FSE

Furry search engine

formerly SoFurry search engine

_Hey there, guys! Here's the second part of the Breed story series. Took a long time, yeah, but hopefully it was worth it. This part is really about starting the story of the series, whereas the last one was all about sex. _

Warning: This is an ADULT story, and the series has extremely GAY overtones (including GAY SEX). If these concepts are not congruent to your ideals, then just don't read it, k? Enjoy.

___________________________________________________________________________________________

The white behemoth walked along the streets of the small city, shrouded in brown, musty anonymity. He towered over most of the people that walked through the streets by an average of two heads, and his wide-load shoulders made for quite an imposing figure. But it seemed as long as everyone thought he was human, there were no qualms. He walked, a maroon skyscraper-enigma, until he found himself in a familiar square, paved to the teeth in cobblestone; even the buildings seemed to be grossly overgrown deformities of the skin that was the pavement. They're beige brick construction seemed to blend into the floor. It created a surreal, encased feeling, a feeling that Juro did not like at all. A fountain sat almost in the middle, just slightly off to Juro's right hand side.

Unfortunately, this was the towns biggest market place and as such it was a thing to behold. It was large enough to fit four of the largest military barges with room to spare and booths lined the walls and crowded the center. What wasn't filled with booths selling an infinite amount of different objects was filled to overflowing with humans making they're way through, buying what they needed or wanted. The entire scene only added to the ironic claustrophobic air. Juro shook it off. There was work to do.

Juro slowly approached the center ring of sellers, moving though the crowd, as a drop of water moves through a pile of rocks, gently and gracefully flowing through oncoming traffic. Of course there were dozens of people lined up at the booths, trying their hardest to buy the items they wanted before they sold out. This was just fine for Juro, as his goal was not the booths themselves, but the people. He walked behind the crowds waiting to buy, eyeing their hips and waists, looking for the thing that interested him most. There. A coin purse hanging over one man's ass. It was all a sleight of hand for Juro and it was almost instantaneous. As some of his feline features might suggest, he deftly moved his powerful arms and snatched the sac without a moments hesitation, snapping the rope effortlessly with his claws. It was easy and fast: with the commotion of the market, nobody could really hear, and people were always brushing up against each other. Everyone was paying attention to something else, and so this was one of the easiest venues to take advantage of people.

Juro enjoyed the feeling. He was the predator, stalking prey. It was so instinctive and primal; so base that it rushed his heart, and steeled his guts. He stalked hidden from suspicion beneath his raggedy shield. He reveled in the feeling of being dominant, of having the advantage. It even got him slightly aroused. It was a power rush, and it overwhelmed his senses. In this blood-lust gone gold, he continued through the entire market, collecting anything he could.

The day was starting to inch toward dusk when he had made enough rounds to have a sizable sum of coin. He sauntered off through a small road, relaxed and calmed. Life was relatively good. He had made respectable amount of coin and the night had grown cool with the absence of the sun's rays. The cold just felt right about his skin. He seemed to draw power from it; he felt his muscles tighten and his heart steady. Under the full moon light, He breathed in the cold air and it chilled his lungs. He felt calm and concentrated. He closed his eyes and breathed deeply again. The coldness ebbed and flowed around his body as he stopped walking; it almost seemed to follow his breathing. He breathed and felt the coolness wash over him and how it seemed to layer onto and into his fur and skin.

A lecherous scent tangled itself in his senses. It was almost like musk, but sweeter, almost as if someone had crafted a perfume based around the smell of a man in heat. The smell danced down his sinuses and into his nethers where it bade his cock to tense slightly. He opened his eyes slowly and looked around. His mind still gripped by the potent drug that filled his lungs he tried to target a source. He sniffed at the smell, trying to grasp a direction of origin, but it seemed to surround him entirely, as if he was being bathed in the stuff. His vision seemed to vignette, and his thoughts began to regress into a void he felt in the base of his skull. He removed his cloak, his vest and his trousers, leaving him stark naked, like the beast he was. The smell became more directional, and he grabbed at it like mad. He turned his head down the alleyway that the smell was coming form, and gave chase.

