Don't judge a book by it's cover

Part 1

Disgust is a feeling most should feel.

Pity is what most probably felt.

Empathy is a feeling no one here felt... no one but me.

No one blinked an eye at this horrible scene... no one but me.

One of the people passing by seemed to be a huntsman by his weapon. Still he looked straight into the eye of the victim and walked off.

I had enough. People looked at me strangely. Maybe because I wore a cement colour grey cloak covering myself, or maybe that my face was hidden, making it look like I was a hiding my identity.

I was hiding, but I would break my cover just to save this girl.

We were in a crowded street. That was the worst part. I counted seven people. Six we're dressed the same. Black suits with small red parts underneath. The seventh wore a white coat with black trousers, with a nice hat and ginger hair. He was armed with a cane while the rest weren't even using their weapons, but they were still beating this young girl in a cloak like mine, but red. She had a red box with a rose symbol on it.

She was on the ground bleeding. She seemed down... depressed.

I was grinding my teeth together to stop myself from hurting them, but I had to do it now.

Breaking out of the cover of the crowd, holding my hands together may make me look nervous, that was the point. The tip of my fingers were attaching to my diamond sharp fake nails hidden on my knuckles. Once I heard the satisfying click of my weapons attaching, I let my arms fall to my side.

I had three weapons. My nails, my claws and my crossbow.

My nails, I just activated them. They we're less threatening and less visible. Most wouldn't even realise I was armed, with these. That allowed me to kill them when they least expect it.

Next, my claws we're threatening... Okay, that was putting it lightly. They we're terrifying! Several inches of serrated diamond edged claws that came from my knuckles. Like my nails, the edge had diamonds to cut deeper. Hidden behind my gloves, so like my nails, you won't see them till it's too late.

Last, but definitely not least, was my crossbow. The weapon my family was known for. My brother was famous with this. He used a machete and a few knives, but the crossbow was what made him the infamous Shadowman.

We came from the north. This made us what we are. In Atlas, the cold forced us to adapt quickly. The aggressive and obnoxious people forced us to become as quiet and scarce as a ghost.

So that's what we became. They hated us because we had animal parts. So we hated them for having the commonsense of one.

I love my brother, but the path he writes is destroying the one I'm trying to write. He burns our name and drowns it in the blood of humans. That's why I won't be Kaaz Peake, younger brother of Dylan Peake, but I'll be Kaaz Odkrah. Most would see that as a name form an ancient tribe or something, they'll be partly right. It was my original language for my codename. My brother was Shadowman as I was Snowcold. We were both assassins for the White Fang, the difference, my brother was known by everyone, he used an alias, Carl Smith. As for me, no one knew who I was; I was a ghost from just about everyone, the codename Snowcold came from my white hair and my first few victims were found frozen and under several inches of snow.

That was who I am, a murder, one who was spat at by the SDC, who were abandoned by my human farther after he sold my mother into slavery, the one who like my brother will write my legacy in the blood of my victims.