i have really got an obsession with covenants huh

"Filthy, filthy, filthy sinners! You're nothing but heathens! Cowards, the lot of you!"

Carac sighed. It was a loud, annoyed, heavy sigh; heavy with the weight of how much he did not care for anything this Blue Sentinel had to say to him. His fingers itched for a weapon, any weapon, hell, even a spoon would do, just anything to shut this man up. They were so righteous, those Blue Sentinels. So righteous and so stuck up their own asses. 'Their only redeeming quality,' thought Carac, 'that their blood looks positively beautiful on my sword.'

He flopped back in his chair, trying and failing to ignore his nagging befuddlement over the fact that he was still sitting here listening to all this garbage. Sitting here in the Forest of Giants, nonetheless. He could be murdering so many other people right now; so many people still alive, so much blood to be let...

"And another thing! You are deprived of even the most simple-"

Carac slammed his fist, that had had the duty of supporting his chin through the duration of this dull meeting, down onto the table between the two adversaries.

The Sentinel looked like he was about to jump out of his skin; and then, adequately skinless, take the quickest opportunity to stab anything with a point right between Carac's eyes.

Carac, meanwhile, wore a grin of success on his wicked, sinful lips.

"Oops. My hand slipped."

The deadly look on the Blue Sentinel's face could have made the ancient Gravelord Nito weep with admiration.

Carac decided to swallow his pride and take a small step back in fear of this confrontation going nowhere fast.

"Listen, Philip... Peter... What was your name again?"

"Peyton," the Sentinel muttered, in a tone that suggested he might as well be spitting venom.

"Right, right, Peyton. Listen, Peyton. I hate you, and you hate me. Although-"

Peyton nodded with eagerness. "Yes, yes, that is very true."

"Alright, alright. I wasn't finished," Carac sighed. "I hate you, and you hate me. Although, we both have our jobs to do. And we are cut from similar cloths, my friend. You like punishing people, and I like.. well, punishing people, but in a much more victimizing way. We are similar, you can not deny it, but also tastefully different in our purpose. Can you not just accept this simple fact?"

Peyton's face scrunched up with a look of pure distaste. Carac almost cringed at the reaction his speech had made, wounded that his attempt to hastily make peace and, most importantly, get the hell out of here was shot down by his guest.

"Yes, difference in character is all well and true about many inhabitants of this world, but that doesn't erase the very prominent line of what is good and what is tainted with evil! All evil must be purged of its sin."

"But we're the same, you and I. You enjoy killing just as much as I do. You can dress it up in whatever 'noble' colors you want, but killing is killing."

Peyton looked away from the murder's face to somewhere distantly behind him, as if he couldn't be bothered to continue eye contact with so despicable a creature. "Hah! Surely you jest. I would never spill the blood of an innocent. I am nothing like you."

"Calm down, friend. I said nothing about innocence. I just said that I know you like killing. You do, don't you? You know that I'm right."

"I enjoy killing scum. I enjoy my allegiance to the Apostles of Blue and I enjoy my duty of cleansing. As I said, all evil must be purged of sin."

Carac tilted his head in honest curiosity. "Why?"

"W-why?! Are you mad?" the Sentinel seemed flabbergasted. "Such is the manner of things. The balance of the world. There could be evil inherently dwelling within any living thing. It is only by riding it of its affliction that it can achieve a heart of grace."

"And what if I would rather keep my heart of corruption?"

"Then I will hunt you down to the ends of Drangleic until your corruption has been vanquished."

A crooked smile graced Carac's crooked face, a clear expression of how little worry he gave the Sentinel's vow and how little he honored his word. "Oh, my dear Peyton, I had no idea you would do these things for me."

That accursed smile wormed its way into Peyton's stomach, making it flip with sickness. "Shut your mouth. I will not have you disrespect me."

"Oh, but I will."

Carac's entire demeanor seemed to change in the blink of an eye. His playful smile slipped with ease into one brimming with dark, murderous intent. It turned the ill feeling in Peyton's stomach to a feeling of nervous dread.

"Oh, but I will disrespect you. Look at you. With your pretty, little halberd and your shiny knight's armor." Carac leaned forward in his chair and looked the other man right in the eyes. "I will tear that halberd from you and cut your own hands off with it." His voice reached a deafening whisper as his eyes darkened with blood-lust. "I will drink your blood and piss on your wounds, and I will make you watch me. And when I've had my fill, I'll make you drink your own blood. I will make you bathe in it."

The table overturned as Peyton shot up from his chair, his hand already going for the hilt of the halberd at his back. His hand was stopped, however, by another hand. Carac had stood with him and, predicting his reaction, prepared to grab Peyton's weapon himself. They both froze, Peyton with gnawing anxiety and Carac with silent anticipation.

Carac's lips were the only things that moved. The two men were so close he barely had to whisper. "Perhaps today will be that day."

The Sentinel could feel the adrenaline start to course its way throughout his entire body as Carac's lips moved again..

..all the way to Peyton's unsuspecting cheek. "Or perhaps it won't."

Mad laughter accompanied Peyton's confusion as he stood, dumbfounded, with one hand on his halberd and one hand on his violated cheek.

The laughter faded as the red phantom faded, with the aid of the black separation crystal that was held tight in his hand. In a manner of seconds, Carac was gone. Peyton was standing alone at an upside-down, shanty, little table. He blinked. He looked around. He looked down at his chair and then he looked at the table. He looked at his hand and then he looked at his other hand. And then he balled both of them into fists and shouted to the sky.

"Curse you, Brotherhood of Blood!"

Somewhere in a distant world, in a different flow of time, a man with a crooked smile and evil intent tilted back his head and laughed.