He ran like any man at first, his chest heaving in and out as his footpaws mashed the dirt, and his arms, hands balled into fists, swung tightly around his torso. But the lust and the smell were so primal and feral, that the need to run on all fours over took him. He fell forward, catching himself with his paws, and he resumed his run, faster now and at his full potential. His fur swayed on his skin like grass in the twilight, motivated by the wind, his muscles tensed and expanded, explosively releasing all their energy, and his package swayed and bobbed with the rhythm of his legs and buttocks. His mind ever sinking into the savage void, his vision ever more clouded, he pursued the smell like a dog on the hunt. He followed the smell with a base passion that he didn't comprehend. He didn't even know where he was going, he just had to find the source of that luscious smell.

And find it he did, as he turned onto a smaller alley, there was a large pair of wooden double-doors, arched in an ominous way. The doors were slightly open. All this missed Juro's mind completely as it sank further into the void, and his entire body tensed and pushed and threw him through the doors, blasting the slabs of wood against the wall inside, and smacking straight into the ice that was the stone floor inside. He stood in the middle of the dark room. His eyes were open, but he had lost his vision, and his other senses were slowly going. The scent seemed as though it had replaced the air, and sat thick in the room, and as he continued to breathe it in, a warmth enveloped his entire body that melted away the last of his senses.

And in the absolute darkness that he was wrapped in, his body spasmed as veins of pleasure squirmed through his groin and into his stomach and chest. His sense rushed back to him as he emptied the contents of his large bestial pride in something more than an orgasm. He fell to his hands and knees as his cock spewed more cum than had ever gone through through it at one time. His cock continued to pulse and shoot as if he had an endless source of cream to evacuate. At this point much of what came out of his twitching member flew into his abdomen, chest, and face but he was too far into the ocean of pleasure now to notice. He continued like this for quite sometime, and he relished the feel of such a long orgasm. Many times he had wished that he could go on as the pleasure tapered, and now he was experiencing it. His mind, rushed back to the forefront of his brain as he felt the intense sensations, and felt his own fluid coat his front side and the floor.

And as suddenly has it had begun, it ended, with just a few convulsions pushing out the dregs. He collapsed onto the floor, breathing heavily, his chest pushing in futility against the cold, smooth floor. He breathed richly, savouring the pristine air in the room, feeling the afterglow of such an epic orgasm corrupt his common sense. He was only vaguely aware that he had blasted into some unknown building, and proceeded to vacate the contents of his balls onto the floor, where he lay now soaking up his own white goo into his fur and huffing loudly. Just as the sperm was soaking into his fur like water to a sponge, the realization soaked itself into his newly porous mind: where the hell was he? The sucking black hole that is horror began to form deep behind his sternum as he realized the awful truth: the chance that he had slammed into an empty room were slim, and he was naked in a large puddle of his own spunk. The all-consuming lust that had so vehemently violated his mind was gone without evidence of it ever being there, and it had been replaced with terror; a terror that was now plaguing his mind with the same ferocity.

He leveraged himself onto his side, propped up on his left elbow. He could feel the copious amount of cum ensconced in the fur on his abdomen, chest and face. He could test his own essence on his lips as if he had just eaten a pastry, and some of the sugar dusting had left it's mark. He felt drenched, and his cock still radiated a bit of pulsating warmth. He felt all these things with his eyes closed, trying to gather an adequate picture of himself, an analysis. Then a slowly took the plunge and opened his eyes. And then they burst open, as he saw the magnitude of the ocean of shit that he was in. He was laying, naked like a wild animal, cock out and mildly erect, soaked in his own massive orgasm in the middle of a huge room. Benches surrounded him, in two rows, bench after wooden bench. The walls reached high up into arched ceilings. Along the walls were narrow balconies designed for people to stand on and watch something. On on of the far walls was a massive organ. the other far wall had been replaced with a shrine: a large dome-ceiling recession covered in magnificent artwork. In the center was a table; an altar. And it was with all this information taking in a sliver of a second that he knew: he had exploded his load in the middle of a church.

And it was not empty. It was only know that he heard the screams. There had been people praying here before, no doubt, when he had burst in here an proceeded to spray his man juice on the smooth marble floor. Women wailed at the top of their lungs and ran, while the men looked around for something to use as weapons. The ran outside and scurried around looking for a piece of wood, a rock, a knife, anything that could kill the demon that lay on their sacred floor. Juro began the process of getting up of the floor, feeling the cum hanging off of him, stretching out in long tendrils, hanging in the air. Unfortunately, the angry humans had already surrounded him, clutching various weapons, some makeshift and some actual. They were visibly disgusted by his form, and their faces contorted in ways that seemed unnatural at his sperm covered body. Their noses writhed at the sticky-moist smell of freshly squirted cum. He couldn't help but cower in fear of them, even though he stood about two heads above them in size; there were just to many of them. There was only one though in his mind: escape. The crowd itself was still pretty loose, and so he looked for the thinnest spot and run towards it, but instead of brushing passed or tackling the men who stood there, there was a sense-shredding burst of ringing pain that erupted in his muzzle where a moderately heavy stone stuck his cheek.

