out with a finger. It made contact with the palm of the doll, and for a moment, Harry felt like he was dreaming. However, the next moment, he realized he was just standing there, one finger touching the doll’s palm. He felt a little foolish, and quickly pulled his hand back.

“A little faster and more magical then,” Matt said as he looked down at Harry.

Harry frowned. “Was this a prank?” 

“Not at all. I am bloody serious about business here, if you pardon the pun.” 

Harry didn’t see where the pun was, but didn’t press for answers. “Can I leave now?”

“Certainly.” Matt walked over to the door and pushed it open, revealing a dull grey narrow street. “Best be on your way. Knockturn Alley’s not exactly filled with polite people.”

Rather than spend any longer in the company of this strange man, Harry hurried out the door, pausing to look around for the direction to Diagon Alley.

“You didn’t ask, but I’ll tell you. The special quality of the customers who stumble into my shop… is a fate linked to blood.”

Harry whirled around to see the bright red door shut, before it faded away, leaving a dirty stone wall where it had been earlier. The next moment, a sudden loud yell of his name caught Harry’s attention, and he whirled around to see the massive form of Hagrid, the Hogwarts gamekeeper, striding towards him. The sight of the familiar man filled him with relief, pushing the memory of Matt’s parting words far down into memory.

Back in the shop, Matt looked at the doll, whose head was now turned towards him with her palms resting downwards on her lap.

“He’ll be back. Though whether as a hunter, that remains to be seen.” He spoke as though answering a question.

As though in response, the three pedestals and their displayed items sank into the floor, vanishing as though they were never there in the first place. Deep in the shop, a phone rang. Sighing, Matt turned around and went back into the depths of the place. 

“Bloody business never ends…”

Chapter 2

A pair of figures dropped down into a secluded alleyway. Both wore masks to cover their faces, one covering only the upper half with a winking eye design, while the other covered the face fully with only eye holes left for vision. If anyone looked at those holes, they would have seen red pupils on black sclera. They carried large bags with them, but were unencumbered by the bulky weight. One of them looked around, scanning the surroundings.

“Is it here?” The deep voice of a male asked softly.

“There.”

The other member of the pair pointed; in the gap behind a large collapsed pipe, a red door could be seen. They nodded to each other and headed for it, still keeping cautious eyes and ears out for anyone who might be following. It was a bit of a tight squeeze getting into the space, but they managed it, entering a red room.

“Welcome.” The person within greeted them.

The man wore a rebreather that covered the bottom half of his face, with red-ringed tubes protruding from both sides. His hair and eyes were red, and he was dressed neatly in a red vest over a white shirt and dark trousers. To complete the look, he stood perfectly straight with his hands behind his back.

“We got the stuff you asked for.” Winking Mask said.

“Please put it on the table for inspection,” The man requested, gesturing to a nearby metal table with a crimson-colored hand.

They approached warily, dropping their luggage onto the indicated spot. After that, they backed away as the man stepped closer. He unzipped the bags, revealing the grisly contents; dismembered body parts of a human, along with the pieces of a red and black weapon.

“Couldn’t beat the dove without breaking his weapon,” Full Face Mask said as an explanation, “But we made sure to pick up the pieces.”

“And the bites?” Some of those limbs bore bite marks.

“Sorry, we got a bit heated and took a few bites before we remembered.” 

They shrank a little under the intense stare the man gave them, but eventually he relented.

“Acceptable. I’ll give you your payment then.”

Leaving the bags where they lay, the man went over to behind the bar counter in the room, taking out several teardrop-shaped fruits from an unseen storage place. They had white leaf-like marks on the top and bottom, but the rest of the fruits were a deep blood red. He placed them on the wooden surface of the counter, not reacting as the two masked people darted forward for a closer look.

“Four Blood Beads. This should keep you two satisfied for quite a while.”

“Ohhh! So these are the rumored Blood Beads!” Winking Mask picked one up to examine more closely. “Can I have one now?”

