The zephyr of warm air washed over his face, giving him pause to smile. It felt wonderful. Life was good. It could only get better from here.
That is, if his flock never discovered his secret. Such a primal beast he was. A devil, a demon, from what books would describe.
He had learned to blend in. Look and act human. His base instincts were still there, but he taught himself control.
There, in the labyrinth of tunnels in the city, the homeless, runaways, the discarded humans seemed to accept him as one of their own.
He started providing for them. They needed food and water. He provided those things.
Of course, you couldn’t make an omelet without breaking a few eggs. He used this new community he had integrated himself into. He stole from those he killed. In turn, he pawned the items for money. He needed to be able to blend in with the world above, as well as below. He had to look respectable by society’s standards.
He tried not to harm those under his care. He hunted those above ground instead. The wealthy. He did so in a way that the police would not give much thought to.
As he sat around the fire one night, a small human child came to him, sitting on his lap. She placed her hand on his face. A soft touch. The gentle touch of a defenseless child.
He smiled to her, pulling a piece of meat from the makeshift spit, blowing on it lightly to cool it before handing it to the little one.
He was making a race of cannibals. They didn’t need to know that.
They just needed to look into his face and see their god.