He fell to the ground, smashing his head against the marble floor. There was a pain in his nose that felt like sick, a searing pain on his cheek where the rock had struck him and a throbbing pain in his left temple where his head had hit the ground. He felt blood streaming out of several places, including his mouth, where a couple of loose objects flowed in the blood. He coughed the purple saliva out violently,a tooth flying out with it. He spat out the other tooth with the remaining blood. Another man kicked him in the stomach, and he spat out more purple blood as the air that was in his lungs was forcibly thrown out of his body. Other men took this time to throw the things they had at him, and beat him with the various rods they had. Each blow was a crack of pain like lightning in a rain storm, illuminating a wave of pain in his body, then subsiding as if making room for the next crack. Another man delivered a sift blow with the toe of his shoe to the soft spot that was his ball sack. Juro moan-roared in pain as he felt the leather smash into his recently vacated jewels, forcing a wave of nauseating pain to crash upon the rocky shores of his muscled abdomen. He hunched over to protect himself as he gripped his crotch with vigor as if clutching his mutilated balls would save him from the pain. His body was covered in splotches of blood that mixed with the semen on is body and on the ground, and he began to sob as the physical and emotional stress crushed whatever had been keeping the tears in before.

Somehow, through the turmoil, Juro was able to slowly stand up while withstanding the beating he was receiving int he middle of a church in a (now) very small puddle of his own cum. He locked his muscled legs into position and launched with a force he had never had before, and didn't know he could muster, given his current state. As he charged through the crowd almost out and able to run to safety, he felt something pierce his skin on his shoulder, ripping though the firm tissue and creating shock waves of the most intense pain he'd felt in the entire episode. He pushed as hard as he could as he ran, once again descending to all-fours and breaking into the fastest sprint he could muster. He ran quickly through the streets. H didn't care if anyone saw him, and they did. He had to get out of the town quickly.

[:|:|:|:] [:|:|:|:] [:|:|:|:] [:|:|:|:] [:|:|:|:]

The woods on the outskirts of town were quiet at this hour. It was late in the evening, and for a place that is usually quiet at any rate, it was eerily so. The ever present green of the foliage provided a soothing backdrop to anyone who happened to walk through the quiet wood. Even the insects were silent, not yet in the night's full swing. There were errant chirps and peeps, but nothing uniform and unsettling. This is were Juro had no more energy to continue running, and he collapsed onto the ground, marinating in the brine of his pain. The knife that had been ingrained into his shoulder was still violating his flesh, and he could still feel the pain. As had always been the case with his injuries, they had clotted and marginally healed rapidly, but blood still gushed out of the knife wound, sending brooks of thick purple blood flowing down his mountainous shoulder and back.

He slowly pushed himself onto his elbows, his face and body tensing with the paint and effort that stemmed from this task. His hand approached the dagger in his back like a stray animal approaches a human that calls. He gently probed the area, feeling his own oozing blood soaked into the fur like a perverse sponge, and finally prodding the warm metal, sending currents of pain out if it, as if the dagger-wound were some sort of switch. He braced himself as best he could; he knew he would drain himself if he didn't pull the knife out. His hand shaking, he loosely grasped the hilt so that he would not activate the switch so severely. He made the number "3" appear in his head, focusing closely on the contours of the numeral.

"Three," he breathed painfully, mind, body and soul synchronized to give him every ounce of strength that he could scrape together. He pictured "2" and it's contours. He got lost in its playful shape, almost smiling as his focus shifted from the pain in his shoulder.

"Two." He waited, visualizing the "1." What a dreadful number. It was so sharp and jagged, almost pointed and sharpened. It was as if someone had purposely designed it to look like a...