“Go ahead.” 

Tilting his head back, Winking Mask stretched his jaw wide, sticking the narrower end of the fruit into his mouth and biting down. The red fluid within burst out, spilling slightly past his mouth, but the rest flowed straight down his throat. Behind the half-mask, red eyes widened as the hunger he had been enduring for the past week vanished. The remainder of the fruit quickly vanished in another few bites, and he let out a relieved sigh.

“Never felt fuller in my entire life.” 

He reached out for another one, but Full Face Mask stopped him, placing a hand between his friend’s and the Blood Beads.

“Leave some for the others,” He said gravely.

“...you’re right.” The reaching hand withdrew.

Full Face Mask picked up the remaining three Beads, tucking them away into a small pouch. He turned to look at the shopkeeper, meeting those red eyes with red eyes of his own. The difference between the two pairs were obvious; one had black sclera, and the other didn’t.

“You’re not a ghoul, are you?”

The man’s eyes crinkled in a smile that his rebreather hid, but he didn’t answer.

“Wait, he’s not? Then-”

“I look forward to seeing you again.” The shopkeeper said.

“C’mon, let’s go.” 

Full Face Mask grabbed his compatriot’s arm, and tugged him along. The door shut behind them, leaving Matt alone by himself.

“Another peaceful transaction,” He commented out loud, “Something to be thankful for.”

In his interactions with this world, some of the ghouls he traded with had been greedy, and tried to mug him for more. They didn’t live long after making that mistake. On the other hand, they provided more than the usual blood echoes, making them favorable prey when the opportunity showed itself.

“Bring that to the lab, please,” Matt instructed the Messengers, who obligingly pulled the bags through the surface of reality.

It had been months? Years? -since he had ended up in this strange place that he only knew as the Bleed, some kind of dimension that linked to many different worlds. At first it seemed like an adventure, but Matt eventually realized what it was.

A nightmare.

Death didn’t bring an end to the torment. It just sent him back to the cushioned coffin that served as his bed. It only took a few more times before he decided otherwise, and picked up a weapon to fight against that fate.

In doing so, Matt learned more about the Bleed, the shifting, transient rules that governed it, and the one thing that linked everything about it.

Blood.

In a rotting corpse of a city called Yharnam, he discovered the power of blood echoes from a dream, and used that to empower himself, slowly but surely. It also introduced him to the Messengers, who came at his call no matter which world he was in, even in the Bleed. It was through them that he found a possible clue about how to escape, through notes carried by the Messengers.

There had been no sign of who had written those notes, and it was only through cautious testing that Matt had verified some of their content. However, it represented a source of hope for him to pursue.

Some kind of powerful, focused will kept him in this hellish prison. Blood echoes were a form of remaining will. With a great deal of them, nearly uncountable even, combined with a powerful magic ritual… he could finally free himself.

Of course, if he tried to gather everything by himself, Matt would probably spend the next few centuries doing just that, and that was only for the blood echoes. The ritual ingredients themselves would take even longer to track down, if he even had an idea of what was needed. That led him to realize that he needed to spend money to make money, so to speak, and so he started working on figuring out alternative methods of earning blood echoes.

That was how he hit upon the idea of opening a shop. It took several tries in order to alter the Bleed into the current form it now held, wasting quite a number of blood echoes and other ritual materials, but he eventually succeeded. He even managed to expand upon the types of currencies that the shop could accept.

Matt paused near a wall where three large tubes were mounted; they contained red fluid, but the contents of each differed. He looked at the middle one, which was running a bit low. 

Sighing, he went to retrieve his tools. A pair of orange-tinted sunglasses, a heavy metal cane, a handgun, and several other pieces of minor equipment, all coming together to prepare him for another excursion outside the Bleed.

…

Shortly after stepping out through the red door and into the alleyway of a grungy street, a yellow taxi came driving up, stopping just right outside of the entrance. The sight of it made Matt pause.

