Dorian Arnoult, Daemon Count of Mischief ~ . _ .
profile here.
__________________________________________________ . _ .

"Non timebo mal (I fear no evil)..." A weak, scratchy voice rose up from a white-robed form that cowered in the corner of the room. There crouched a man with a shaven head, holding up a golden amulet and an open scripture with shaking hands. His features were petrified with fear, a cold sweat beading upon his creased forehead as he hastily flipped over the holy book he held to begin a slow chant. "Exorcizamus te, omnis immundus spiritus, omnis satanica potestas, omnis incursio infernalis adversarii, omnis legio, omnis congregatio et secta diabolica (We drive you from us, whoever you may be, unclean spirits, all satanic powers, all infernal invaders, all wicked legions, assemblies and sects)..." The priest shivered and let out a yelp of helplessness as his exorcism prayer was met with a low, sinister chuckle.

Stepping forth from the shadowed corner of the room where he had lounged all too casually, Dorian revealed an amused smile as he rose his hands to clap in a slow, sarcastic manner. His devious golden gaze fixed itself on the wretched creature he had taken his time to corrupt, and was now mere seconds from breaking. Stepping forward slowly over the hardwood flooring, light from the stained glass windows passing over his surprisingly elegant form, Dorian was all too pleased with himself. "You poor fool, do you not know death when it looks you straight in the eye?" He spoke with a deep voice like silk, trained to tempt in a manner of elevated charm. "Do you not yet know of evil's grasp?" Dorian cooed, tilting his head to the side as he stopped but a few steps from the reasonably terrified man.

He had been coming to this church for about a week now, appearing in confessional booths, the cellars-- among the parishioners, even. While Dorian's main purpose in doing so was his knowledge of a particular group of samurai that was bound to pass through this outlying town, a side venture of his had been to slowly corrupt those present. Oh, just like waving his hand over the crowd, he'd brought many of the disciples of this establishment into crippling disaster. A young, religious schoolteacher had begun to teach her classes of the corruption in all faiths. An elderly man of a happy, 20-year marriage had just recently began to frequent the neighborhood brothel. Last week, a new mother lit a fire that burned down her home while her and her innocent child remained inside, claiming both of their lives. This was to be the grand finale of Dorian's ministrations within the town.

"Ergo, draco maledicte et omnis legio diabolica, adjuramus te (Thus, cursed dragon, and you, diabolical legions, we adjure you)..." The cowering man barely managed, tears streaming down his face as he refused to look up at the demon standing over him.

"Ah, that's not very nice." Dorian spoke, voice flattening into a cold edge as he bent over to carefully pluck the chain of the amulet from the man's hands and toss it to his side. Such a lowly amulet clutched by a broken man would do nothing to stop him. The priest yelped, though the gesture was hardly a violent one. Dorian had merely lifted it from his trembling hand. Still, the man pressed on, "cessa decipere humanas creaturas, eisque æternæ perditionìs venenum propinare (stop deceiving human creatures and pouring out to them the poison of eternal damnation)..."

"My, my, a strong one you are. Not bad." He commented, his upper lip curling with pleasure as he leaned over to close the book in one firm motion. The man before him now, finally stared up into the dark presence of the man before him and let out an agonized wail. He was not equipped to deal with the whispers he had been hearing the past week, the darkened thoughts, the twisted happenings of the town and of his church patrons. "You are scum in the face of darkness. Surrender to me!" Dorian commanded of the whimpering mass of flesh, and as expected, he felt the man break. The expression of pure agony etched itself further into the man's face, though his sobbing and whimpering finally came to a stopping point. He stood, with the assistance of a calm hand offered by Dorian, and shuffled mindlessly to stand before the altar.

As Dorian left the establishment but ten minutes later, he felt the contentment that was a full stomach. He thrived off of negative emotions in all their glory, and once he had lead a mortal soul to break as so, he received more than enough of his fill. Whistling a casual tune as he strolled down the back road of town, he fit into the crowd with a practiced amount of care. Stealth was the necessary component in dealing closely with humans, and stealth was something he had quickly learned as a fledgling. What had he left in the church? Why, the next person to enter the sacred site for sanctuary would be met with the terror that was a corrupted human soul. The priest had become but a shriveled shell, and in his agony, stabbed himself in the chest and adorned the main wall before the altar with the words: 'Hope is dead. Rejoice in the darkness.' Then the man had bled out, stumbling to death just before his masterpiece as blood bubbled from his mouth.

Dorian hadn't even cared to watch his last breath.

As the group of samurai passed through town, Dorian kept the most care in covering himself and his presence than ever before. He knew it was crucial that no one raised any alarm before the time was right, and as such, had even timed his exit of the church just so. He did catch but a glimpse of his target from his hiding place among a nearby baker's shop, but just enough so as to confirm Akio's presence among the group before turning his back to the view and walking back out of sight and down along the street he had been on prior. Smirking, he paused there to kick one of his boots thoughtfully in the dirt before summoning a companion. A short, rounded demon appeared beside him, appearing rather ghoulish compared to Dorian's believably mortal form.

"Sire?" He questioned, bowing with respect.

"Samuel. Ensure the Hell Hounds are readied, and our mistress of fog is present. I want this to go off without a hitch." Dorian spoke evenly, in a business-like manner, though a childish gleam lit his eyes. "Understood?"

"Yes, sire."

But three hours later, Dorian stood before the fallen bodies of samurai, stepping among the piles of unconscious men without much care for minding limbs or backs. His steps were light as he walked both around and over them, uncaring enough to slaughter any if they seemed to stir as his keen eyes scanned over them. It did not take him long to find the man he sought. Standing before the dark-haired, rather regal form of the unconscious prince, Dorian crouched down to study him for a moment before narrowing his eyes. "What they say is true of his amulet," he muttered with slight annoyance, before shrugging a little and withdrawing a golden charm of his own from within his pockets.

"You'll have five minutes with the charm, sire." A voice piped up from behind him, again Samuel from earlier.

"That's more than enough." Dorian replied nearly playfully, a childish gleam again in his eyes as he wrapped the chain of the charm around his right hand and drew in a deep breath. Then, in a sudden motion, his right hand moved to grip the jacket collar of Akio and hoist his body up. His free hand waved a line before them, opening a portal that he swiftly dragged his captive through and right into the bottommost reaches of his manor. From there, Dorian hastily deposited his body onto a small cot that lay on the floor and latched chains to his wrists before letting him go for the moment. Standing back, he waved from hands in front of him, murmuring quietly to enchant the chains with a dark aura, strengthening them to abnormal heights before letting out a deep sigh.

"One minute." He whispered to himself as he stood over the prince's unconscious form, curiosity lighting his eyes as he dared to crouch down beside the cot. Hesitantly, his charm-secured hand reached out to the face of the young man, gentle fingers tracing a soft cheek as his gaze studied the form before him. Then, suddenly, he withdrew his hand and turned promptly on his heel to put face the other way. A burning sensation began in his hand, the metal of the charm glowing as he let out a cry and hurriedly cast it away. Before hitting the floor, the charm would dissipate into the air, broken and now unusable. Frowning a bit, Dorian overlooked the slight puckering of the skin of his hand before shaking his head and turning to look over more over Akio's form. "Whatever shall we do with our sweet prince?" He spoke softly to himself, then chuckling and deciding on biding his time in wait on a chaise lounge just across the room. Sprawling out in a relaxed position, he would lay there humming quietly, putting his mind at ease with the satisfying work he'd done today.

__________________