"One." He yanked as hard as he could on the sliver of death-dealing metal that had lodged itself in his person. As he did so he felt the billions of little points of pain burst like microscopic water balloons hitting the inside of the wound as the blade vacated his body. He roared out as if he could somehow transmit the fire out of his body on the waves of one, tremendous, feral sound that intertwined among the trees like strings wrapped in a complex web around the ancient trunks. The tears streamed from his eyes, as if pushed by the pain itself, flooding his vision and escaping onto the cum-encrusted fur on his cheeks. He sobbed and clutched the knife in his fist, as he struggled to support his torso with his ever-weakening arms; arms that were huge, yet retained so little strength.

He looked at the blade. It seemed like it could be an heirloom. It's hilt was of a very fine, polished wood, with runic engravings carved meticulously into the smooth surface. The blade, the parts of it that weren't gleaming with his blood, was gleaming with an ethereal glow that seemed to reflect the moonlight from the sky and focus it. Near the hilt, it was deeply serrated, and in the grooves chunks of his purple-stained flesh clung as if to dear life. He continued to sob silently, slowly filtering the pain into liquid form that escaped from his eyes. He laid among the grass, dirt, blood and semen in a constant lull stimulus, while the pain from his back continued to hack at his mind.

But as the minutes turned to hours, the enormous pain subsided, and he could feel the wound closing. He could feel his strength returning, too, like blood rushing to an area of the body that it had been cut off to. He drew himself into a sitting position, aware that he was still not at full strength. As he stared at and played with the knife, he contemplated upon what he would do next. Going into the city was obviously a foolish thing to do, and even going near it would be dangerous, but he would need to return to his house eventually. He needed a fresh pair of clothes and whatever supplies he could gather. He also realized that the sooner he went to his home, gathered his belongings, and left, the better it would be. He would need to leave the town: rumors would spread fast, and the kind of tricks that had kept him hidden before would not work in the collective heightened-sense that the townspeople would assume. He felt that what he had done was stupid, and that it would cause major repercussions.

"Why couldn't I control myself?" He clenched his teeth and drove the knife into the ground in a fit of rage. "I know now that that was a stupid thing to do. Why couldn't I have realized it then. What's wrong with me?" He was angry, yes, but primarily, he was scared out of his wits. He was aware that his life was in very serious danger, and that he had to move quickly. He stood up slowly, testing his ability. He found himself instinctively holding the knife with the blade out on the side of his fist opposite his thumb, ready to slice through flesh and bone should the need arise. It amazed and frightened him: he had never used a dagger before for combat, and it was strange to him that he could hold it so ably. When he discovered that he could stand relatively steadily, he broke into a haphazard sprint, and ran as fast as his body permitted in the direction of the lower riverside slums that contained his home.

[:|:|:|:] [:|:|:|:] [:|:|:|:] [:|:|:|:] [:|:|:|:]

It took him about 45 minutes to reach the part of the river that was just outside the slums. It was deep into the night now, and the only illumination in the slums was the moonlight. It would be extremely easy for him to sneak in and out of the area without being noticed. He pressed his milky, muscular body against one of the countless trees, gripping the rough bark with one hand and the dagger with the other. In the faint moonlight he could make out the shoddy dwellings of the poorest of the poor: those who could only afford to live near the part of the river that had grown stagnant with the waste of the town. It was the perfect place to remain unnoticed, but even the level of anonymity provided by this part of town would soon be insufficient for Juro.

He leaped forward and broke into a stealthy run, the balls of his footpaws only fleetingly and silently caressing the dirt as he propelled himself quickly in between the shoddy housing. Years of hiding and stealth had sharpened his abilities to mix in with the darkness, despite his brilliant fur, and the the gunk that masked that brilliance was an appreciated aid. It took him only a few excruciatingly silent minutes to reach his hut. It was mid autumn and thankfully, the cold weather dissuaded many people who would have been out and about at this time, and he could avoid those that were with relative ease. He slipped inside without any fuss, and soon was in the safe confines of his cabin. It was built into a small overhang so that the far wall was made of stone. The rest was of wood, and the floor of dirt. There was a mat on the left hand side that served as a sleeping place which had a large trunk next to it. On the right was, a large shard of a mirror laid against the wall and a pot of water, and in the far right corner, a small chest sat. The general atmosphere of the place could be summed up as "brown."

As he walked toward the trunk, he caught himself in the mirror and couldn't help but stare at his ghastly appearance. His once pristine white fur was caked in with semen, dirt and blood, making it look like he was covered in shit. He stepped closer, opening his maw and looking at the damage. His gums were no longer throbbing nor bleeding, but he was missing a few of his molars and his muzzle and chin were coverein crusted, deep-violet blood. he turned and looked at the wound on his back. It had already closed and become a blemish of a furless flesh-colored scar. The surrounding area was painted in the same blood.