Then the driver’s window rolled down, revealing a dark haired man in dark sunglasses. He didn’t turn to look at Matt, but kept staring ahead.

After another moment, Matt strode up to the cab and got into the backseat. Two pairs of eyes behind sunglasses stared at each other through the rearview mirror. 

“Where to?” 

Matt raised his red hand, which rippled as though its surface was liquid. Tendrils extended out from it, crisscrossing until the floating construct resembled a map, with a circle marking one point on it. The cab driver showed no sign of surprise at this obviously magical display, but just stared until he deciphered the indicated location.

“Hrm, Downtown.” The cab driver started driving.

Matt closed his fingers, absorbing the 3D construct back into his hand. The cab turned onto the highway, and he finally decided to break the silence.

“How do you always show up when I come?”

“You don’t belong here, but I’m just a driver. The best thing I can do is to drive you to your destination, so you don’t spend any more time than you have to.”

That killed any further conversation, and Matt just stayed silent, looking out at the night scenery of Los Angeles as it slowly swept by. 

Eventually, the cab came to a halt, surrounded by several dirty-looking buildings. In the alleyways, some homeless people could be seen, warming themselves next to a fire burning in a barrel. Matt flipped a gold coin to the cab driver, who raised a hand to catch it without turning his head. The taxi drove off after the redhead got out.

Matt looked around at the buildings, then glanced up and down the street to see if there were any civilians around. When he didn’t see anyone, he looked down at the palm of his red hand. Crimson liquid floated up from it, shaping itself into an arrow which rotated until it stopped, pointing over to his left. He started walking in that direction, following the direction of the arrow as it turned, until he arrived next to a brick building. From its rundown appearance, it was a crackhouse used by drug abusers.

Matt noted the graffiti of an eight-pointed red star with a skull in its center on the wall, and spotted another one further down, on the wall around the corner. Approaching the second one, he saw a side entrance to the building.

The man pushed open the dirty door, stepping into the crackhouse. The interior of the place was a filthy mess, with peeling wallpaper and scattered trash all about. A bit of light shone through the security window, and the faint shadow cast across the floor indicated someone sitting behind it. On closer approach, the person was revealed to be a black man wearing a knit cap and wearing red sunglasses similar to Matt’s.

“What’s up, brother? You enlightened?” He asked Matt.

The casual manner of his speech indicated that the guy wasn’t one of those Matt was hunting tonight, just another one of their patsies. Unfortunately for him, Matt wasn’t intending to show any mercy.

The metal point of the cane pierced straight through the security glass and into the human’s chest, before he could even react. Blood oozed from the man’s lips, the light in his eyes quickly fading. Just as precisely as he had inserted it, Matt withdrew his weapon, leaving only a bloodstained hole in the glass as the man slumped forward onto the security counter. He proceeded past the door into the depths of this rundown apartment building.

The interior was slightly cleaner, but still generally filthy. What was more, Matt’s sense of smell could pick up the faint scent of diseased blood, causing him to wrinkle his nose slightly. It wasn’t the worst he had smelled, very little did compared to Yharnam, but it was still unpleasant. 

The first floor was empty, save for a scared-looking woman that he ignored on his way up the staircase. The second held a few undead zombies, their pale skin streaked with blood and filth, indicating a disease ravaging their bodies. They noticed his approach and started shambling towards him, jaws working with the intention to bite and infect him with whatever they were carrying. None of them even came close; they were put down by the heavy blow of a metal cane, and its wielder advanced onwards.

Finally, he reached the room where the stench was the strongest, and pushed open the doors.

The room inside was quite large, made that way by knocking down several apartment walls to form a giant gathering space. The remains of some of the walls could still be seen. On the other end from the door where Matt stood was a small raised stage, on which stood a pale-skinned man. He wore only pants, his exposed upper body bearing tattoos on the chest and the shoulders.

“Welcome, brother! Are you searching for enlightenment?” The vampire asked loudly. “If so, I, Bishop Vick, welcomes you!”

