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MisterKing
Super-Earth
- Joined
- Jan 21, 2015
- Location
- Under a bridge
In the early hours of the morning gunshots flared across the street from the stoop Abraxal on which perched, watching the fight and grinning. He didn't bother to make out through the gloomy streetlamps whether anyone had perished; that's not what the devil was there for. All he wanted tonight was a little more chaos, to tip those on the brink over the edge and into his enemies. Killing this exchange, he calculated, would draw heat onto the drugs Sseras had been trying to run past him. If Abraxal hadn't known better, the devil would have thought Sseras to be completely daft. This was his domain, for him to seduce and for him to profit from. To leech from that he found incredibly insulting, and he made a note to address the matter of Sseras later.
As the armed scuffle concluded and the boys fled the scene Abraxal slid from his perch and returned to prowling the streets, his fanged grin morphing into a self-satisfied smirk. All was going well as the devil prowled the streets, headed back to his abode. He had a few hours before there was anywhere he needed to be, and so killing a few hours to plan and scheme the matter of Sseras seemed like a good idea.
***
The sun had risen by this point, and as the young devil left for his destination he shifted his appearance into a tad more appropriate. At night, when visibility was difficult to come by and the streets were a bit scarier Abraxal indulged himself and had a little fun. As he roamed the night he liked to look like a more ... traditional demon, giving himself triple-jointed legs, curved ram horns, even glowing red eyes on occasion. He considered it a childish habit, but spooking the humans and the nightmares he caused were too good for him to pass up.
Now that daylight had arrived, however, Abraxal toned down his look in favor of something less conspicuous. His bestial legs melded into well-fitted slacks, any fur and horns faded until they they became faint blond hair, and while Abraxal couldn't bring himself to purge the red from his eyes entirely their eye-catching glow was now gone. His back straightened and his posture stood correct, and where a frightening devil once walked now stood a respectable man dressed and ready for church.
Abraxal filed into the pews with the rest of Reverend Nazim's congregation, indistinguishable amidst the mass of blazers and Sunday dresses. He sat through her sermon to be polite, despite the fact he couldn't bring himself to care for her empty rhetoric. He was hardly a regular churchgoer; no, he had business with Dahlia Nazim herself rather than the god she represented.
By now the reverend had finished her words, and her flock had sang their final hymn and were saying their goodbyes. Abraxal played his part, smiling and shaking hands and promising prayers he had no plans to pray. Only after the worshippers had trickled out of the building and on to the rest of their days did he approach Dahlia at the altar, holding out his hand and a winning smile.
"Hello Reverend, it's a pleasure to finally meet you. I'm Thomas Abraxal; I trust you got my email?"
As the armed scuffle concluded and the boys fled the scene Abraxal slid from his perch and returned to prowling the streets, his fanged grin morphing into a self-satisfied smirk. All was going well as the devil prowled the streets, headed back to his abode. He had a few hours before there was anywhere he needed to be, and so killing a few hours to plan and scheme the matter of Sseras seemed like a good idea.
***
The sun had risen by this point, and as the young devil left for his destination he shifted his appearance into a tad more appropriate. At night, when visibility was difficult to come by and the streets were a bit scarier Abraxal indulged himself and had a little fun. As he roamed the night he liked to look like a more ... traditional demon, giving himself triple-jointed legs, curved ram horns, even glowing red eyes on occasion. He considered it a childish habit, but spooking the humans and the nightmares he caused were too good for him to pass up.
Now that daylight had arrived, however, Abraxal toned down his look in favor of something less conspicuous. His bestial legs melded into well-fitted slacks, any fur and horns faded until they they became faint blond hair, and while Abraxal couldn't bring himself to purge the red from his eyes entirely their eye-catching glow was now gone. His back straightened and his posture stood correct, and where a frightening devil once walked now stood a respectable man dressed and ready for church.
Abraxal filed into the pews with the rest of Reverend Nazim's congregation, indistinguishable amidst the mass of blazers and Sunday dresses. He sat through her sermon to be polite, despite the fact he couldn't bring himself to care for her empty rhetoric. He was hardly a regular churchgoer; no, he had business with Dahlia Nazim herself rather than the god she represented.
By now the reverend had finished her words, and her flock had sang their final hymn and were saying their goodbyes. Abraxal played his part, smiling and shaking hands and promising prayers he had no plans to pray. Only after the worshippers had trickled out of the building and on to the rest of their days did he approach Dahlia at the altar, holding out his hand and a winning smile.
"Hello Reverend, it's a pleasure to finally meet you. I'm Thomas Abraxal; I trust you got my email?"