His face wrinkled with disgust. He realized he'd have to quickly clean himself up before re-dressing. He put the curious knife down next to the pot and stuck his hand into the water, grabbing the piece of cloth the floated in the cool liquid. He retracted his hand and water dripped from his hand in torrents as he gently and quickly started to massage the brown cloth onto his filthy body. He started with his chest, massaging his firm skin beneath the fur, and beginning to eliminate the gunk that stuck to his fur. He did so softly, unless he felt a particularly hardened piece of fur, in which case a rubbed vigoorously until it came loose. The cold attention of the soaking cloth cause his nipples to harden to little pink points that jutted out of his now clean fur. His mammoth sheath responded with pulsating excitement, tempting him to attend to the oncoming erection. But he refused to succumb. He knew that he had to hurry, and pawing off wasn't in his schedule, no matter how much his balls yearned for release.

And as he scrubbed himself clean, dipping the cloth in the water and proceeding to clean his muscled abdomen, he wondered how exactly it was that his balls were full again. He felt as though the orgasm he had experienced in the church would have drained him, especially since he had no idea where all the cream had come from in the first place. His man parts were quite large, but not large enough to produce that much cum in one go. He scrubbed the rest of his body down removing the blood, dirt and cum out, dipping the cloth in the cloth in the water each time he moved to another section. He moved the cloth to his crotch, the last area he needed to clean. His tool was encrusted in dried semen. He moved the cool, wet towel to his warm cock, the shock of the temperature difference causing the erection to reduce a bit. he stroked up and down, feeling the crust yield to the water's resolve and melt away. He stroked slowly and lightly, trying not to stir up too much arousal.

And suddenly he felt climax coming upon him like a powerful gust. He fell to his knees as an enormous glob of cum flowed out of his cock head and plopped on the floor. He felt the ejaculation-related muscles in his abdomen twitch and contract has his meat alternated between globs of cum, and dry shots. His abdomen and chest were covered once again in his cream, and a puddle of it lay in front of him. Any composure he could have regained was instantly lost as he began to notice the amount of time he had taken in this entire ordeal. Various renditions of his capture and death started to formulate and play in his mind as he threw the cloth back into the pot and scrambled to dress himself, ignoring the fact that his front was coated in sticky cum. He'd have to deal with it. He put on his only extra set of clothing (which was similar to the set he had lost), donned his cloak and headed for the door. Something stopped him as he reached for the handle. It was almost physical, like an invisible hand grabbing his wrist and holding it back as he remembered the knife he had left on the floor. He turned back toward the pot and walked over to it, picking up the knife, then turning around and running out the door.

As he crept his way through the slums toward the forest, he was confront with two thundering storms of thought centered on two distinct problems: one on how he could have possibly cum so much at any one time, not to mention it happened twice within a short period of time; the other around the knife he felt so comfortable wielding. The two questions circled around his head, battling each other for time in the spotlight. After much sneaking, and a close encounter with a young couple that was strolling about, he passed through the threshold where the land of men met the land of the wild.

After a few minutes of treading through the undergrowth he came upon a small hill and decided that it would be a decent place to rest and think things through. He climbed up the gently sloping hill and sat at the top. From this view point he could see the entirety of the town. I slight pang of regret hit him as he looked over the quiet town. Things would never be the same again.

He stared at the strange knife. The day had dropped a lot of fuel for the raging furnace of thought that burned in his mind. He felt that he should sift through these thoughts and plot out his course from now. Finances were now forefront in his mind, seeing as how he had dropped all the currency he had to his name. He realized he had the skills to acquire some money wherever he went. This was the second thing on his mind. He decided that he would simply move on the the next town. He realized that as a long term solution that wouldn't do, considering the proximity of the two towns, but it would suffice for the time being.

He was about to set upon dealing with the problems of his overactive testicles and the mysterious knife when a blinding white light cast extreme shadows over his body and the knife. He looked up, and the whole city was engulfed in a bubble of brilliant white. His wide, muscular jaw hung in surprise as he saw the place he had called home for so long engulfed in the searing light. He could make out the heat as it flickered and shimmered in the air around the event. And in the same breath that it had appeared it was gone. Juro stood at the crest of the hill in shock looking at the smouldering earth where a town, and people had once been.