Matt didn’t answer, but slowly walked into the room. There were more diseased zombies in the area, but the main threat was the vampire himself.

“Perhaps not. I am not the Shepherd of the Damned for nothing. I know when a beast is here to steal my flock.” The vampire sighed as he lifted a shotgun in his arms. “If only it was a brother seeking to join me in my holy communion…”

“Sorry, I’m an atheist,” Matt finally answered.

“Then I shall overcome this trial to prove my divinity, and bring the eternal night down on this cursed earth!”

The vampire aimed the shotgun at Matt and pulled the trigger, the gunshot echoing loudly in the room. However, his target had already moved out of the way, leaving the pellets to gouge holes in the rotting wood of the floor.

With a flick of his wrist, Matt triggered the cane’s alternate form; the metal length split into sharp-edged sections, forming a serrated whip. A swing of his arm caused it to whip out, ripping through the necks of two zombies in a single arc. The same motion brought the other arm up, now wielding a handgun, firing two shots.

Vick dodged the first with his vampiric speed, but the second struck his arm, causing him to grunt as it suddenly burned within his body. 

“Grahhh! What?!” He grimaced, but was still able to bring his shotgun up and take another shot.

The wound wasn’t severe, and against a vampire’s physical ability, it wouldn’t even have slowed a Kindred down. But there was a quality about it that affected Vick, and so he decided to fight more cautiously, letting his flock of infected zombies go ahead of him. He would take the chance to shoot when it presented itself.

However, it was not to be. The strange whip weapon the intruder was wielding tore right through them, severing limbs if not the head, and any crippled ones were put down by the handgun’s bullets. Eventually, it was only down to Vick and Matt. 

The vampire, confident in his delusions of divinity, refused to flee. Instead he charged, shooting and reloading his shotgun as fast as he could. Yet the hunter was faster; the whip reverted back to a cane, stabbing in at an angle to divert the aim of the firearm. Before Vick could react, his enemy’s gun roared several times in succession, tearing holes through his legs, leaving wounds too grievous for even a vampire to remain standing.

Even as Vick was starting to topple over, the red hand pulled back and swung, the weapon it wielded smashing into the vampire’s jaw with inhuman strength, knocking out several teeth that scattered across the floor with his body. Lame and stunned, Vick could do nothing as the cane came stabbing down, inflicting a Final Death.

Matt sucked in a deep breath slowly through his mouth as the body of the vampire disintegrated, feeling his stock of vampiric blood rise. It might have been diseased, but that part could be purified. As far as vampires went, this one hadn’t been a challenge; he could move fast, but only momentarily, and was too reliant on his gun to fight. Matt could think of far more dangerous prey.

As for the quantity… it would suffice.

Matt waved his hand, causing a portal of blood to open. He stepped through, returning to the Bleed. Other Kindred would come investigating eventually, but other than the remains of the infected, no sign would be left of his presence.

Chapter 3

The room was more black than red, with the only sources of light the glowing arcane sigils on multiple surfaces. Standing before the biggest one on a large table was a man, one red hand making gestures in the air as a shifting blob floated in the middle of it. Occasionally, strange energies would shoot out from the man’s hand, striking the blob and altering it.

It was a more esoteric form of alchemy, utilizing knowledge many would decry as forbidden.

A phone rang somewhere else, but the man didn’t turn away.

“Could you get that for me, please?” He asked the empty room, still focused on his work.

In an empty patch of the room, Messengers came crawling up, slowly pushing a red phone on a tall stand with them. The phone continued to ring, its sound echoing within the dark room.

One final strike of energy, and the blob settled into its complete form: a yellow orb bearing the twisted expression of a face. It floated in the middle of the circle for a moment, before drifting over to land in the alchemist’s palm, where he examined it for a moment. Finding nothing wrong with his creation, he slotted it away into a small tube that he sealed with a cap.

With that task done, he turned to the phone and picked it up.

