[Nicholaus Morandori]
Multicolored irises of deep reds and browns swirled rapidly, unseen thanks to dark lenses. An auditorium, well kept and clean held close to a hundred individuals in a rather sweltering heat. Unbothered by the climate, Nic sat in the back row by his lonesome, completely out of place in appearance considering the locale. Still, the gawking garnered from the wrinkled older women and fresh college students went fully ignored. There were bigger fish to fry, at least they should hope so.
"We are pliable. Love need not be a command nor faith a dictum. I am my own god..."
John Malcolm, age thirty-four, and the pure focus of Nic's study behind stern features and a hidden gaze. At a glance, there was nothing spectacular about the preacher. John was as mortal as they came, which would bring to question why a metaphysical god amongst men had been tailing him. Standing at his podium in his pressed suit and slick blonde hair, he eloquently spoke in a spot on Cambodian even as he talked about turning these people from a faith they had been following from a time so long ago that Nic himself was but a fledgling in the fleshlands.
"We are here to unlearn the teachings that shackle and bind, to break free and empower us."
Nicholaus Avrey Morandori, huntsman of his clan was in the capital city of Cambodia to assess the potential damage this man might cause to the overall faith of humanity. It was a vague concept to grasp one's head around, but when it came down to it, the Fae only existed as long as humans believed in them. Were he a madman rambling on the street corners with passersby giving him the stinkeye, he could continue to do so with impunity. John traveled the globe in chartered flights with the backing organization devoted to tearing apart organized religion brick by brick.
Three sermons later and Nic had been no closer to weaseling himself into the atheistic foundation. John had proven himself a dead end. Now the mess that the preacher had made needed to be cleaned up; better yet made an example of. A guttural groan escaped the broad, toned chest of the Fae as he rose to his towering height. Snakeskin boots clicked across the polished wood-paneled floors as the rugged looking man went methodically from one entrance to another bolting the double doors and snapping off the locking mechanisms as though they were made of butter between his fingers. Despite his size, he went about this task relatively overlooked; a couple onlookers observed in meek silence even as John rambled on.
It wasn't until Nicholaus approached the raised platform did John take a pause in his otherwise long-winded discourse. "Excuse me, there will be a meet and greet after the..." In one swift motion, Nic grabbed the shades off of his face and flung them at John with inhuman swiftness and force. The impact shattered the frames and knocked the stocky male off of his feet with a startled yelp. Unlike John, the Morandori was not one for speeches and he certainly wasn't one for explaining his actions. This was a stubborn nail that needed to be pounded into place, and Nic was the hammer. Up on display in front of the spectators, Nic rose his leg up high and like the tool that he was crushed the blasphemers head into a mess of brain and bone. For the first time in an hour within the auditorium, there was dead silence save for the splintering of wood and the sickening squelch of blood as the man in the snakeskin jacket dug his heel into the floor of the stage. When that cold, emotionless gaze of his hit the audience, that is when the screams filled the room.
Minutes later, Nic pushed through the main entrance, the solid metal doors snapping from their hinges. There was no enjoyment garnered from this assignment. A huntsman as he was, stepping on ants was hardly a proper means to keep up his skillset. It would be more of a hassle for Nick to clean the blood out of his jacket and boots; a task he did not look forward to. Retrieving his phone from out of a pocket in his loose jeans he made his way into a vacant alley away from the scene of the crime. Once, twice it rang before the other side picked up. "Nicholaus here, the job is done. I'll need another lead, this one ended up cold." The line going dead, Nic looked up to the darkening sky with those impossible eyes. How much longer would the people continue to believe in them?
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