"Fuck."

[:|:|:|:] [:|:|:|:] [:|:|:|:] [:|:|:|:] [:|:|:|:]

20 MINUTES EARLIER

[:|:|:|:] [:|:|:|:] [:|:|:|:] [:|:|:|:] [:|:|:|:]

"I am glad that the Crown has decided to heed my reports." Jabriase followed the mysterious, red-robed man through the back alleys.

"Yes, I am sure that you are." The man's voice rumbled in the air like thunder. "But, I do find them hard to believe." Jabriase struggled to keep up with the taller man's long strides.

"Why do you doubt me, Mandate?" The hooded figure turned it's head back slightly, its head and face hidden in the darkness of the hood. He made a sound of palpable disgust.

"No, not entirely. As you know, The Mandates are the Crown's swift and powerful blades in these matters. Our occupation is hazardous, yet important. You may also know that our resources are limited. So when our Order receives reports as fanciful as yours, I reserve my right to take the assignment with a grain of salt." They stepped into a relatively well-lit area and the golden, intertwined symbols on the Mandate's blood-red robe caught the light and gleamed. They looked a bit like a patchwork of gilded roots to Jabriase.

"I assure you, Great Mandate, that my reports are true." The Mandate seemed to walk along as if he were floating. It gave Jabriase a faint uneasiness in the bit of his stomach. "I saw the beast with my own eyes. He regularly comes to my establishment."

"And what an establishment it is." Jabriase scoffed and pouted. "If you have willingly chosen to run such a disgraceful business in the land His Majesty, do not be offended when it is identified as such. Especially by one who is so greatly your superior." He stopped and they walked a little longer.

"As I said, I find your reports a little fanciful. Am I to believe that this creature simply revealed itself to you, and continued to do so on several further occasions? It sounds just a tad ridiculous, wouldn't you agree?"

"Of course, Mandate. But I swear upon His Holy Name with my life that my reports are absolutely true. I found the beast rumaging in the waste by the river. Being the good Observer that I am, I encouraged him to stay hidden, and immediately reported to the Mandates in hope that they might take action swiftly. The monster seems to consider me a friend. I kept the ruse simply to keep tabs on him. That was three years ago. Your response has been many things, but not swift."

"Do not insult me, knave. The Mandates believed that your 'abomination' was an area of least concern, especially because of the fact that this is such an isolated incident, in such an isolated area. With what you told us in your reports, it seemed that you could have handled it yourself. So why is it that your most recent report was so urgent?" Jabriase was silent. He had a bad feeling about what would happen next.

"Well, Mandate. It seems as though... there has been an incident. Of exposure." The Mandate stopped in his tracks.

"What?" Jabriase stopped just behind him, out of reach of the figure's limbs.

"There was an incident of exposure in one of the local churches. News of the incident has spread so rapidly that a mere hour has passed, and half the town has heard of it in some way or another. I fear we may have a risk of complete exposure." The Mandate stood silent for several minutes. Jabriase felt his heart shrink and freeze into a single piece of hardened fear.

"The grandeur of your failure leaves me speechless and disgraced. We cannot risk mass exposure."

"Yes. That is why I called for such an immediate transport."

"I see. Are we near the center of the town?"

"Yes, It's just a stone's throw away. That plaza is essentially the center-most part." He pointed to the end of the alleyway. The Mandate began walking again, but stopped once again just before the alley spilled out onto the plaza.

"Observer Jabriase Nelchim." At those words, Jabriase felt the muscles in his neck contract around his windpipe. He coughed and gurgled for air as he was lifted slightly off the ground. "Your failure has been so complete, that as an honorable Mandate, I cannot allow you to continue to live for any period of time longer. You death is necessary to right the amount of wrong you have committed in this world. Your death will bring balance. Do you understand, Observer?" Jabriase had a horrified look on his face, making is rotund, unattractive features even more horrid. He struggled visibly and shook his head to the best of his ability. The Mandate turned to face Jabriase, his eyes glowing a pale, chilled purple, seeing the absolute and pure terror in the fat man's face. As the Mandate snapped his fingers, the man's neck cracked and the body went limp. It fell to the floor in a heap, devoid of the man that had occupied it only moments before. The Mandates eyes, faded back into the darkness of his hood.

"Now. What to do about the godforsaken town."

[:|:|:|:] [:|:|:|:] [:|:|:|:] [:|:|:|:] [:|:|:|:]