“Sorry for the wait,” He apologized to the person on the other end.

“I’d like to have two knives sharpened.” The speaker on the other hand spoke with a tone that was accustomed to being obeyed.

“When would you like to have them ready?”

“In a week.”

“One week,” He repeated, “I can do one week. Deliver the knives to the usual location.”

The call hanging up was the only answer he received.

Matt replaced the receiver on the phone and nodded to the Messengers, who began pulling the phone back down into the ground. Casting a look at his alchemy lab, he sighed at having to put his research on pause. The redhead left the room, closing and locking the door behind him.

In a foreign city, a van drove down a quiet street, turning into a dark alleyway. Its headlights illuminated a trio of men standing there, before the driver turned off the light and got out. He approached the trio, and one of them stepped forward.

“Matt.”

“Rico. You look good.”

“Still doing work for the High Table?”

“You know what they say. I have served, I will be of service.”

Rico snorted softly, before gesturing the other two men forward. “You two, go with him, and do whatever he tells you to.”

Matt inspected them quickly. They had good physique and posture, so it wouldn’t be too hard to get them up to his standards. 

“I’ll have them ready for you in a week,” He promised.

“Alright.” Rico pulled a small stack of golden coins out and placed them in Matt’s waiting hand. “See you around, Matt.”

“Rico.” He turned to the two men. “Get in the back of the van.”

They nodded and did as he ordered, pulling the doors open to show an empty space with benches for them to sit. Once the doors were closed, the van reversed out of the alley, and drove off into the night.

The two men wore worried expressions as they followed the redhead. He had them get out of the van in an underground garage, and they were now walking down a red corridor. When they went through the door at the end to see two medical examination chairs with straps, their nervousness grew even more. Still, their loyalty won out, and they got into the chairs and let Matt strap them down, followed by hooking them up to intravenous drips.

Matt looked back at their uncomfortable expressions as he prepared to lower some kind of contraption over their heads.

“Oh, don’t you worry. Whatever happens… you may think it all a mere bad dream,” He told them.

Then he affixed the contraptions, before taking advantage of their obscured vision to inject a vial of blood into their IV drips. The red fluid writhed as it flowed into their veins, pulling another two into a Dream of blood, to serve as harvesters for Matt’s purposes.

Matt examined the two men with his mystical senses, then nodded. He walked behind them, and lifted a strange iron tool, one that looked like a branding iron. Everyone whom the High Table sent to him for ‘training’, or what they assumed to be training, left marked with his Runes. For some, it was a slight boost to their strength or stamina, one he knew that the High Table thought was a chemical serum and were trying to uncover. 

With a wave of his hand, Matt idly destroyed the devices the men were carrying, yet again countering another attempt to spy on him and his secrets.

But the truth was that when they eventually passed, he would be there to reap the rewards.

Matt left the room, murmuring to himself. “Born of the blood, made men by the blood, undone by the blood… Doesn’t only apply to eldritch bullshit.”

…

The sound of a ringing bell signaled a waiting customer, causing Matt to pause his work and come out of his office. It wasn’t a customer he recognized, but he could tell by the hooded robes where this one had come from.

“Welcome. What can I do for you?” He asked the Unspeakable.

The man, as indicated by his hand, held out a list of items that Matt accepted and took a look over. As expected, they wanted more of the esoteric stuff that only he stocked.

“I have all the items on this list except for the second last one,” He informed the wizard.

“When can you get it?” The man asked in a reedy voice.

“At least five days. Do you wish to pay for it first?”

“Yes. How many Galleons?”

Matt blinked slowly, before raising one hand to point at a sign behind him.

‘PAYMENT IS ONLY ACCEPTED IN BLOOD OR BARTER’

“Your department didn’t tell you?”

“No.” The reply betrayed the wizard’s embarrassment.

“They usually pay me with magical beast blood, like a Re’em’s,” Matt replied, referring to the golden ox whose blood granted extraordinary strength, “But I hear that the supply is scarce nowadays.”

“You’re joking.” The Unspeakable said in disbelief.

“No, I am not. Apart from magical beast blood, another option is to give your own, making use of Blood-Replenishing Potions until there’s enough.”

“That’s out of the question.”

“You could try breaking into a Muggle blood bank to get some of their stock, but it’s not really worth much.” Matt shrugged, pushing the list back. “Come back when you have something to pay the cost.”

The wizard tucked the list away, hood dipping in a slight nod, and left. Matt didn’t turn away until the door had closed behind the would-be customer. Sometimes the new envoy didn't react well, and Matt was quick to dispose of those. It happened a few times before he realized that the Unspeakables were using him as a way to cull their numbers of the brash and foolish.

From the looks of this one, he might go far.

The room pulsed, and Matt blinked. Another blood-soaked fate was approaching, but the connection was odd, something which deserved closer investigation. Casting a quick glance around the room, he decided to go out and meet the person in question before he arrived.

In a strange, shifting realm, two humans in robes were talking to one another, having just survived through a dangerous battle with one of the many demons that inhabited it.

“You did it! You actually did it!” The brown-haired male in red robes praised his companion, “When you came, I thought you might be able to… but I never really thought any of you were worthy!”

His companion in green was smiling, but something about the whole issue niggled at him. “But why did you help anyway?”

“Something about you made me believe in you. You’re a true mage.”

As the first man continued to speak, mentioning his newfound belief in other possibilities, the green-wearing mage felt something tickle at his senses. But the conversation in front of him was taking up most of his focus.

“If you want to help, there may be a way for me to leave here, to get a foothold outside. You just need to want to let me in.”

That last line was the clue that solidified his suspicion. “I’m starting to think the other demon wasn’t my test.”

“What? What are you- Of course it was! What else is there?”

“A demon pretending to be a human, perhaps.” A third voice remarked.

Both men spun to see a redheaded man in strange clothes strolling up, a strange metal cane in a hand that dripped blood continuously. His eyes were covered by a strange device, but he appeared to be able to see as he approached them directly.

“Who are you?” The mage in green demanded, holding his staff at the ready. “A blood mage?!”

The man glanced down at the liquid oozing from his limb. “Huh, can see why you would think that. Anyway, just consider me a curious passerby.”

“It’s him! He’s the demon!” The brunette cried, pointing at the newcomer.

The redhead shook his head. “There’s only one demon here, and it’s not me or the guy in green.”

The accusing person’s expression of fear froze, before settling into an annoyed frown. He then spoke in a deeper, more guttural voice.

“Simple killing’s a warrior’s job. The real dangers of the Fade… our preconceptions, careless trust-”

His form glowed, growing larger as it did so, until where stood a mage in red robes was a demonic figure. The mage in green backed away from the one he had thought was a companion, recognizing the form of a pride demon, one of the most dangerous Fade entities to face.

“Keep your wits about you, little mage,” The demon taunted, “True tests never end.”

“Well said. Now, shall we dance?”

“Foolish interloper, you-” 

There was a crunch as the cane punched right through the rocky hide of the demon, before the redheaded man twisted the weapon, and spikes of blood exploded out from within the demon’s body. The next moment, it all vanished, body and spikes, leaving only the redhead with his cane held out in a lunging position.

“What are you?” The mage asked warily.

“A hunter of demons, and many other things. But where are my manners? Allow me to introduce myself.”

Matt brought his feet together and executed a perfect bow. 

“Matt Hunter, I run a shop which sells many things. And you are?”

The mage stared at the man bowed before him, taking a while before he finally responded. “G-Garrick, Garrick Amell. Apprentice mage of the Circle. Of Ferelden.”

Matt straightened up, peering at Garrick with interest. “I see. Well, nice to meet you.” 

A few moments passed before Matt nodded, as though seeing something in the mage.

“We will meet again, Garrick. Somewhere in the future, you will come across my shop, and there, we can trade.”

Garrick raised a hand, trying to stop the strange man. However, everything went white, and when he finally awoke in the real world, it was to the face of his close friend Jowan. Shortly after, a sequence of shocking events drove the memory of meeting that strange redheaded man out of his head. It wouldn’t return until much later, when he found a red door while exploring.

As for Matt, he returned to the Bleed. Stopping in front of one of the three tubes, he placed his hand on it. The red orbs within it began to increase in quantity, as the demonic remnants he collected replaced what he used for his alchemical experiments. He was slightly pleased by the amount collected; apparently demons of that sort were worth a great deal of red orbs.

The world itself appeared to have great potential as well. Based on some of the knowledge Matt was able to glean from the demon’s blood, the place where he entered was known as the Fade, a sort of spiritual plane where spirits and demons lurked. That meant that there was a real physical world as well, and there appeared to be mages who used magic there. And that in turn meant more mystical knowledge for Matt to obtain.

After he was done filling the tube, the man headed for his study. The room was filled with countless pieces of papers and books, some bearing mind-boggling diagrams and others eldritch text that writhed against the blood-tinged ink that held them as they were. At the center of it all was a large wooden table, bearing red veins that pulsed with each step Matt took towards it. As he settled down in the chair in front of it, a few dunce cap-wearing Messengers crawled from the surface of the desk, offering him a fountain pen.

“Thank you,” He said to them, and they retreated with their job done.

Pulling a piece of paper from a tray on the desk, Matt began to jot down notes regarding this new discovery. There wasn’t much to write as he knew very little at this point, so he was quickly finished, upon which he placed the paper in a different tray.

“File that under the magic section, please.”

Two tiny hands pinched the edge of the paper, and pulled it through the tray.

The counter bell rang, summoning Matt once again. This time, it was to find a different Unspeakable waiting for him. This one was one that he recognized, even if the face was still obscured.

“What happened to the other guy?” He asked.

“We will send him again next time. After he’s gained more experience.”

“High hopes for him, huh?”

The wizard didn’t respond to Matt’s comment, but passed him the same list as before. Matt stepped through the staff door behind him, and returned shortly after bearing all the items requested. 

“I told your colleague already, but that last item will take five days to obtain.”

The Unspeakable nodded, and began pulling items out from the small pouch he carried, the quantity far exceeding the volume the bag would have been able to store without magic.

It wasn’t all blood this time. There were also a bunch of strange magical ingredients that Matt could use for potion-making or alchemy, along with some eerie-looking books that promised more knowledge. 

“Mm, yes. This will do nicely.” Matt said blandly to not give away his interest too openly. “Pleasure doing business with you.”

The transaction was completed, and the Unspeakable took his leave. Matt had the Messengers help take the items to his lab, and was preparing to close up shop for the day when the door opened.

“Good evening, shopkeeper,” A man with his long hair pulled back to expose his forehead greeted him in Japanese with a wide smile. 

“Good evening to you too, Mr Geto,” Matt replied, “How may I be of service?”

Geto raised a finger like a person making an order. “More cursed objects, please.”

“And how will you be paying?”

The man in a Buddhist robe pulled out several large milk cartons, somehow having stored the heavy items in his wide sleeves. The cartons themselves weren’t filled with milk, but a purplish-red viscous fluid that gave off an ominous aura.

“Your advice on extracting the blood of Curses came in quite useful, so I prepared quite a large amount of it. What do you think?” There was a bit of a stain left on Geto’s thumb, and he licked it off.

A smile spread across Matt’s face. “I think… we can do lots of business, Mr Geto.”

Afterword: And that’s the first three chapters of my attempt at a new fic. Yes, I know it’s another merchant fic, but this time I’m putting less priority on the merchant part. It’s more about collecting materials to fund his research and rituals. Obviously, Matt’s not a good guy. There’s no space for that in his immortal life.

Please let me know your thoughts on this multicross?